Summers / Blood Atonement

Summers / Blood Atonement

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Summers / Blood Atonement

CHAPTER ONE

Sunset crashed against Los Angeles. A neon sign blinked: “ADULT VIDEOS—we match any advertised price. Xmas Special~Reta Does Rudolph.”

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From his parked Mercedes SLR Roadster, Ben Bailey watched the male hookers strut Sunset Boulevard, bitching over their turf. Exhaust from Ben’s ridiculously expensive ride collided with the cool December air, forming twisted halos. On the sidewalk, a smiling boy-God. Golden hair. Chiseled nose, firm chin, teeth white, perfect as Chiclets. The object of Ben’s interest seemed not yet twenty with eyes slightly bloodshot and a wrinkled white shirt. “So what do they call you?” asked Chiclet-mouth. “Ben.” “Like Big Ben, that clock they got in jolly old London?” “Yeah. And I make the jokes.” “You’re looking for a clock cleaner, I take it,” said the smart-assed kid who had everything Ben wanted. Everything and more. God, to be that young again. The final remnants of sunset oozed through Los Angeles. A moment later the boy-God settled back into the soft leather passenger seat. “Mind if I smoke, Ben?” The boy’s slender fingers closed on a flip-top pack of Camels. “Rather you didn’t.” “Whatever turns you on, Man. So what does turn you on?” Ben gave the Blow HO a sidelong look. The kid could be vice. What a depressing thought. The Mercedes reeked from the acrid scent of the boy-God. Ben cranked up "Come, Come ye Saints" on the Blankpunt. He pulled a silver flask from his pocket, drank deeply. The Glenlivet burned but it always infused him with the courage needed to deal with yet another boy-God. *********************

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Hancock Park, halfway across the city, red-vested parking valets attend to the luxury cars and limos arriving at Ben Bailey's home. Sweet smelling, Botox Babes and tuxedoed men with graying temples and porcelain emerge from BMWs, Hummers and assorted SUVs. Parking attendants, wait with festive golf carts, whisk the guests up a long, winding brick sidewalk. At the end of the sidewalk stands an imposing Spanish mansion with fluted white columns and red-tiled roof. The home’s double oak doors are open and in the marble foyer is a Christmas party of the rich, famous, and powerful of Southern California. In the center of the sidewalk, a dozen yards from the front door, a polished brass fountain jets water that constantly changed color. A mechanical Santa, elves, reindeer and nativity scene borders the sidewalk. Christmas music echoes over the meticulously clipped bluegrass lawn and sculptured hedges. The Bailey residence is encircled by a twelve-foot black metal fence, its spiked tips festooned with red and green Christmas lights. In the driveway, someone has turned a twenty-foot Winnebago into a huge Christmas present by tying a wide ribbon around it. On top of the motor home is a six or seven-foot bow fashioned from the same ribbon. A gentle Santa Ana breeze rattles the bow and makes the palm trees quiver. The faint smell of freshly cut pine mingles with the scent of rich chocolates. Most of theguests are here now and Latino car hops stand quietly on the sidewalk, laughing occasionally, the breeze catches their laughter and blends it with Christmas carols from the loud speakers. Ben's Mercedes skids around the corner and bears down on the cluster of parking attendants.

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The head valet spots the car and screams at his amigos to scatter. The Mercedes lurches across two lanes of traffic. Ben contines down the wrong side of the road and fishtailes to a stop inches in front of a padlocked iron gate barring access to his driveway. ********************* The blinking Christmas lights etched Ben Bailey's profile as he hunched behind the steering wheel. His impeccable white French monogrammed shirt was stained with flecks of blood from his rendezvous with the boy God on Sunset. The second button of the shirt broken, dangling by a thread. The left cuff of his Savoy Row suit coat, ripped. Ripped. Ben's right eye was cut and bruised, growing puffy. A gash over his lip and he could taste warm, salty blood. His gold watch, the expensive Patek Philippe, was gone. The boy God had not been a vice cop. Rather, it had turned out the Camel-smoking hustler had been a thug who had robbed and beaten Ben. Not the first time. Ben was fortunate to have escaped with his life. But that was then, this was now and now he was perplexed that the driveway gate, his driveway, had been padlocked. Grappling for a silk handkerchief, blotting his bleeding lip, Ben tried to spit but succeeded only in splattering the front seat upholstery. One of the red-vested car hops cautiously approached the Mercedes as Ben wiped spittle from his chin. “You are a guest of the Bailey's, sir?” asked the Latino. “I'm Mr. Bailey. Get padlock off my gate.” “Please, sir, do you mind showing me ID?” The young man stared at the ground, frightened to make eye contact. Ben dug into his suit coat pocket. His hand closed on his wallet, or at least where his wallet should have been. Gone. Ben glared at the Latino, eyes still lowered.

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The Latino swallowed and his lips were dry. He realized how vital it was to make certain that no one crashed this party. The Latino said, “I have to know who you are, sir. See, the mayor is in there.” “Don't recite my guest list to me!” Ben felt the bile, fused with Scotch gurgle in his throat. “Sorry, sir. Please forgive.” “Listen, beaner, the chief of police is also in there, guzzling my twenty-year-old Scotch which costs more than your fine fuckin’ family earned in the last five generations.” “Sorry, sir, I do not speak English good. Please could you say slower?” The fact was, the Latino understood precisely. But the Latino who also could speak much better English had learned that angry Gringos with luxury cars, sometimes backed down when they realized poor, dumb Mexicans were no threat. Better than that, sometimes the rich Gringos became so angry and distraught that they died from heart attacks. This seldom happened but it was always worth hoping for. When the rich bastards lost control of their emotions and drove themselves into premature graves, the stories made wonderful tales to bring home to wide-eyed and loving families in Mexico. Having worked among the rich for most of his life, the Latino was ready for almost anything ... but what Ben did amazed the Latino. Ben bit his own bloody lip and ground his Mercedes into reverse. The car's tires squealed and smoked and the rear of the vehicle almost struck a late arrival. He did not mean to back up so fast. The Scotch and pain pills had thrown his responses into a strange orbit.

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Ben hit the brakes, then mashed down the accelerator. But once again the Scotch and pain killers outfoxed him. The car leapt forward, its wheels slipping and sliding on the asphalt as the automobile charged the gate. For an instant, the momentum of the vehicle made it look as though the car was going to leap over the padlocked barrier–but, of course, that would have been impossible. The car struck the gate with full and complete force. The impact shattered the padlock and the grill of the Mercedes. The gate sprung open, one side hanging precariously by its twisted hinges. The Mercedes Benz suffered ten or fifteen thousand dollars of damage. Maybe more if the on board computers were damaged. The windshield shattered, the right door ripped open and tore from its housing. Both fenders seemed shrink-wrapped. The front of the car narrowly avoided colliding with the gift-wrapped Winnebago. The luxury car careened in a half circle, straightened, and smashed into not one but two sets of double garage doors. The final impact caused the sensors to deploy the air bag. An inert gas inflated them to the size of a small television set—one smashed into Ben's face, temporarily blinding him. Another sensor drained the bag of its gas and it shriveled up like a used condom. The lord of the manor was home. Ben checked his face. It was crimson where the air bag had slapped it. There was additional pain too but after adjusting his rear view mirror and checking his upper body, he saw he had sustained no further visible damage. The air bag done its work. Ben readjusted his rear view mirror and saw the Winnebago looming behind him. It had escaped unscathed. Had he skidded six more inches to the right, the Winnebago would have been smashed, thus ruining a a major aspect of the Christmas party.

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Ben leaned back against the cool leather and watched three of the Latino parking attendants cautiously approach. He heard the sounds of a five-string orchestra and people laughing inside his house. Ben flopped out of the Mercedes. Pain hit his arm as he stumbled toward his home. He wondered what his wife would say. Well, screw her. This was turning into a very bad Christmas. ********************** In the living room, Ben's wife, Robin, jousting with a throbbing migraine, made certain their guests were at ease and comfortable. Robin wore an Oscar De Laurentis dark blue gown. She had purchased it in New York at his annual press show. The gown's price tag was in the five figures and there had been six other women vying to buy it. He had sold the gown to Robin because she was the only person the dress fit without altering–a perfect size six. Robin stared up at the twenty-foot Christmas tree. Glistening silver icicles shimmered from its limbs. Out of the corner of Robin's eye, she glimpsed her seven-year-old daughter, Kimmy, slipping past the orchestra. Kimmy dragged her battered teddy bear, its head bouncing along the hardwood floor. Ben and Robin had adopted Kimmy, a Eurasian, when she was four weeks old. As the years slipped by, everyone marveled at how much like Robin the child had become. High cheek bones. A gentle laugh and a passion for adventure. Since the child was afraid of nothing, it had taken both parents their full attention to stop the precocious child from climbing anything her graceful, tiny hands could grasp. Robin

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reached for Kimmy who started to giggle, as her mother swung her up to her chin. “What are you doing up, Kimmy, Honey?” asked Robin. “Heard a funny noise. A bang.” “That could be the twins,” said Robin. They slept in the room next to Kimmy’s. “Or,” said Robin, touching the white beard of a Santa Claus decoration, “it could be Old Saint Nick.” “Santa must have been driving Daddy's car.” “Daddy's here?” Kimmy's huge green eyes became even larger as she nodded affirmatively. Robin carried her seven-year-old across the room, through laughing guests, and finally reached the corridor where Mrs. Wilson was ladling out punch. Kimmy held on to her flopping teddy bear. “How did you get past me, Kimmy Ruth Bailey?” asked Mrs. Wilson as she handed a stout man a glass of punch. Mrs. Wilson was combination nanny, best friend, family defender and social secretary. Now sixty-two years old, she had been widowed for seven years and for six of those had worked for the Baileys. She loved each of them with a fierceness that bordered on character and although her salary was four thousand dollars a month, she would have happily stayed with the Baileys for only bed and board. The children worshiped her; she idolized them. Kimmy said: “Made myself invisible.” “I'm taking you up to your room and if you creep down here again, I'll tan your little invisible hide.”

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“But the music woke me up. Sorry.” “Don't say you're sorry,” said Mrs. Wilson, “just say you won't do it again.” “Won't do it again.” “Good,” said Mrs. Wilson, scooping up the child in her arms. The child established direct eye contact with her mother and then in the sweetest voice this side of heaven, asked: “Mummy, would it be all right if I stay up just for fifteen more minutes?” “Don't try and soft con me, you little monkey,” said Robin, resisting a strong impulse to give in to the child. She marveled that her daughter had so much power over her. “I’m afraid to be alone in my bedroom,” said the little girl. “There’s nothing to be afraid of,” said Robin as Mrs. Wilson carried the child toward the stairs. Robin waved good night to her daughter who squirmed around to smile. What kind of world were they living in? No child, no adult seemed safe. Suicide bombers blasted their way around the world. Homeland Security forever warned Americans that a threat was imminent. Why did the media have to hype everything so much? Robin was about to rejoin the party when Ms. Axter, the caterer, bounded at her. Honey Axter, a shade over six feet and under 100 pounds, gestured expansively. “Mrs. Bailey, I must insist, the turkey and ham should be served immediately.” Ms. Axter flung her wrists around as though she were trying to shake off sparrows that had attached themselves to her bony structure, assuming perhaps that this hyper skinny individual was a twiggy bush. “Excuse me, please. I see my husband,” said Robin, looking down the hall corridor toward the entrance from the garage. The shadowy figure of a man entered. The man

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was about the height of Ben, except this person walked with a stoop. It was Ben and he seemed injured. Oh, don’t let him be hurt. Robin felt Ms. Axter tugging at her elbow. The caterer said: “I'm going to go ahead and dish up the turkey and scalloped potatoes before they dry out, Mrs. Bailey. There can be no more delay—” “Delay,” said Ben from behind a bloodied handkerchief. “Or I can guarantee you won't get a cent for your trouble.” Robin saw the anorexic woman wince. “It's all right,” said Robin. “Maybe you should serve the food —” “No one serves a crumb until I bless it,” said Ben as he lurched into the guest powder room. Robin dashed after her husband into the marble tiled room and closed the door behind her. Ben stared at himself in the mirror. He touched an open cut on his cheek and winced. “Is Cardston here?” “Ben. Your face – Kimmy said she heard a lot of noise —”” “It's fine.” “You're dripping blood all over the tile.” “I never did like this tile. It shows the slightest discoloration.” Ben laughed at his joke. Robin found an antiseptic swab and used it to blot the blood from the oozing cut beneath her husband’s right eye. There was a moon-shaped wedge of flesh under his gray eye which was quickly turning dark red. The eye was already puffy and Ben looked

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like he was winking. He grimaced at himself in the mirror. “I might have to get the eye cut —” “What?” Robin wondered if her husband had gone completely over the hill. She had to concentrate to keep her hand from shaking. If Kimmy or the other children ever saw their father like he was now, it would be so traumatic, so awful. “Boxing trainers slice their boys’ skin under their eyes when they get clobbered. Stops the swelling and then they can see.”' “What a horrible thing to do.” Husband and wife’s eyes met in the mirror. Ben fumbled for some of Robin’s flesh-colored make up. “See if you can blend this in, Babe. You can do that, can't you?” Robin started to apply the cosmetic to his face with a small sponge. The migraine hammered at her skull. He hand shook slightly. Ben, impatient, grabbed the sponge and pulled it across his lip, inflicting pain on his battered skin. He did not yell, he kept blending in the powder. It was as though he were punishing himself. Robin couldn’t deal with it a second longer. “We can't pretend any more,” she said. “You're drunk,” he said. “I don't drink and you know it. Ben, I love our family. The kids must never see you like this.” Ben pushed open a mirrored panel and yanked a clean shirt and jacket from a small hidden closet. He had insisted the carpenters put in the closet so he would have access to

Summers / Blood Atonement fresh clothing when he came in from the garage. “This shirt will be fine, don't you think?” “I'm willing to forget what's happened tonight, and the other nights—” “Big of you —” “Ben, I’m not kidding. Either come back to your family, start honoring your priesthood–we'll go into therapy, anything you want—” “Yeah, fine–” She knew he had a lot of strength, more determination than any other man she had ever known. She was praying he would use that strength. “Now can we bless, the damn food?” he asked. “Yes, Ben. Let’s bless the damn food.” She smiled weakly. A truce of sorts began again. After all, it was Christmas.

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Chapter Two Minutes later, Robin rejoined the party. The crème de la crème of Southern California society swirled around in a bubble of sound and color. Since she had been four or five years old, Robin had been taught how vital it was to maintain the family. Marry a good upstanding Mormon in the temple for all eternity and make it work. Divorce was unthinkable. All of her life she had been a goodie two shoes, the nice girl, the obedient girl. And now she was the obedient wife. Don’t rock the boat, rock the cradle, that’s what a good Mormon sister did. Robin thought about Elizabeth Smart’s kidnapping for the 100th time. A nice Mormon girl kidnapped from her home. Forced to live with some sexual perverts in Salt Lake City. The poor child had gone along with her abductors when they dressed her up in a goofy outfit and took her all over town. A victim of the Stockholm Syndrome. Not once did Elizabeth cry out that she had been kidnapped and was being held hostage. Why? Forget the Stockholm Syndrome. It was the good girl syndrome that the LDS church pounded into every man, woman and child. “How does it feel to host a party for the leaders of the tenth richest country in the world?” asked Tiffany-something, a middle-aged woman who taught Comparative Religion at nearby, UCLA. “We’ve ceded from The Republic?” asked Robin, annoyed with herself for being sarcastic. But sometimes there was no other way to handle vixens such as Tiffanysomething. Tiffany-something popped a barbecued-Cajun shrimp between her collagen enhanced bumble bee lips. “No, no, Robin, dear. A little joke. I'm talking about the Los

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Angeles area. We have a gross national product of over 300 billion dollars. That makes little old LA and environs the tenth richest nation in the world. That is, we would be if we were a nation.” “Oh, yes,” said Robin. She had a harder than usual time concentrating on what Tiffany was babbling about. The UCLA professor had made a career out of being politically correct and feminist. Tiffany was never aware of anything but her own agenda, “We have 150 universities, and over 200 hospitals ... so you see we have almost everything–why we're really the center, the cradle if you world, of civilization now—that, along with religious dominance, is the heart of my new book. I sent you Chapter Nine for comments, hope you don’t mind.” Robin was standing on the edge of an oriental area rug, featuring a large Chinese black character in its center with a thin black strip around the border. She realized that both of her feet were on the black strip. Staring down at the polished oak floor, she felt her stomach flutter–as though the grain in the oak flooring were tiny trees and she was balanced on a thin black wire, swaying high above a rain forest. At that moment Robin would have preferred such a predicament, instead of their annual Christmas party. “I’ll look forward to reading it,” said Robin, wishing Ben had not insisted on inviting Tiffany. Tiffany’s husband was well connected in publishing and Tiffany herself made certain her freshmen students ordered many of the religious texts Ben published. “You know, Robin,” Tiffany babbled on. “I don’t think you bother to read some of the books I send you.”

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“How could you think such a thing?” asked Robin. It’s probably about how stupid she thinks anyone is who believes in God. “What did you think about Mormonism Unveiled?” asked the professor. Damn. Tiffany was pushy. Who did she think she was sending nasty books about a person’s religion to them? “There you are,” said Ben as he threaded his waty between the two guests. “Hi, Tiff, can I freshen your drink?” “No, I was just asking your wife what she thought of “Mormonism Unveiled.” “We both read it. Good fun. Although I don’t think the author thought much of faith. You don’t think much of faith, do you, Tiff?” “I think it’s bullshit.” “Some of it is, that’s for sure,” said Ben. Always the diplomat. Robin backed away and into the middle of the party. Her guests clustered around her. The smell of hot apple cider permeating the air. She watched Ben gesture expansively and then Tiff was laughing as Ben topped off her wine. The party continued. Robin tried to listen to the overall sound of the guests. Like wild bees. Killer bees. And the migraine didn’t help. Felt like her skull would explode. Ben worked their guests, pausing to chat with an associate, turning to shake hands with a famous bald-headed tennis player, introducing a short Japanese business man to a blonde model. One had to admire Ben–always ready with the right bon mot, a handshake, a reassuring pat, a smile, a wink and everything laced together with goodnatured humor, albeit a bit self-deprecating.

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His battered face had undergone a transformation. The puffy eye was still evident but the cuts and abrasions were hidden. If he could eradicate crows-feet like he could battle scars, Ben could have made a fortune out of cosmetology. There was hardly a day that went by that Robin did not marvel at her husband's skill in some area. Ben nodded to the orchestra leader. The musician smiled back and segued into a short riff of jazz and stopped with a crescendo. At the same instant, an assistant flicked a control panel and the lights shimmered and dimmed. A single spot light illuminated Ben. The guests–as one–stopped talking and turned their attention to Ben. Ben raised his right hand. It was a gesture such as Moses might have made descending from Mt. Sinai. Somehow Ben made it informal–yet there was a suggestion that Ben had been granted a special power from “on high” – Robin watched the crowd–a warm surge of energy seemed to relax them. Robin glanced up at the ceiling heating ducts. She saw that the silver Christmas icicles on them were fluttering. Ben hardly ever allowed coincidence to play any part in what he did. Robin would have bet a hundred dollars that he had instructed Mrs. Wilson to switch on the heat at the appropriate moment. The devil was in the details, Ben often said. He beamed at the group before him. He was standing on a small raised platform–ostensibly to get a better view of his friends. But Robin knew Ben believed that whoever had the high ground had “the edge.” Ben was great for getting and maintaining the edge. Even Ben's desk at his office was set on a pedestal so he could look down instead of up at any who entered his friendly lair. He went to surprising lengths to make certain that all his important negotiations took place in his office.

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Ben's eyes scanned the crowd and for an instant found Robin. He smiled as if to say–watch me, watch what I can do. Watch how humble I can be. “My dear friends,” said Ben. “Thank you for coming to share Christmas Eve with us. We appreciate each of you and we want you to know how welcome you are in our home, which is heavily mortgaged.” The joke elicited laughter. “As you know,” he continued, “we are Mormons, and as such, we believe in polygamy. No, we don't believe in that any more. For a second, I thought we were going to have some immediate converts.” More laughter. “Seriously, we like to give thanks to our Father-in-Heaven for his bounty. So with your permission, I would like to bless this food. You may bow your heads, if you like.” Robin wondered what Ben would do it someone objected. But of course no one would. Not in their home, why the way he carried on it was almost hallowed ground. You didn’t challenge Ben on his home turf if you knew what was good for you. Although he came across as ever-conciliatory, Robin had experienced, too many times, just how ruthless her husband could become in a heartbeat. His friends knew it too. And no doubt his enemies. The room was still as Ben smiled folded his arms reverently across his chest. He started to pray in a soft voice so people had to stop talking and to lean slightly forward to hear what he was saying. Oh, he was good at the game. “Our Father-in-Heaven,” intoned Ben. “We are grateful for this opportunity to gather and celebrate the holiest of seasons. We thank Thee for good friends, good families and

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living in a free country. I am particularly blessed to have a woman such as Robin as my wife and as the mother of this family. I ask that Thou would bless her and our children. “And we ask that Thou would bless this food to our use and that we may continue in service to Thee.” “Amen,” whispered Robin, along with most of the other guests in the room. She felt she belonged at that instant. She was proud of her husband. Any woman would be. It had been right to forgive him. But another part screamed at her to be careful, especially for the children. And then the part of her that always seemed to win said soon it would be a new year–and mistakes had to be forgotten, had to be forgiven or what was the purpose of life? Oh, she was a good little Mormon wife. Ben moved beside her, slipping his arm around her. She looked at him and he looked at her. No longer was he a frightened little boy who had done something naughty. Now he was a successful man, a respected member of the community, a member in good standing of the Mormon Church, a father, a provider, a God-fearing man. Most of the men in the room wished they were more like him and their wives, thought Robin, probably seconded that. He had the Matt Romney charm. “How are you doing?” Ben asked Robin. “Oh, just fine.” “How'd the prayer sound?” He said it softly enough so that only she heard him. “Like you had a direct link with Father-in-Heaven Himself. Nice touch with the polygamy reference. “Curb your sarcasm, Darling.”

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“You sounded great—” Robin was aware of a motion to her left. She turned and saw a man with a floppy smile, disheveled hair and a Nikon almost as big as his head. The head was rather large for the body, the body of a midget's. The midget smiled at her, then looked at Ben. “OK?” asked the midget. “You bet,” said Ben. He gathered Robin close to him and whispered: “Smile for the man, Darling–he works for People Magazine.” Robin smiled and the tiny man fired off a dozen strobe photos as though he were operating a machine gun. Then the little man slipped his Nikon into a camera pouch which was slung around his neck. “You're pretty good with that D-2H,” said Robin. “You know your digital stuff,” said the photographer. “I've worked in the business a little,” said Robin. “Can I get you a drink?” “Yes … I recognize you now. You did that Vogue spread a couple of years ago. You got a great look.” Robin detected a trace of an English accent. “I had a good photographer,” she said. “Now, what would you like to drink? The apple cider is pretty good and we have real cinnamon in it.” “I can get it,” said the midget. “Let the caterers get it. That's what we pay them for,” said Ben. Robin saw a glimmer of disapproval flash on the photographer's face, then disappear as fast as it appeared. She was about to say something when Ben took her by the arm, just a little too firmly. He directed her attention toward a good looking man in his early 30s, impeccably dressed in a suit and white shirt with a wide knotted silk tie. He was

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watching her, expressionless. She could have been a frog on the dissecting table the way he was looking at her. “Robin,” said her husband, giving her a controlling squeeze, “say hello to Cardston Degere.” Cardston stepped forward and took her hand. His palm was firm and sure but there was something about the way he avoided eye contact that bothered her. “It's nice to meet you,” said Robin. “It's nice to meet you,” he answered. His voice was smooth, cultured, a trace of a Boston accent, probably an Ivy League School. “Welcome to California,” said Robin. “Ben said to keep a lookout for you but as you can see, things have been just a little hectic.” “I don't mind hectic,” he said. And he leaned forward and kissed the air near her cheek. A reflex in Robin said be nice, he's a guest, he just got in from New York. She returned the kiss and made certain that her lips brushed his cheek. How clean shaven he was and how nice he smelled. While Cardston and Robin discussed the weather, Ben passed a drink to a senator and exchanged small talk with a young attorney about how Governor Schwarzenegger was doing and then turned back to Cardston and said: “You ought to find yourself a wife like Robin. Otherwise, you'll never know what heaven is.” “Ben, you're embarrassing me,” said Robin. Ben ran his fingers through her hair, then dropped his other hand over Cardston's shoulder. He looked directly into Cardston's upturned face. “You're going to be staying in our guest room.”

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Robin made an inventory of the guest room, realizing what a mess it was. “That's very generous of you,” said Cardston, “but I don't want to be any trouble. I can easily get a hotel room.” “Robin insisted you stay,” said Ben. “Now you'll have to excuse me–His Honor, the Mayor, is checking out my library–wouldn't want him to get away with a leather-bound edition.” And he walked away. Again Robin felt a wave of negative energy. Couldn't figure out what it was all about–realized again she was frightened. Unrealistically frightened. “I must tell you, Mrs. Bailey—” “Robin,” she said and tried to figure out what there was about this frail young man that worried her. “—this is an incredible home and I am so impressed with you.” “Wait until you get to know me, I have a dark side.” Cardston didn’t seem to get the joke, he coughed nervously, his eyes moved past the guests, took in the huge Christmas tree and the orchestra, the long table of food, the circular staircase. Suitably awed by it all. The gentle and powerful laughter above the crowd caused both Robin and Cardston to glance at her husband. Beside Ben was the midget photographer who looked as though he was the source of a miniature fireworks display as he fired off a blast of shots of Ben and his cohorts. “Does your husband always make sure there's a photographer nearby?” “Of course not. Ben would never think of manipulating the media.” That was lie number who-knew-what? But lies to protect one’s husband were permitted.

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Ben moved across their living room in a flood of photographic flashes. The lights endowed him with an saintly aura. His eyes met hers across the room and she noted the satisfaction on his face. His look said–in an instant, readable only to Robin–that he had won again. He had done something he shouldn't have, and once again he had eluded punishment. A little boy who had gotten away with mischief. Above the law. She wondered which gave him the greater thrill–getting into trouble or escaping the consequences. He winked at her and then pulled shut the oak doors to his den. Robin was again alone in the midst of a party, her party, with a hundred people whose names were all jumbled in her mind. ********** Ben turned a brass key in the door's lock and heard the dull metallic click as the catch caught. He sighed, walked across the shadow-filled room and knelt by the stone fireplace. He pressed a switch and a series of jets squirted flames on neatly stacked logs and within seconds there was a blazing fire dancing on the black grate. His entire body ached and if his life depended on it, he could not have maintained his composure for another ten seconds. He sagged into one of the wing-tipped chairs. The warmth from the fireplace intensified the smell of fresh leather. Relieved to be alone ... there was too much wrong in his mind and body for him to keep up the wisecracking–you had to feel good to work a crowd. As he watched the flames crackling in the fireplace he wondered when the pain in his jaw would subside. He ran his fingers through his thick hair and closed his eyes.

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Aware now of his labored breathing. Yes, he was getting older and heavier. When he was younger, he could work all night or carouse until sun up. His body was so far removed from what it had been in college when he'd been on the golf team. Middle age was screaming down at him–the result of too many power lunches and desserts at La Dome. Ben opened his eyes. Jerry Wendell, Robin's brother, was sitting in a darkened corner of the room. Flames from the fireplace flickered across Jerry's face. “I didn't see you in the dark, I thought I was all alone,” said Ben. “I was just waiting here to talk to Sis,” said Jerry. “How's the real estate market?” asked Ben. It gave Ben satisfaction to bail Jerry out of bad business situations. And this had given Ben more power over Robin. The only thing Ben did not like about Jerry was his name: Jerry. Ben and Jerry was an ice cream company and Ben could not help but feel as though when he and Jerry were together, people might make jokes about their names. For this reason Ben usually introduced Jerry, as Jer– “I have some good deals cooking.” “Then it'll be a Merry Christmas,” said Ben. “Yes. Are you okay?” “Yeah, I’m fine. Had a nasty fall. Robin’ll fill you in. She’ll no doubt put her own special twist on it.” Ben stared at the fireplace. The thought went through Ben's mind that the flames were people. People were always tearing at each other. In the flames he saw Robin's face. A pity she didn't understand him as well as he understood her. If she had, she would understand, appreciate his, uh, drives—and we ain’t talking about the

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golf course, boys and girls. Nothing wrong with those drives, except maybe in the eyes of some of their narrow-minded friends. Didn’t matter. Ben felt–had always felt–he was “chosen.” Kimmy poked her head into the den from a side door. She was Ben's favorite, much to the annoyance of the twins. Her emerald eyes blinked. Once. Then twice. She placed one hand on her hip, the other clutched the teddy bear. “You crashed the Mercedes.” “Kimmy, Mercedes Benz built a defective automobile and your father intends to sue those Krauts. They'll be sour krauts.” The child broke out into a grin and Ben was not certain if she understood his pun or not. Either way, Kimmy was able to read his intent and he was enormously pleased. The little girl dropped her teddy bear, skipped across the den and scrambled into Ben's arms. He ignored the pain shooting along his kidney. Ben glanced at Jerry who sat there, watching. Ben realized, despite all of his help, that Jerry did not have much use for him. OK with Ben. To be needed, was in some ways, better than being liked. Probably Robin had bawled on Ben’s shoulder how unreasonable Ben was around the house. Kimmy bestowed a quick kiss on Ben's chin, then leaned back, staring at her father as though she had never really seen him before. “Daddy–your face?” She held out a tiny hand and gently traced her forefinger along the bruise on his left cheek. Her touch was so gentle, so cautious .... “How did it happen?” she asked. “Mummy has been working on my face.” Kimmy's concern melted into a dark frown and Ben could almost hear her brain trying to puzzle how her mother could have caused anyone harm. For an instant Ben felt

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a twinge of regret for worrying the child about her mother. But Robin needed to be punished a little. Robin was acting against the best interests of the family– If Robin were not part of the solution, she was absolutely part of the problem. After all, the man of the household could one day become a God and the woman would be with him, sharing his power over a world. No, make that worlds. Solid LDS doctrine. Mrs. Wilson hurried into the den and gathered Kimmy into her arms. “Come on, Kimmy, back to bed,” said the woman, “I'm sorry, Brother Bailey.” As his daughter and Sister Wilson left, Ben smiled at Jerry and said: “Got to circulate to accumulate.” The orchestra started to play “O, Holy Night.” Jerry didn’t understand what was going on. Never would. Ben returned to the living room to shake hands with a hot, young actor who had just finished his first feature film with Anthony Hopkins. Ben glanced across the living room at Robin who was holding a silver tray filled with egg nog. He was annoyed that she was serving the guests herself. What was the point in hiring caterers if you were going to do their work for them? Robin offered Dr. Weintraub one of the eggnogs. He was a Mormon and an old friend of Ben's. “If this were not an LDS house, this might be laced with a little rum,” Said Dr. Weintraub, eyes twinkling. “The ones on the right have rum, the ones on the left are virgins,” Robin said. “Here's to virgins.” He picked up one of the rum egg nogs and took a sip.

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She handed the tray of egg nogs to a passing waiter and kept one of the drinks for herself. She slipped her arm through the doctor's and guided him to one side. They stood by ceiling-to-floor book shelves. “We've always been friends, haven't we?” she asked. “Yes.” She noticed a mist of perspiration on his upper lip. “Robin, you need a Valium–” The doctor’s smile came out lopsided. “Why? Should I be worried about something?” “No, it’s just you’re a bit edgy,” he said and turned to melt into the crowd. He did not look back–he just blended in and was lost in a swirl of conversation and Christmas music. She felt her stomach knot. Ben and the doctor were up to something. Shit, until that moment she had never seen it coming.

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Chapter Three “You all right, Sis?” (Robin’s brother always sensed when she wasn't.) “Ben was out again, another of his nocturnal field trips,” she said. “You see his face?” “Looks like someone clobbered him with an ax.” She ran her finger through her soft hair. Just touching her skin intesified her migraine. “He totaled another car, outside by the garage. You can tell it’s our garage, no doors. I think this is the third car in 14 months.” Jerry got up and looked out the window. “Nice to be rich. You can get those kinds of things all taken care of.” “Ben looks like he had sex with a circus bear or something.” “Heavy competition for you, Sis.” “Not funny.” “So your next move would be –?” asked Jerry. “I told him if he did something like he pulled off today, again, we're done.” “As I recall, that’s what you told your first husband.” Sister Wilson arrived out of breathe and said, “You're supposed to start the game–the orchestra is all set.” “Okay,” The game. The damn game. ********* The orchestra paused in the middle of the final bar of “White Christmas” as Robin made her way to the base of the towering Christmas tree. She was aware of several hundred eyes on her.

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The orchestra leader passed Robin a mike. She tapped it on her head, it made a booming noise. “Ah, the mike’s live.” That got a laugh. She continued, “Ben and I thought you'd like to play a little game tonight,” she said. “What’s the prize?” asked a voice from the back of the room. “I thought it was how you played the game that counted, not a silly old prize,” teased Robin. “You mean there's no prize this year?” asked another voice. “The prize,” said Robin, and she didn’t want to admit it, but maybe she was a trifle full of herself when she answered, “is out in the driveway.” “Not that Winnebago?” gasped someone. “That’s what the bow is for? A door prize?” “You're going to give a motor home away?” gasped a sedate man dressed in a beautifully fitted suit. The man was rumored to have a couple of hundred million and he looked as though someone had just told him that all of his real estate holdings had doubled. He did not seem to be able to comprehend that Ben Bailey was actually going to give away an eighty thousand dollar or so vehicle as a door prize. “Yes, it’s a Winnebago motor home. Jerry, and I almost broke our necks getting that ribbon around it. And I can tell you it's a gorgeous machine–” “Is it new?” someone asked. “Yes,” said Robin. She wanted to add that a friend of Ben's, from Winnebago, had worked a deal with him on it so that, after taxes, the vehicle hadn't cost Ben anything. Ben felt as long as they, or rather he, looked successful, the million dollar deals would chase him. Robin knew their accountants had figured out a way to acquire the motor

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home for almost nothing down, and take its full value as a tax write off for the current year. The Baileys would be making more money out of the prize than the “lucky” recipient. Robin’s thoughts were obliterated by the applause as their guest craned for a glimpse out the window at the motor home. You could feel greed pulse through the room. Mrs. Wilson brought a top hat to Robin. Its brim was tipped upward so its contents would not fall out. “This hat contains each person’s name.” At this point, Ben quickly materialized, stepped forward and reached in the hat and pulled out a name. “And this is the winner.” The band did a drum roll. Right on cue. Ben read the name. “Cardston, you just won a terrific set of wheels.” Robin had seen that when Ben had reached into the hat and “pull out a card at random,” that he had been holding a card in his palm. She understood in a small way why Elizabeth Smart had kept her mouth closed, the poor child. Damn conditioning! The church turning out goodie two shoes who knew better than to cause a commotion. Robin held up the silver key, crossed to the den and presented the key to Cardston. Polite applause. “And,” announced Ben, taking another card—“We have prizes for the runner up–a case of California champagne. Which goes to my brother-in-law, Jerry Wendell.” As Cardston and a dozen of the guests rushed outside to inspect the Winnebago, Robin caught her brother's eye. Jerry looked away but she slipped her arm through his and pulled him gently aside. “You want to tell me what happened?”

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“Nothing, Sis.” Soon the party was over. “Thanks for a lovely evening,” said Tiffany-something. “That little man from New York certainly seemed overwhelmed by the motor home. It was a hell of a door prize.” “Thank you for coming,” said Ben. “I hope we'll see you at our next party.” “I wouldn't miss it for the world. We're all wondering how you're going to top that motor home next year.” “It will give us something to shoot for,” said Ben. Robin felt ill. But she smiled dutifully. Ben gave her a I-told-you-these-people-onlycome-for-one-thing grin. More of the guests started to leave and within a half hour, everyone was gone. Robin stared at the demolished Mercedes and the broken garage doors. “Stop staring. I feel bad enough,” said Ben. “Sorry.” “Are you sore your brother didn't get the motor home?” he asked. “Is that it?” Before Robin could reply, she saw Cardston carrying a large plastic bag around the living room, emptying napkins and food into it. “Cardston,” she said, “don't bother with that. We've got a crew coming in the morning. They'll take care of everything.” “I don't mind,” he said. “Leave it, Cardston. Robin will show you to your room.” Ben turned and walked toward the stairway. “I've got a migraine that won't quit and I have to speak to the caterer,” said Robin, hoping Cardston would get the hint and with luck, leave.

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It didn't work. Ben said to Cardston, “I had Mrs. Wilson take your bags up to your room. This way –” They headed upstairs and as they did Robin overheard Ben complain to Cardston . “The bitch never wants to do anything my way,” grumbled Ben. Robin went into the kitchen, gave the caterer a check, told her to forget about cleaning-up and asked her to lock the door on her way out. Robin slogged down the carpeted corridor toward her bedroom, exhausted from her day that had started at four a.m. Still, she could not resist peeking into Kimmy's bedroom. The child was in deep sleep, curled up into a tight little ball like a baby possum. Robin covered her daughter's bare shoulders. As Robin tucked an edge of the quilt under Kimmy's chin, the little girl stirred and smiled. Robin envied the way Kimmy could sleep so deeply. Robin stroked her daughter's dark hair. It felt smooth and electric under her palm. The child continued smiling and Robin bent low and kissed the little girl on the nape of her neck. She checked on the boys' room. They slept in twin bunks, each shaped like a racing car. Dale, true to form, slept messily. He clutched a wad of used chewing gum in a hand that was half open. Robin pried the gum out of his hand and managed to get his body into a south-north position so that he was sleeping more or less lengthwise. Daryl slept on his side. He was lying with his head on his pillow and his feet pointed toward the bottom of the bed. On his nightstand were half-a-dozen of his plastic

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dinosaurs–arranged in a neat row. His hair even seemed to be combed. Robin gave him a kiss and messed up his hair. “I love the two of you,” she whispered. Outside, in the distance, the faint sound of a siren echoed through the cool night air. The car hops had long since left. The street was deserted. The lighted cut-outs of Baby Jesus and Santa blinked back at her. Over Robin's bed was their marriage certificate. A former president of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints had officiated and signed the document. Beside the certificate was a photograph of the LDS temple in West Los Angeles. That fact that Mormons believed that when you are married in the temple, you and your family will be together forever, had for many years given Robin a warm feeling. But the way Ben was honoring their marriage vows ....she felt awful. Robin peeled off her evening gown and could hear the two men talking and laughing downstairs. She wiggled out of her high heels and padded across the rug to her walk-in closet. The closet was filled with shoes and gowns and dresses. Ben never complained about how much she spent on clothing. On the contrary, he encouraged her to use their platinum credit cards. She tugged on a peignoir and went into the master bath. Robin had commissioned an architect to create a special alcove off the bathroom. The alcove contained a lap pool and a huge bubble skylight. Robin let the peignoir fall to the floor and studied her body in the full-length mirror. So far Ben had not mentioned any deficiencies. He told her he wanted her to get some plastic surgery before she got too old. He allowed that there was nothing amiss yet, but said he had heard that you should have a tummy tuck before you need it.

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She opened a drawer and took out Ben's Christmas gift, diamond studded cuff links and buttons for his tux. He had told her three or four times that was what he wanted. He had even told her where to buy the jewelry. This annoyed her, and her annoyance had increased when she went to Bijou's and the clerk greeted her by name and showed her the cuff links and buttons. Fifteen thousand dollars. She had wanted to buy Ben something with money she made herself. With her part-time modeling, she made less than ten thousand dollars a year. The accompanying Christmas card said: “You never know what true happiness is until you're married–then it's too late,” read the inside words. Robin smiled and hid the card with her make-up. It would only cause hostility and there had already been enough this Christmas. Just give him the present and try to make his Christmas as nice as possible. She thought about the accident he had just been in. Maybe he needed to be see a doctor. Could not walk away from things now. Maybe she never could. That would devastate the children. She decided she would find out what Ben and Cardston were doing. That's why she had a headache. Yes, give them a chance to be together so she could see if Ben was going to honor his promise. Robin put on her robe, went downstairs and saw the light under the exercise door. She could hear water running inside. She tried the door. Locked. Should she intrude? Hell yes, it was her house as much as Ben’s. She knocked.

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Chapter Four No sound from behind the door ... except the hiss of running water. Robin knocked louder. “Ben, you in here?” “Out in a minute.” Ben's voice, flimsy, not so sure of himself. Curious. What was going on? Robin’s mind spawned images of what was happening behind the locked door. She pushed the images into a dark recess. “I'm busy, Robin. Go to bed,” yelled Ben through the heavy door. “Are you all right?” “Yes. Be up in a minute, now go to bed,” said her husband. She stared at the door, a thick cedar barrier. A half inch of wood–maybe that was all that separated them from a divorce. Because if what she thought, what she feared, was happening behind that door, it would be over between her and Ben. Yet she just stood here, frozen. She was angry with herself for being so uncertain. Unwilling to act, to push the door open. Or kick it down if she had any spunk. I'm such a coward, she thought but she realized that if she wanted to keep her family, the best thing would be to turn and walk away. Robin thought of a snapshot she had seen of Elizabeth Smart with a veil over her face and head, attending a party in Salt Lake City a short time after her abduction. The teenager could have screamed for help at any time but she was obviously so traumatized and intimidated by her captors that she was frozen, powerless. When Robin had first seen the photo she couldn’t understand, could not comprehend what had stopped Elizabeth from screaming her lungs out for help. For some reason, Robin had been fascinated by Elizabeth Smart and her inability to call for help. Robin had made a scrap

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book of the young woman’s life and had recorded the TV movie that was later made about her. She had watched the movie again and again, trying to figure out what had terrified Elizabeth Smart. Now Robin was beginning to understand how powerless and afraid and intimidated one could be when you were really intimidated. Maybe it was partly the fault of the way the Mormon Church had controlled her life but ultimately she, Robin, was responsible for it all. Every bit of it. She walked away from the door that separated her from her husband. It was the wrong time to jiggle the boat. But more than that she was beginning to realize how terrified she had become over the years of her loving husband. ************* In the exercise room, Ben sat on the edge of a slant board. Cardston stood in a shower stall, hot water pelting his lithe body. Ben was annoyed with his wife’s constant interference in his life. He walked to the cedar door and leaned against it. “Robin, you out there?” No answer. Again, louder, Ben asked his wife if she was there. No answer. Good, the bitch had gone to bed. She’d probably take a handful of pain killers and sleeping pills – that was how she dealt with her problems. God, there were some things she hated about her. “Hey,” said Cardson. “She giving you a hard time?” Ben dimmed the lights. The steam from the shower filled the room with fine mist. Ben slipped off his shoes. He pulled off his tie, unbuttoned his shirt. The room was

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filling up with more steam and the pieces of weight equipment seemed to change in shape. Their steel frames became legs, their bulky weights were heads of demons. He wondered if the images he saw now would be like those one found in hell. Ben did not believe that many people on earth would end up in hell. Hell was a hell of a hard place for most Mormons to get to. After all, hell was really not part of the Mormon philosophy. As a Mormon, when you died you went onto the next level of happiness or understanding. The Mormon God was much more loving than say, the Baptist God or the Catholic God. Ben blinked and the steam demons evaporated in gray mist. By now he had all of his clothes off except for his temple garments. The garments, sacred underwear, represented the covenants and vows he and Robin had made in the temple–covenants to keep the Lord's commandments. One vow was total faithfulness to one's marriage partner. He took off his garments and tossed them on the tile floor and stepped into the shower with Cardston. Cardston stared at Ben. “Benny, your family is here.” Ben gently reached through the mist and softly drew the tips of his fingers across Cardston's face. Ben's fingers moved to the smaller man's neck, then to his ear. Tenderly, Ben held Cardston's earlobe, then twisted the earlobe. The small man whimpered but Ben kept turning, kept twisting. “You’re hurting me,” said Cardston.” “Welcome to the House of Corrections,” said Ben. “What are you talking about?”

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“My home, the house of corrections,” said Ben. “No matter what I do in my home, there’s always someone trying to correct me. Usually my Goddam wife. Everyone gets to suffer a little here.” He smiled, pleased with his observations. Ben ratched Cardston’s earlog another excruciating half turn. Cardson yelped. “Don’t be such a baby,” said Ben. “You’ll wake up my children.” Cardston was suddenly frightened. “This isn't how we were before, Benny. Please, you're really hurting me.” Bend the smaller man’s ear, Ben forced Cardson’t to kneel in front of him. Ben straddled his naked guest. “Supplication, rhymes with satisfaction. Mine,” said Ben. Cardston remained on his knees on the wet tiles, “You're hurting me,” said Cardston. Ben maintained the pressure on the smaller man's earlobe and at the same time kicked Cardston's right arm. Cardston ended up spread eagle on the wet tile. His chin started to bleed. “I'm hurt, let me up.” The wet tile brought memories back to himself of when he was a twelve year old boy and the football coach, the coach he loved, had forced him to … do things. Things that he had first found terrible and wrong, things that he feared—but under all his confusing emotions, that only a young man could experience, Ben loved his coach. The memories flooded back and he supposed that the coach (now dead) would have been surprised to have seen this steam room. The colors, the tiles, even the grout was the same in Ben’s house as the one where he and the football coach met so often in what became secret ecstasy. Robin and Ben had fought terribly about the design of the steam room. She said

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it reminded her of an old fashioned school gym. Ben didn’t comment on that for that would lead to his secrets. Robin could never understand those secrets, so why even go down that road? Ben grabbed Cardston's buttocks. Cardston was soapy and wet. He managed to pull away and scamper out of the shower. “You're like a greased pig. You ever have an apple in your mouth, little man?” said Ben and laughed softly. He and the coach had played ”the apple game.” “I said I'd stay here but not like this.” Cardston had found his pants and was pulling them on when Ben lunged at him. This time the smaller man was prepared for the attack and he leapt to one side. Ben almost caught hold of him but Cardston was a fraction of a second faster and Ben slipped and fell on the tile. The wall slammed into his face, reopening the wound from earlier in the evening. It took Ben several seconds to get to his feet and by then Cardston’s shaking hands closed on the door. Ben lunged at him again. “You're not going anywhere, you little queer,” said Ben. “Get down on your knees.” Trying desperately to get away, Cardston clawed at the lock. It suddenly swung open. There was Robin. She took in everything, everything: Wet tile. Steam. Streaks of blood on the wall. She heard the ticking of a grandfather clock someplace down the hallway as Cardston scampered around a corner and disappeared.

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Ben stood unsteadily on the damp tile. His mouth twisted into a curse but no words came. He pulled a robe from the wall and put it on. Put it on as though nothing had happened. Without looking at his wife, even though he could feel her revulsion, he said: “Go back to bed.” “What the hell were you two doing in here?” Robin demanded. In that one instance, Robin’s intimidation had changed to something else. Spunk. It was either stand up and fight or run for the rest of her life. She saw in her mind an image of herself with a veil over her head like Elizabeth Smart. Ben would like that, dragging her around, parading her in front of his friends. Too afraid to speak. Well, Elizabeth Smart, where ever you are, god bless you, thought Robin. Thank you for showing me the way. “Just go up to the bedroom,” said Ben. “I asked you what you were doing here?” “I was getting cleaned up.” “Bullshit,” she said. She had very seldom used that word. But it felt good. “You were hurting Cardson, playing some kind of … of sex game.” “You crazy menopausal bitch.” There had been a brief time when she and Ben had an interesting sex life. But when she thought about it, which she didn’t like to do, he had never treated her much like a woman in bed. She felt like he used her the way she imaged a man would use another man. “Get upstairs,” he said.

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“No. I want to talk to Cardston about what went on in there,” she said. Ben glared at her. He tied his robe sash in front of him. He did not look at her as he spoke. He spoke slowly, deliberately, enunciating his words with icy precision. “I was going to have a shower. Cardston made a pass at me. I pushed him away. He hit me. I didn't know he was that way.” “No more lies.” “Go upstairs,” said Ben. She looked at him with total and complete defiance. She shook her head, negatively. He slapped her hard across the mouth. That was a first. She felt no pain, at least no physical pain. The last time a man had hit Robin it had been her father when she accidentally broke the windshield on his new car. Well not accidentally exactly, she was seeing how close she could throw a stone at the car without hitting it. Robin had been seven. Ben glowered at her, daring Robin to retaliate. Either physically or verbally. She knew she would never kiss him again, never go on picnics with him again, never laugh at a Craig Fergeson or Chris Rock monologue with him again. She would go upstairs and pack and leave with the kids. Their relationship was over. She headed up the stairs. ”Don’t you walk away from me. We aren’t done.” “We are done, Ben.” She did not look back, just kept walking. She was afraid that he might race after her, she knew if that happened she would run. He called after her again but she simply turned the corridor at the top of the stairs and went into the master bedroom, locking the door.

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She stared at their marriage certificate in its gold frame. She could see her reflection in its glass. She wanted someone to hold her and tell her it was all right. She wanted to be a good LDS wife, wanted to share the priesthood with her husband, wanted to take joy in their life. Maybe if she was lucky she would find another husband, a good decent guy who just wanted to love her and take care of her and she would take care of him. She bit back the tears. There were no sirens, no sounds of traffic noise–not even a dog barking. She heard footsteps outside and looked out the bedroom window. By the Winnebago, Robin could see Cardston with a suitcase. He pulled open the door to the RV and tossed in his suitcase. Robin wanted to call down to him that he didn't have to leave. She wasn’t sure if he had made a pass at Ben or it had been the other way around. It didn't really matter, let them have each other. She felt sorry for Cardston. As Cardston backed out the driveway in his new motor home, Ben hobbled into the light and said something to Cardston. Carson kept driving. Ben raced, or rather hobbled after the motor home. He made it to the gate before the motor home and started to close it. It did not move for he had already bent the gate beyond repair with the Mercedes. The motor home backed out onto the road and Ben kept screaming at Cardston to stop. Cardston ground the Winnebago into first and floorboarded it. Ben grabbed a hunk of the metal gate and stumbled after the motor home, brandishing the piece of steel like a club. As the motor home accelerated into the night, Ben hurled his “club” at the vehicle.

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It clanged against the rear of it, leaving a dent above the spare tire. And then the Winnebago was gone. Ben ran back to the Mercedes and got in but it wouldn't start. He leapt out and whacked his fist on the hood of his car. The impact left a dent the size of an apple. He stood there in the moonlight for a few minutes. Robin heard one of the twins call for water and she turned toward the voice. When she looked out the window again, Ben was gone. Dale wanted some water–but by the time she went into the bathroom, poured it and brought it back to him, he was sound asleep again. She rechecked on Kimmy and then emptied the soaking tub–she did not feel like bathing, just sleeping. She lay down on her side of the bed and squeezed her eyes closed. Strange her migraine headache was gone. Robin had no idea what Ben would do. She was probably safe enough in the room with the door bolted. Sure he could bust in but she knew him better than that. Or she thought she did. Now Robin realized she had known all along that he was going out with other people. She almost said women, but she knew that he liked men more than women. She just hadn’t want to admit it. But when she had taken a stand, things snapped together. Everything was becoming clearer. Now, no turning back for either of them. She knew that there no options but divorce and it made her ache all over when she thought of that. Especially for the children. She had tried so hard …. Robin became aware of sounds from the first floor. At first metallic clicks. Then something being dragged around–the rustle of papers and then an echo–water dripping? The sound was coming through the window. It was coming from the lower floor.

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Robin unlocked the door, peered out. She could hear something coming from the bottom floor, she crept to the top of the stairs. Nothing. Then the ticking of the grandfather clock. The creak of a door closing. The distant hum of a plane. Robin headed down the stairs. She was cautious–it didn't make sense that water should be running. Maybe a pipe in a wall had sprung a leak or someone had left a tap on but that sound would be continuous. This dripping was intermittent. Maybe water running down the chimney. The fireplace was filled with gnarled brown logs pilled in a neat pyramid over the grate. No sign of water from any place. She was afraid of Ben but by now he would have cooled down. She doubted if he would attack her physically. She feel for the cell phone in her pocket. She should call someone. The sound was coming from the kitchen. She opened the door to the kitchen and saw Ben at the same time that she smelled the gasoline. In one hand he had a match, in the other he held a watering can, its spout dropping toward the Mexican tiled floor. He saw her at the same instant she saw him. “Did you ever wonder,” he asked her, “how many miles this house'd get on three gallons of gasoline?” “What are you doing?” she stammered. She had not expected this. “Destroying this place.” “Ben, please –” “You've destroyed this family.” Ben hated her, more than he had ever imagined. Why couldn’t she have left things alone? “What are you talking about?”

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He snapped the wooden match along the counter. It left a black track on the tile as its flame blazed, a tiny sun, reflected in Ben's eyes. She prayed she would get the kids out of the house safely. Dazed, she found herself wondering how anyone could destroy such a beautiful kitchen. All that hand-painted tile, all that leaded glass and appliances from the cutting edge of technology, thanks to Ben's connections with the Japanese manufacturers. Ben moved the match closer to a puddle of gasoline that had pooled on the counter top. The tiny lake of gasoline covered a tile that had been painstakingly painted with a pair of Mexican hat dancers. Robin kept her voice low, “I can understand how you feel about me–but what about your children?” She was going to call them “our” children but “your” sounded better. She glanced down at the white tile on the floor and whispered, “I'm sorry. I'm sorry.” She didn't dare look up for fear that direct eye contact would cause Ben to touch the match to the shimmering gasoline. “You think there was anything going on with me and Cardston?” She shook her head. “I asked you a question, bitch. Answer me.” She kept her eyes averted. “I'm sure there was nothing going on between you and Cardston.” She could smell the sulfur of the burning match and finally she looked up and saw him shake it out. She stared at the blackened matchstick. She was aware of her heart beating, hammering at the back of her head. “Please go upstairs, Ben. I'll clean up here. Please.” “We're sleeping together tonight, understand?”

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“Yes,” she said. She saw the gas seep along the counter top, crawl along the stove top and drip into the burner. “Good. It’s going to be a great Christmas after all.” The thin finger of gas wound its way to the pilot light which ignited it. “Watch out!” she screamed, it was already too late. Woooosh!!! Within seconds the kitchen was a sheet of fire. As the flames dashed through the kitchen, Robin and Ben staggered out into the corridor. Robin got the door closed. Flames lapped out from beneath it and the scent of gasoline changed to smoke. “Get Sister Wilson,” yelled Robin. “I'll get the children!” She dashed up the stairs toward the kids' rooms. The fire and smoke alarms came on. For some reason the upstairs alarms were ringing but there was no sound from the main floor or basement. She ran into her daughter's room. Kimmy, who had heard the alarms, pulled a pillow over her head to stop the noise. Robin gathered Kimmy into her arms. The child grabbed her teddy bear and the three of them lurched through the bathroom into the twins' rooms. “Boys, get up!” “What for?” asked Dale. “Like duh,” said Kimmy, “the house just happens to be on fire.” The twins were out of bed in a flash. By this time smoke was starting to pour through the air conditioning ducts. Dale grabbed his pet frog, Daryl picked up a green Gila monster and they all ran down the stairs and out the front door. The smoke was now blasting out of the ducts in dark, oily clouds.

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Across the street, lights came on. The sound of the alarm was loud enough to wake up most of the neighbors. A private patrol car coasted to a stop in front of the house and a couple of rent-a-cops stepped out. Robin herded the kids toward the Mercedes in the driveway. “Jeez,” said Dale. “What happened to Dad's car?” “Dad had a little accident,” said Kimmy. “Glad to see you kids got out,” said Ben. He held the mobile phone from the Mercedes. He spoke into the receiver, “Yes. At 244 Tulip. Hancock Park. Why the hell aren't you here? My goddamn house is burning down.” He clicked off the phone. “I don't know what's taking them so long!” “What happened to the goddamn house?” asked Dale. “Watch your tongue, young man,” said Robin. She glanced around. “Where's Sister Wilson?” “I'm calling the fire chief.” Ben hunted for the chief's home number, found it and dialed the number. “Ben,” said Robin, “you did check Sister Wilson's room, didn't you?” No answer. “She doesn't sleep with her hearing aid. She can't hear anything.” “It doesn't stop her from smelling, does it?” Ben asked, not looking up from his cellular phone, “She's out–probably around the back.” Robin was already sprinting towards the rear of the house. Through the cathedral window she glimpsed the Christmas tree afire, leaning against the window. Flames

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spiraled from its top, lapped at the stain glass–there was a dull crack and the window split down the center as smoke shot out of it. The lights in the house started to flash on and off. Each time Robin glanced at the house something else had caught on fire. Fire lapped at the window sills. A roof tile erupted in a finger of yellow flame. A twig of fire snapped out of the east chimney. Robin circled the house, side-stepping a falling hunk of shingle. She made her way to the back entrance, steering around a blizzard of shingles. Sister Wilson was no where in sight. Robin tried the back door–it was not yet warm. She turned the knob. It was locked, the key hidden in the greenhouse. The door had a fairly large window but unfortunately there were bars on it. Solid black bars that would stop anyone from entering or exiting. Robin picked up a rock and smashed the window. Immediately there was a whoosh of hot air from inside the house–she peered past the curtains and into the hallway. Through the curtains the fire had transformed the interior to pink. Robin called Sister Wilson's name and carefully reached through the broken window. She felt heat–about the same kind of temperature she was used to when she took a roast from an oven. How long before the interior of the house would be charbroiled? She called Sister Wilson's name again and felt a tug on her skin. A wedge of glass had sliced the edge of her forearm. Her fingers closed around the outline of a lock. It was metal, warm. She gave it a twist and then felt something turn. She pushed against the door and squinted past the smoke. She pressed the fabric of her robe against her face. Cautiously, Robin crept into the burning house. She stopped every foot or so to call out

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Sister Wilson's name. The darkening smoke swirled behind her and she could no longer see out the back door. * * * * * * * ** * * * * * * * On the other side of the house, the twins and Kimmy stood by their father who completed his fourth call to the fire department and his second to the fire chief. The distant sound of sirens screamed closer. “Boy,” said Dale, “I guess you told those firemen what's what, huh, Dad?' “I sure did.” “How'd she start?” asked the other twin. Ben had seen enough Crime Scene Investigation movies to realize that when the arson squad arrived it would look as though he had torched his own home. It was critical for him to get the watering can out of the house if he ever wanted to collect insurance money. And if he didn't get rid of that gas container, he might be charged with arson. If Robin had only acted responsibly, if she had only supported him, then there would be no fire, no fire trucks. There would be no problem. Ben was half way to the front of the house as a LAPD helicopter pounded its way across the smoke-filled sky. The fact that Robin had opened the rear door drove the fire deeper into the house, away from the front. So when Ben finally pushed the door open, he was able to enter and make his way to the kitchen area. He was so intent on getting there he did not notice Kimmy tagging after him to see if she could help with the rescue of her mother. Neither the father nor daughter took any notice of the police cars that fishtailed in front of the house. Using a flashlight, and holding a rag to his mouth, Ben continued into

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the house. He was surprised that the brick kitchen was more or less intact, except for the charred walls. The beam of his flashlight found the empty gas container. The fire had melted a part of the plastic on the handle and warped the metal. Ben wrapped the rag around his hand, reached out and picked up the container. The molten plastic was so hot he dropped the container with a loud scream. Ben saw Kimmy huddled behind him.He grabbed her and she clung to him. “I thought you needed some help finding Mommy.” Holding the child in one arm, Ben slipped a broomstick through the handle of the galvanized container. In the hallway were several window seats. The heat had already cracked the stained glass windows above them. They looked like shattered spider webs. Ben used his foot to kick open one of the window seats. He flipped the metal container in it and tossed the broom stick away. Kimmy was crying and coughing. “Hold on, honey, we're going to get out of here.” They were only a half-dozen feet from the front door. Ben could feel his daughter's chest fluttering against his shoulder as she tried to get rid of the smoke in her lungs. He managed to avoid the thick black smoke and breathe when he was in pockets of air. “Only a few more seconds, honey–try to hold your breath—” “Can't, Daddy,” she sobbed. “Where's Mommy?” “Don't worry. Don't talk.” A timber that had been burning in the corridor ripped loose from the ceiling and crashed toward him. Ben huddled over his daughter to protect her. He held her tight and positioned himself so he would take the brunt of the impact. A brick jutting from the bearing wall deflected the beam and veered to one side–striking

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Ben a glancing blow on his right side. He stumbled toward the front door and as he reached it, firemen kicked it in carrying a monstrous fire hose in front of them. The fireman pointed the hose to one side, and a blast of water shot out of it. The fireman aimed the spray at the ceiling and the room was bathed in a torrent of rain. Ben felt the water cascade around him, the heat dissipated and hands reached for him and guided him out the entrance and to safety. As he emerged from the structure Ben was amazed to see so many firemen and policemen. The next door neighbor's kid, a brat of a child, was standing on his lawn, pointing a Sony Camcorder at him. Ben was disoriented but he understood how important it was to smile and hold his daughter as she clutched his neck and kept saying, “Daddy, you saved me. You saved me.” Out of the corner of his eye, Ben caught sight of a local television network anchorman and his camera crew. More fire trucks arrived by the second. Another police helicopter flew low over the building and a loud speaker from it told onlookers to clear a path for the ambulances. Paramedics rushed toward Ben, took his daughter from him and placed a respirator on her tiny face. He was about to protest, about to say nothing was wrong, when someone jammed a respirator in his face. Ben realized then how badly his lungs needed fresh air. He looked around for Robin and the twins and maybe Sister Wilson. He saw his neighbors staring from the sidewalk, their eyes dilated against the black night. He was aware of people loading him into an ambulance. The news crew was taking footage. The video brat from next door was grinding away with his camera. Just before the medics slammed the ambulance door

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closed, Ben saw several people from the block clapping and cheering, calling him a hero. And then he blacked out.

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February 19, 2004. The time sequence….I think it’s okay…nothing here about Elizabeth Smart..

Wednesday, May 23, 2007 Chapter Six Eighteen hours later, on Christmas night, Robin, the kids and Sister Wilson drove to the burned out shell of what was left of their home. Robin had barely managed two hours of sleep in the last thirty-six. She had spent most of the night at the hospital and the rest trying to explain to the kids that sometimes “dreadful things” happen that are no one's fault. The kids seemed more worried about the loss of their presents than the three million dollar house. Robin promised them more toys. What else could a mother do? “Boy there ain't much left of the old house, is there, Mom?” asked Dale. The lawn was cluttered with trampled cardboard reindeer and a squashed plywood outline of the Baby Jesus. A few blackened sticks marked where the corners of the house had been. Only two areas of the house were recognizable–what was left of the powder room on the main floor and a wedge of the adjoining garage on the east. The second floor no longer existed. “We couldn't even sell what's left for scrap,” said Daryl. “Yep—” said his brother. “All she's good for is the bulldozer.” “The gate's OK,” said Kimmy. “Like, dah, but it's smashed in,” said Dale. “I know,” she said, “Daddy did that with the Mercedes. Hey, Winnebago is gone.” “A man won it at the party,” said Robin. “Too bad–we could have used it to live in,” said the little girl. She skipped toward the twisted metal gate to inspect it more closely. “I think I can still swing on it.”

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“No. There’s too many sharp things there. You stay way from that area, ” said Robin. “Boys, keep an eye on your sister.” They trudged after Kimmy as Robin and Sister Wilson made their way along a brick path to where the side entrance had been. Robin glanced down at the burnt brick. “I said I wanted used brick in our place, finally got my wish.” “You'll have another home soon,” said Sister Wilson. “You know my great grandparents came across the desert to Salt Lake City in covered wagons and they were burned out twice. Everything will work out.” “Except we don’t have covered wagon,” said Robin. She continued to walk through charred sections of the house, picking her way from room to room careful not to walk through walls, even though they weren't there. “You would have been toast if Mom hadn't found you last night.” Dale told Sister Wilson “Easy on the melodrama. Everything's over now,” said Robin. But she realized this was not true. She was going to have to do something about her marriage. It would be a massive problem for her because in the eyes of the church and its members, Ben and she were married, sealed forever, was the term in their temple marriage. Forever, not just until death. If there was one thing that had seemed to give him security it was knowing his family was going to be with him forever. No turning back now. Ben had often told her this after they had children. At the time this had given her a sense of purpose and peace. She knew the church made it almost impossible to get divorced after being married in the temple. Nevertheless, she was going to get a temple divorce now because

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there was no way she intended to spend eternity with Ben. Being with Ben for ever a night would be a nightmare to end all nightmares. As Robin gazed at the charred spears of what was left of her home, the thought came to her that nothing was forever. She had learned–again and again in Sunday School– there were some things that did not change. The basic teachings of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The concept of eternal marriage. Talk about happily ever afterwards. They had bought into it and she had been the dutiful wife. Enough, already. Goodbye eternal marriage. Goodbye forever and ever. A breeze stirred the black ashes and revealed what was left of a book Robin had ordered on the internet. The book was entitled “Bringing Elizabeth Home,” written by Ed and Lois Smart. It was subtitled “A Journey of Faith and Hope.” On the burned cover was a charred color photograph of Ed and Lois standing on either side of their child, Elizabeth, the one that had been abducted at knifepoint from their Salt Lake Home. A home that must have seemed so secure and safe for the entire Smart family until the degenerate with the knife had creep in and Elizabeth had vanished. Robin was not certain why she had purchased the book, perhaps it was to reaffirm how important family was, perhaps Robin thought that by reading about a family that could endure anything for each other she would find the strength to make her family work. Yet, she realized she was not like Elizabeth’s mother and Ben was certainly not like Elizabeth’s father. The thing that had held the Smart family together was the parent’s love and dedication for the kids. Robin did not want to think about it but she realized a part of Ben hated her.

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The children were swinging on the twisted metal gate. It was amazing how quickly kids made the best of a devastating situation. “I'll take pictures now,” said Sister Wilson. “What?” asked Robin, jarred out of her thoughts of the Smarts. Sister Wilson withdrew a small digital camera from her large purse and snapped away. “Brother Bailey called from the hospital. He wants photos of what was left.” “Sure,” said Robin, wondering why Ben wanted photos of the blackened remains then realizing it was probably for the insurance. “Rrrr-ping,” went digital camera. Yesterday the house was so beautiful. Ben had destroyed it. Now it was just a shell. Robin wondered how long it would be before she would be a shell, a chared outline of what she was, who she was or had been. She was being so damn melodramatic. Smarten up, lady, she told herself. “Rrrr-ping.” Sister Wilson moved in and took a shot of the garage and the battered Mercedes beside it. “Rrrr-ping.” Sister Wilson managed a shot of the general area of the front room where the huge tree had been standing. The only recognizable things left in the room were a couple of marble columns–everything else was burned out silhouettes and ashes. Robin's eyes met Sister Wilson's. “You’ll build another house, it'll all be fine,” said the older woman. “No, no, it won't.” “I understand how you feel but as long as you are a family, you have everything,” said Sister Wilson. “What are you doing with that book?”

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Robin glanced down at her hand and realized she had picked up the charred remains of the book the Smarts had read. Of all the things to rescue from remanents of her home, that seemed the strangest of all to bother with. She set the book down and the breeze flipped the blackened pages. She felt like those pages. There would be time enough to explain to Sister Wilson. Robin wondered if the older lady could handle the trauma of the Baileys disintegrating. Robin slipped her arm around her housekeeper's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “I realize that you and Brother Bailey have been having a few problems. I think this may be a blessing,” said Sister Wilson. “You do?” Blessing, was this woman addled? What kind of blessing is it when your husband torches your home? “Yes,” said Sister Wilson. “It's amazing what a little adversity can do for a relationship. This all may be the Lord's way of helping you.” “I don't think Father-in-Heaven had much to do with this,” said Robin. “And although this may not be the time nor the place to bring this up–our family is going to go through a … transition.” There the cat was out of the bag. But of course Sister Wilson would not get it. “Brother Bailey asked me to pray for the family. He said you needed our help. You're thinking of leaving him, aren't you?” Their housekeeper needed the Baileys to be the perfect Mormon family. “When did he say this?” “Early this morning. He called twice and I think he had been crying. He's very concerned about you.”

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Oh, was about all Robin could muster. “He made me promise not to upset you. I'm sorry,” said Sister Wilson. “He told me the two of you had a fight. I knew you were upset about his getting in an accident and being late for your party. But there are so many things more important than families.” “I didn't care about the party,” said Robin. “It really wasn't his fault. He was in an accident and he should have been in the hospital.” Sister Wilson was in total denial but who could blame her, until Robin Christmas eve so had Robin. “I told him to go to the hospital,” said Sister Wilson, babbling on, not realizing the crisis the Baileys were in the midst of. Ben had their housekeeper on his side. “What do you think caused this fire?” asked Robin. “I don't know.” “Sister Wilson, I know you care deeply for this family. I know you respect my husband.” “He holds the priesthood,” said Sister Wilson. “He's head of your home.” “The church says that a man who holds the priesthood, who is worthy of his priesthood, is the head of the home.” “He's worthy,” said Sister Wilson. “No.” “That would be up to the brethren to decide, not us,” said Sister Wilson. Robin made certain the kids were out of ear shot. She said: “Ben tried to burn down the house. We could all have been killed.”

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Sister Wilson appeared as though she had just seen the children explode. Ben was so good at getting to people. A master strategist. Robin had seen him again and again manipulate businessmen so deftly, so smoothly that they were not even aware of what had happened until a month after they signed the contracts. Yes, he had Sister Wilson on his side. Their housekeeper did not understand that lengths that Ben would do to maintain his sham marriage. He needed his family for his self image, for his standing in the community and the church. And in his own way, his twisted way, he loved the kids and Robin supposed even her. Dale raced toward his mother with a fistful of mail; Daryl and Kimmy pounded after him. “Hey, Mom,” yelled Dale, “Look-it what I found.” The whirlwinds the kids closed on their mother. “Hold on, you dervishes,” said Robin, “slow down or you'll churn yourself into butter – ”, Dale beat the air with a handful of mail, pretending the letters were a tomahawk. The kids were more agile than Robin but her timing was better–she managed to snare the fistful of letters. “Stop acting like crazy kids and settle down, we have to leave.” “Hey, Mom,” said Daryl, “Dad will be ticked we didn't bring in the mail yesterday.” Robin nodded. Ben would be annoyed. He had certain ways of doing things, his way. Most of the letters were junk mail–there were some bills that could wait, there were four or five invitations to subscribe to various magazines, a copy of People and Entertainment and finally a letter that had been returned. It was from Ben to some clinic.

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She opened it. The bill was for $200 for an AIDS test for Ben. He had sent a check but somehow gotten the wrong address of the clinic on the envelope. Oh, God, she thought. “Mom,” begged Kimmy, “could we camp here tonight? You know like the Mormon pioneers used to?” “We'll see,” said Robin, “but right now we have to go visit Dad.” “He's a real hero, isn't he, Mom?” asked Dale. “Yes,” replied Robin. “A real hero.” What would be the point in destroying their image of him? Not much. Kimmy sprinted across the yard to snatch her teddy bear out of the ashes. Teddy was water-logged and blackened with soot and burnt ash. “Mommy, look what I found,” yelled the girl. “We'll get you a new one, honey–come on, hop in the van.” Kimmy didn't pay any attention. “You'll be all right, baby,” she said. “We're going to take you to the doll hospital–you'll be good as new.” “Honey,” said Robin, “leave Teddy here–we'll get you a new one, all right?” “No.” The child hugged the sopping wet bear against her cheek. “Honey,” said Robin, “you're ruining your dress.” “Don't care. Not leaving Teddy.” “OK, you can keep Teddy and we'll get him dried out and maybe buy him a new coat, I bet we can even find another eye for him.” “And everything will be fine?” asked the child. “Everything will be fine.”

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“And are we going to fix up the house too?” asked Kimmy. “I don't know. We'll get a house just as nice.” “And we'll all be a family again, right?” asked the child. “That's a funny question. Where did that come from?” The child brushed the wet fur on the teddy bear's head to one side. “I talked to Father-in-Heaven last night.” “You mean when you said your prayers?” “No,” said the child. “When I was asleep, I was walking in this field and I talked to Father-in-Heaven.” “That's nice,” said Robin, strapping the child into one of the van's seats. “And,” said Kimmy, “Father-in-Heaven said that you and the twins and me are going to live someplace else. Not with Daddy.” “Has Kimmy been talking to God again?” asked Dale. “God only speaks directly to the president of the church? Not some girl,” said the other boy. Mrs. Wilson climbed into the passenger seat. She was looking at Robin and smiling. “You boys make sure your seat belts are done up,” said their housekeeper as Robin slid behind the wheel and started the van. She adjusted her rear view mirror and caught sight of her daughter who was holding the teddy bear in her arms. She had always known the child was special. But this ability to sense what was going on was unsettling. Robin remembered how she and Ben had picked the child up from the hospital as a three week old baby. The child's eyes seemed so penetrating, like she knew everything. Of course that was impossible.

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As Robin slipped the van into gear and headed down the street, she remembered how heavenly the first three years of marriage had been. It was shortly after the twins were born that Ben started his pattern of slipping away for two or three days and returning with battle scars. As Robin pulled into the hospital parking, she saw Ben in her mind, standing in front of that same hospital, seven years and eleven months ago to the day. She saw herself about to tell him no, it has to stop. But before she could tell him what she wanted to say, Dr. Weintraub arrived and was congratulating them both on being “new parents.” Robin found herself swept along to the nursery. Just as she was about to tell Ben “No, it won't ever, ever work,” she looked down at the child. Robin was hopelessly lost when she saw the tiny baby and the baby smiled up at her. Robin had picked up the soft sweet scented child and held her, looking at her husband who smiled victoriously. Robin didn't care. She just held Kimmy. The family seemed complete. She set the hand brake on her car. Ben had outsmarted her seven years ago at this same hospital but not again. This time there was no baby with which he could manipulate her. “I bet Daddy misses us, huh?” asked Daryl. “I'm sure he does,” said Sister Wilson. She was holding the twins' hands.

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Transition poor here….check it out.

Chapter Six As soon as the elevator door to the Xth floor opened Robin could tell which room her husband was in. Half-a-dozen people milled about outside. Doctors and nurses going in and out and more noise around the doorway than at a Madonna concert. The kids dashed ahead. Her view of Ben's bed was obscured by the crowd gathered around him, swapping jokes and drinking orange juice and pop. “-- so getting your wife to do what you want her to is like training a pig to whistle. It's very difficult and sometimes the pig gets mad as hell,” said Ben and everyone laughed. In the corner someone had rigged up a television set and VCR with a continuous clip of Ben being rushed from his burning home and loaded into the ambulance. An announcer's voice droned on about how Ben Bailey had saved the life of his daughter by plunging into his blazing house, risking his own life. After being overcome by smoke he was rushed to St. John's Hospital in Santa Monica where his life hung in the balance. Probably the station manager or one of the key share holders owed Ben something. He had connections everywhere. Kimmy and the twins crowded around the bed. The adults stepped out of their way but went on trading jokes and gossip. Robin glanced from the television set back to Ben who was propped up in his bed, basking in the attention. “How are you doing?” she asked.She was so tired of Ben's manipulation and lying– playing the injured party. He was a master at getting sympathy. Here was Ben driving

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around in his Mercedes and somehow he could always get a guy in a dented Volkswagen to stop and change his tire. “I'm fine, darling. Appreciate your bringing the kids,” he said. “What kind of ogre are you making me out to be? “ she asked. Ben just smiled. Gamely. He was good at that, she thought. She noticed that his friends were looking at her as though she were the wicked stepmother in Cinderella. “You're a hero,” said Dale, climbing up on the bed and trying to sit on Ben's lap. All eyes turned back to Ben to see how he would deal with hero worship. Ben patted his son's head. “Well, son,” he said. “It just seems that way 'cause you're young.” There were nods of approval from the gathered guests. “Does life change when you get older, Dad?” asked the other twin. “Like you would not believe,” said Ben. He glanced at Robin. They shared a special secret. The secret was–both knew what a phony he was. How could it be no one else was on to him? “Aren't you going to give your weary old husband a kiss, darling?” he asked, playing to the room. “No, I've got a cold.” “She's a bit annoyed about something,” Ben said to the group. Robin glanced across the room at the tv and watched Ben again being loaded into the back of the ambulance. “We need to talk, Ben.” He looked at the people in the room who were staring at Robin. “Could you give a man and his devoted wife a few minutes together?”

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The well-wishers nodded, filed out of the room and began talking among themselves in the corridor. “Sister Wilson,” said Robin, “do you mind taking the kids in the other room–” The kids did not want to leave but Sister Wilson marched them out. “Oh, Kimmy,” said Robin as her daughter started to leave, “do you mind turning that video tape off?” The child and snapped off the tv and video player. The screen turned white then flashed to black. After the kids left, Sister Wilson pulled the hospital door shut. “Is the house a write-off?” he asked. “Yes.” “What about my Mercedes?” he asked. “I have something else to talk to you about–” “Did Sister Wilson take Polaroid shots of everything? Come on, come on!” He held out his hand and snapped his fingers–he wanted the photos right now. Robin hunted through her purse for the Polaroids–and, nervous, dropped the purse. The photos, along with most of the contents of her purse, tumbled onto the floor–lipstick and compacts skittered across the carpet and her mascara exploded. And in the midst of everything was the mail–the mail she had not picked up until that morning. He scooped up the mail and turned several envelopes over. He noticed his check and bill that had been returned from the clinic. Ben took a deep breath, lay back on the bed, rested his head on his pillow and stared at the ceiling. He did not talk to her. He talked

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to the ceiling. “When I was in Seattle, a guy had a heart attack. I gave him mouth-tomouth–turned out he had AIDS. I told Dr. Weintraub and he suggested I get tested.” “Really?” “Yes. Really,” replied her husband. “What was the point in worrying you?” “What would be the point?” Ben blinked, stopped looking at the ceiling. “Ben Bailey's going to make money out of this fire.” Robin always thought that people talked about themselves in the third person when they had started to lose it. It was as though by speaking of themselves as someone else, people lost sight of the fact that they were ultimately responsible for what they did. It was as though another person was taking action, not themselves. “Did you hear what I said? I said Ben Bailey is going to make money out of that fire.” “You mean you are?” “That's what I said.” “No, you said Ben Bailey, like you were talking about a different person.” “You're crazy,” he said. “Me. Ben Bailey. Mr. Bailey. Ben. Same person.” “Well, you and Ben Bailey and Mr. Bailey and Ben and whoever else you put in the mix–all had a talk with me last night. Remember you all promised to honor your priesthood?”He went back to contemplating the ceiling. “I've been thinking, the Baileys ought to try a place in Beverly Hills.” “The Baileys?” “Yes,” he said. “The Bailey's. You. Me. Kimmy. The twins. Last time I checked those were the Baileys.”

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“No.” Robin said. “What's got into you?” He did not look at her. She glanced out the window. She could see her car. How clearly she remembered the other time in that parking lot–to pick up her little daughter. “Stop gaping out of that window and get out of here–tell my friends they can come back in,” said Ben. She grabbed some of the Polaroids and thrust them at her husband. “Look at these– you see what you did to our house. The kids could have died.” “Bullshit.” “I am going to divorce you,” she said. “I will do everything in my power to make certain the children have a chance at a decent life.” “You want to make me angry again?” he asked. “Is that what you're trying to do? Make me angry? Because when I get angry, don't you always regret it?” He paused as they stared at each other. “So give me a kiss and we'll forget all this crazy stuff.”

“I know you think you can talk your way out of this. And maybe you could have a year ago. But the person you are now is so different. I can't take a chance on living with what you are now. I really can't.” “Gimme a kiss and shut up.”“No, it's over, Ben.” “Read that article about mega divorces in People Magazine, huh? “No.” “I know how your little mind rotates, Robin. I bet you're already talked to F. Lee Bailey.”

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“Money is not the issue. It's the children.” “You're telling me you aren't concerned about money?” “I'm only concerned about the kids.” “What about the fact we were married in the temple? That our family is eternal? You want to fuck that up too, do you?” “I'm sorry about that part of our lives. If we hadn't been married in the temple, I would have given up a lot sooner.” “Fine. I'll have a financial agreement drawn up. You try to screw me financially, I'll take the children away from you. And they'll turn against you.” She knew how angry he was. She also knew he didn't believe she was serious about leaving him. He would find out. She felt her stomach churning again. She didn't need any more pain. “Get out,” he said. “I'm leaving.” She headed for the door. As her fingers closed on the knob, Ben said: “You're not yourself. You think about everything, you'll come to your senses.” She shook her head. She could not look at him. She just shook her head and felt the warm tears slip down her cheek. Robin knew if they ever got into a knock-down dragout battle, Ben would destroy her. She was strong but she did not have his gift for guerrilla warfare, nor did she possess his zeal for fighting. He liked battle. He thrived on conflict. She did not. She knew the only way to avoid a fight with him was to give him whatever he wanted so she would give him everything, except the children.

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Robin had been telling the truth when she said she was not concerned about money. This was her ace card. Money was Ben's God. It was his way of keeping score. The only way Robin had a fighting chance was to give Ben everything he wanted. Everything except the children. ********* Tuesday, Robin sat in Dr. Weintraub's office and watched as he drew a vial of blood from her, carefully dabbed antiseptic on her wound, and then pressed a bandage on her. Doctors always had such nice bandages. “If I had AIDS could my children get it from me?” “Will you stop that? The chances of your having AIDS are very remote and if someone has it in a family, that does not mean other members of the family can get it. Read these pamphlets–unless there's an exchange of bodily fluids, it's perfectly safe to live with a person who has AIDS.” Dr. Weintraub took Robin's blood pressure. “It's been a year since I had sex with my husband and we've been married for twelve years and there have been no other men.” “You're a faithful woman. I know that.” “I still can't believe Ben has had other ... relationships. A part of me has known, well suspected, for a long time. But it's still hard to believe Ben would violate our marriage -”“Maybe you shouldn't blame him so much.” “Who should I blame?” “Maybe our religion, it's pretty restrictive.” “You think it's my fault, don't you?” she asked.

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“No. People have some pretty powerful drives.” Dr. Weintraub scribbled a prescription on a pad and handed it to her. “This is to help you sleep.” “I've never needed sleeping pills and I'm not going to start taking them now.” “You sure about the divorce?” “Yes. Has Ben been talking to you about it?” “He's an old friend. Like you. I want to see you both happy.” “He isn't interested in keeping me. He just doesn't want to lose me.” “There's still counseling --” “He won't go,” she said. “Maybe I could talk to him, maybe I could persuade him.” “It's too late, “said Robin. She thought the doctor might understand medicine but he didn't understand other things. “It's a good idea to be flexible at times like this–you'd be surprised what you can work out. People change.” She said: “The thing that stops me from wanting to try is Ben's violence. I will not deal anymore with a violent person. It's as simple as that.” She saw their home engulfed in flames, saw the terrified children, saw the maniacal expression on Ben's face. It would serve no purpose to explain that side of Ben to Dr. Weintraub. He would not believe her. “All right. Do you have a place to stay?” asked Dr. Weintraub. “The kids and I are in a motel. I guess in the next day or two we'll move out to Westlake. My brother is out there.” “Your folks passed away a few years ago, didn't they?” he said, glancing at her records.

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“Yes. Jerry is all the family I have.” Dr. Weintraub coiled his stethoscope and slipped it into his pocket. “Ben is truly concerned over what's happening. I think the two of you could work this thing out if you wanted to.” “We're past the point of no return.” “That's just a mind set. He's a good man. Good provider. He loves the children. He loves you.” “No.” When she had first started to talk with Dr. Weintraub she had thought he might be able to understand her point of view but as she left his office Robin realized the doctor was on Ben's side. Ben managed some of the doctor's finances and had been essential in building up Weintraub's practice. Her husband had made the doctor a millionaire.It had probably been a mistake to go to him for the AIDS test. She should have gone to a different clinic. But what was done was done. She realized that in a divorce there were few neutral parties.

Chapter Eight Four days slipped by. Gut-wrenching for Robin. Everything that could go wrong, did. She wished she could have slept the four days. She had arranged for a day-care center in Westlake for the kids. With the help of Jerry she had lined up several houses to look at. She found out where the Mormon church had a ward house–a white chapel with lots of flowers around its perimeter–and

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she had stopped and met some of the local members. For the most part she liked them. There were one or two who were interested in meeting her so they could have another person to gossip about, but most of the church members she met were strong believers in the LDS philosophy. The LDS Word of Wisdom prohibited the use of tobacco, tea, coffee and liquor. A recent article in The Los Angeles Times had indicated men and women who were members of the LDS church lived longer and healthier lives than nonmembers and there was much talk (and pride) about that article. The wonderful thing about the LDS chapel or ward house was that it was a bee hive of activity. There were always dozens of activities going on for the members: dances, basketball, meetings, sewing parties, health clinics–a never ending assortment of things to keep the saints busy. It was no wonder that the church had adopted the Desert bee as a symbol. The bee that worked in harmony with all its other brothers and sisters and was more concerned with the welfare of the hive than the individual. Sister Wilson had agreed to live with Robin in Westlake and help with the kids. Ben continued to pay Sister Wilson to look after the kids with the understanding that she would come into town should he need her help. The hardest thing Robin had done was to meet with her attorney and initiate the divorce. She swung north on Westwood Boulevard and drove into the Kirkeby Center. She parked her Honda on the main level, got out and walked into the lobby. Phil Grabler, her attorney, waited for her–they had already had several meetings and today would be the initial conference with Ben and his attorney. Ben's attorney's had several floors in the center.

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Phil was in his late thirties, a bright and conscientious attorney who had been practicing for nine or ten years. He smelled of Aramis and saddle soap. The saddle soap came from his leather briefcase which had a kind of battered look. Robin found it easy to identify with the briefcase. “Hi, Robin,” said Phil. “Everything all right?” “Ny husband wants to kill me and the kids, I don't like driving on the freeway, we're all living out of tiny suitcases, the children's day care teacher could be a sex maniac and I'm on the verge of a serious gastric ulcer.” “Then you're having a normal divorce. Why don't we sit down here and go over a few things before we go up to the office?” he asked, indicating a nearby seat. Robin sat. Phil opened his briefcase and thumbed through several folders. “Robin, I have to tell you, this agreement your husband's attorneys have come up with–it's weighted heavily against you.” “I know.” “I don't think you should sign it.”“Ben has to win and if I don't sign that agreement, he's going to cause me a lot of pain and anguish.” “I think you're probably right,” he said. “If you fight his demands, he's going to make your life miserable for you, but if you go along with him, he's still going to make your life miserable. You might as well end up with a fair financial settlement. You have three children to look after and what your husband proposes in child support and alimony is ludicrous. I know he's paying for your housekeeper but that could change any time.” “What should I do?”

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Phil made a few lightning calculations with a small calculator. He showed her the result. “The way it is now, after you make your nut, you're going to have less than a thousand dollars a month to live on.” “My nut?” she asked. “Yeah, the bare amount of money you can get by on. Rent, utilities, thsoe expenses.” She looked at the figure in the calculator's window. Nine hundred and seven dollars. “And if you have to pay Mrs. Wilson, you'll end up being twenty-five thousand dollars short per year. I can't allow you to sign that agreement.” “I guess I'm not very good at finances but Ben did say he'd pay her.” “If it's not on the page, it ain't on the stage,” said Phil. He fussed with the figures on the calculator for a moment and came up with a new figure. He showed it to Robin. She had the impression he was a car salesman and they were in a show room and haggling over a new automobile. The figure she was looking at in his calculator was seventy-five hundred dollars. “That's too much.” He recalculated the figures. Five thousand appeared in the window. “Too much,” she said. He gave her a quizzical look. “It's too much–we don't need that much to live on.” “How much money do you have?” he asked her. “About, four thousand,” she said, then realized it was even less. “Maybe thirty-five hundred.”

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“How much did you have when you left home last week?” “Maybe six thousand.” “Robin, you're a terrific lady. You're a good mother and you tried to be a good wife. Someone else has been paying the bills at your house. It's very expensive to live in California. It costs a thousand dollars for a good set of tires. Now please, let me try for five grand. Your husband spends that on his phone bill each month.” “How do you know?” “I know.” He pushed the document at her and pressed his pen between her fingers. “Sign the revised document now.” Maybe he was right. If all she were asking for was equivalent to what Ben spent on phone calls in a month, maybe five thousand was not an unreasonable sum. But Ben was crazy. She couldn't take a chance on their well-being. “I have to sign the original agreement,” she said. “You know that ad about Quaker Oats being the right thing to eat?” asked her attorney. “Yes.”“I like Quaker Oats, they may indeed be the right thing to eat but not for three meals a day and if you end up with a thousand a month that's what you're going to be eating and so are the kids.” “You might be right. But I'm going to stay with the original agreement.” “If I let you sign your rights away, you'll end up suing me for malpractice. Now sign this, Robin. Think of it as a bargaining chip, we can go down, we can't go up. Please.” She reluctantly signed the new agreement and said, “We kind of agreed on one settlement, this will make Ben crazy --”

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“From what I've heard, anything makes him crazy. How crazy can he get?” asked Phil. “You'll see.” She wished the day was over. Five minutes later Robin followed Phil through the dark mahogany doors of Kennedy & Kennedy Law Offices. There was lots of marble, lots of oak paneling and lots of overbilling. A moment later Robin found herself in an enormous conference room. A male secretary asked her if she would like anything to drink. She asked if he had bottled water and he rattled off half a dozen. A moment later the young man returned with a crystal flute and the water in a crystal decanter. As Robin sipped her water, the far door opened and in walked Ben, flanked by two attorneys, lean and hungry wolves. Robin decided that she would not like to meet either of them anywhere on the planet after five p.m.–the taller one had an jagged scar on his right cheek. Robin's eyes settled on Ben's. He looked calm and he oozed charm. She noted he was wearing new shoes. She wondered if he bought new shoes to do some ass kicking. That's what he called it when he prepared himself for a power meeting. He saw her looking at her shoes. He was probably able to guess what she was thinking. Phil, who had made several copies of the agreement Robin signed in the lobby, got up and gave the amended agreements to the other two attorneys and to Ben. Robin watched her husband scan the document. He did not look at her. He reached into his suit pocket took out a Mont Blanc fountain pen, twisted the cap off it and made several small marks on the copy.

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The attorney with the scar glanced at Ben, then back at the agreement. He rubbed his chin then said in measured tones, “We agreed that Mrs. Bailey would not modify or change this. What we are now looking at is an increase in child support and alimony of 400 percent. That's not exactly cricket, is it?” “The point is,” said Phil, “It would be impossible for Mrs. Bailey to live on the previous figure. There is precedent for her to receive at least twenty-five thousand a month. I'm sure your client can see that he's getting a very good deal.” The man with the scar nodded. Robin read his response as being on her side. She wondered if it was because she wore an all white dress. elped. She had hoped it would protect her and make her seem as vulnerable as she felt. She shouldn't have to feel so vulnerable, she thought, with a suggestion of anger. She was right. The additional money she asked for was for the children. Buit She didn't see how Ben could possible object to that.Ben looked at her and smiled. She did not like that smile. He was about to go off. But not now, not in this august office–that wouldn't make sense. If he was going to go crazy, he'd do it away from strangers and business associates. He had once told her that the only people who were entitled to see how he really felt were people he loved. Ben leaned across the table and whispered to the attorney with the scar. Their voices slowly became louder. The first words Robin could make out were her husband's when he said, “The cunt said she was going to sign the agreement. She can't be trusted.” Ben's attorney replied with: “... keep your voice down, Mr. Bailey. No need to provoke. What she's asking for ... really nothing ... considering your net worth ... agree to it ... deal of a lifetime.”

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Ben scowled at Robin. She had a feeling he was a gargoyle perched on her heart, with claw-like talons. Robin could actually feel this creature squeeze her heart. She was holding her breath and the pain in her chest intensified. She wondered if she was having a coronary.

This is crazy, she thought. He can't be doing this. But he was and she could feel the pain–it radiated down into her gut, burnt her stomach. The only thing she could do was fight. In her mind she visualized a powerful panther–sleek and svelte and as quick as a shadow. She concentrated on the image. She compelled it to race toward the gargoyle. In her mind, she willed the panther to spring, to hurl itself at the gargoyle and smash it into oblivion. At that moment, Ben's eyes narrowed and his mouth formed itself into a tight line. She could sense Ben's hatred for her–as real as the conference table she rested her hands on. As Ben's eyes locked with hers, Robin realized she had, for the first time, challenged Ben and maintained the challenge. She was frightened by the way he was looking at her but she was also curious. She wondered what he would do. She sensed that although he wanted her throat, he could not spring. Her lawyer would stop him. His lawyer would stop him. She smiled as she considered the snitches of conversation his attorney whispered to Ben. It really seemed to her that his lawyer was taking her side.

And then it happened.

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With a sudden scream, Ben struck his own attorney as hard as he could in the face. The wallop was so intense, so forceful Robin could actually see the poor man's head snap back. His body seemed to blast off his chair and he slammed into the carpet. Ben stood and walked toward Robin. “If you think,” growled Ben. “I'm going to let a bitch like you destroy my family, you are dead wrong, woman.” Phil positioned himself between them. Ben doubled his fist and was about to slug Phil when the other third lawyer, leapt over the conference table and brought Ben down. Ben struggled but the attorney held on like he had found a first trust deed. The first lawyer, who had been leveled by Ben's blow, got to his feet. He was pretty wobbly. Blood flowed from his face. The blood covered the scar and dripped onto his white starched shirt. “This meeting is over,” said Phil. “I'm filing a charge of assault against your client. I suspect you'll be filing a battery charge. Count on me as a witness. Let's go, Robin.” Ben leapt at Phil but by this time both Kennedy and Kennedy attorneys had their hands on him. Robin had heard stories about her husband's temper in business meetings in far away places, such as Asia, far away from his friends in L.A. But this was the first time she had ever seen that temper. It may have been the first time anyone in his circle of friends in California had seen him “break.” Phil took her by the arm and led her out. Other members of the Kennedy law firm were hurrying by. A secretary applied a wet towel to the man Ben had attacked. Within seconds, the damp towel was crimson with blood.

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Phil turned in the doorway. “If I were you, I'd press criminal charges against your client.” Before the man with the scar could reply Ben grinned at Phil and said, “Fuck you!” A moment later Robin and Phil were in the elevator. “You understand now why I don't want him to spend any time with the children?” asked Robin. “Yes.” Phil adjusted his tie. He looked shaken but he laughed nervously. “And since you can't depend on him for anything but money, do you understand why I wanted you to get additional espousal and child support?” “Yes. But don't you think it was a mistake to ask for that after we agreed on the terms?” “I never saw a display like that. Attacking his own attorney–Kennedy and Kennedy will sue his ass off!” In the lobby they sat on the same bench they had occupied a half hour earlier. “I'm terrified of him,” she said. “I don't feel safe here.” “You're safe here,” said Phil. “His own attorneys will toss him in jail.” “You don't know him,” said Robin. “He's crazy.” “There are way to deal with crazy people,” said Phil. He reached out and took her hand and held it softly. “Not people like my husband.” She looked at Phil. She felt more comfortable around Phil than she had around anyone for a long time. He was gentle, he was compassionate. He made her feel things that she did not think she would feel again. She liked the way he thought. She wondered what he would be like to kiss. She forced the

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thought from her mind. There was simply no way she could get into anything with Phil or any man. Not for a long time. ******** More than half the law firm crowded into the conference room at Kennedy and Kennedy. The attorney Ben decked had been taken by his secretary to a doctor's office in the same building. Several of the secretaries thought his nose was broken. They stood in the corner of the conference room, drinking coffee and trying to get a look at Ben. There were half-a-dozen attorneys and security guards around Ben and they would not let him get up. He sat like a mischievous child in the red leather chair, glowering at his captors. Once he feigned a left hook at a security guard and the man jumped back. This made Ben laugh. One of the secretaries whispered to her friend that it looked like Ben was on drugs. Into the arena strode Delbert Kennedy, senior partner. He was well into his seventies and he was one of the most powerful men in Southern California. He had been in the middle of a conference call with Tokyo and New York when his secretary interrupted to tell him what was going on. Delbert looked like Colonel Sanders except he wore a silk tie in a Windsor knot instead of a bow tie. “All right, boys and girls, let's clear the room,” he said. One of the men started to protest but Delbert held up his hand and said, “Shut-up! All of you get out. I need to chat with Benny.” Everyone left and a few minutes later the two men sat looking at each other. Each knew too much about the other. “It ain't such a great idea to bust your attorney in the chops when he's giving you sound advice,” said Delbert.

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“He wasn't representing me. He was representing my wife.” “He could sue, you know.” “Yes,” said Ben. “But you won't let it get that far, will you?” “I don't know why I should interfere,” said Delbert. “I'll tell you,” snapped Ben. “You want me to tell you?” “No, I suppose not,” said Delbert, twirling his thumbs around, remembering the things Ben knew about him. “We both know you know enough about me to destroy my life–of course to destroy my life, you'd have to destroy yours too. In my opinion, you'd do that. You're a dangerous cocksucker,” said the attorney. “You got that fucking right, you old queen,” said Ben. Delbert's face hardened. “Don't you ever, and I mean ever, talk like that.” “I don't want your people siding with my wife.” “Benny,” said Delbert, stroking his beard, “I reviewed the agreement with your wife, and I have to tell you, it's way too lopsided in your favor. Even if we are able to go ahead and ram it through, in a few months her attorneys will file against us. They'll show you took advantage of her and the new settlement could seriously damage your corporations.” “I don't care shit about what you think might happen. I talked to her and she agreed to sign the documents. She was ready to if her, if your, goddamn attorney had not cajoled her–but they would have backed down. If we presented a united front. And I'm telling you, when my own attorney starts to cave in right in this room, that's when I lose my patience.” “You have a point.”

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“You tell that son-of-a-bitch attorney of yours that if he ever brings up what I did in here–I will sue him for negligence, assault and anything else I can dump on the bastard.” Delbert rocked on his haunches as he contemplated Ben. Delbert knew how adamant Ben was when it came to getting his way. The elder attorney also realized that Ben was right–Ben had hired the firm of Kennedy and Kennedy to carry out his orders–and Ben could probably have gotten his wife to agree to their original deal. “OK, Ben–you'll get no problems with any of our attorneys. If you want to disembowel your wife, that's your decision.” “I want to do a hell of lot more than disembowel the bitch,” said Ben. “And before this is all over–she'll beg me to take her back. But I won't. I've lost faith in her.” “Well thank God, you're not the vindictive sort.” ******* While Robin sat on the marble bench, Phil got a diet Coke for her. She sipped it slowly–it was one of the few things that quelled her stomach. Most Mormons, good Mormons, do not drink Coke because it contains caffeine, but Robin's doctor had told her to sip it when her stomach went bonkers. “You OK now?” he asked. She nodded. There was something nice, maybe even gallant, about Phil. She knew she was vulnerable, knew that women going through divorces often fell for their attorneys. “I'll walk you out to your car,” he said. “I'm OK,” she said, “besides, I can't afford it if you're going to bill me a hundred dollars an hour --”

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The way she said it, she knew he would laugh. He did. It was a warm, deepthroated laugh. “I tell you what,” he said pressing a button on his watch, “the meter's off for the rest of the day. What you need is a good bottle of wine and a nice seafood salad. What'd you say?” She was on the verge of agreeing when she caught something move to her right. Ben screamed across the lobby, “Hey, shithead, you fucking my wife or what?” Phil turned and looked at Ben. So did everyone in the lobby. Phil smiled and set his briefcase on the lobby floor. “I think you ought to cool down. Why don't you go get a backrub in West Hollywood?” Everyone knew West Hollywood was a gay community. “Die! Motherfuck!” Ben hurled himself at Phil with all of his strength. They clashed like two very well dressed gladiators. Ben was powerful and angry. Phil was agile and had obviously been trained in martial arts. Ben swung wildly as Phil gracefully stepped back and bobbed to the right. Ben careened into the wall, knocked a woman over and spun around. He charged again. This time just before Ben struck, he stopped and waited for Phil to counter. Phil stepped back and bobbed to the right. He was slightly off guard. This was Ben's opening–and he lunged manically at Phil and caught him with a blow to his collar bone. Robin thought she heard something crack. She screamed. Phil slipped and Ben was on him. Ben grabbed a chrome and bronze ashtray stand and lifted it above his head– “Don't! Don't!” screamed Robin.

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Ben looked at his wife and smiled and then fixed Phil with an icy expression. “I'm going to kill you–you bastard.” “Freeze or you're dead,” said a security guard. He pressed his revolver against Ben's temple. Ben froze–except for his eyes. They moved to Robin, then back to Phil and then back to the gun. Robin had the feeling that in those few seconds, Ben could, if he wanted to, have smashed Phil's brains out. Robin was not certain what Ben would do–all she realized was how terrified for Phil she was–but there was nothing anyone could do. The guard seemed to sense that if he pulled the trigger, Ben would still brain Phil. The guard swallowed. Everyone in the lobby stared. No one moved. “Now that's not very sporting, is it, Ben?” asked Delbert Kennedy. “If you're going to prove you're tougher than this silly little lawyer, you'd want to give him an ashtray to defend himself with. Know what I mean?' Ben stared at Kennedy. Kennedy walked to Ben and took the ashtray stand and set it back on the floor. He took Ben by the arm and got him to his feet and brushed him off. “Hell, Ben, you pay us a lot of money to handle your disputes. If you're going to do all the work, we can't make a living. Now come on with me.” Ben stood his ground. “Damn it, man,” said Kennedy. “You've won everything you wanted. Now come on, let your wife go home–who knows, she may even come to her senses.” Ben started toward Kennedy. “I'm going to have to ask you to stay here, sir,” the guard said to Ben.

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“It's all right, Sam,” said Kennedy, sucking on his pipe. “Perfectly all right.” Sam hesitated. People looked at him. Sam helped Phil get to his feet. Robin watched as Kennedy led Ben into the elevator and watched the door slide closed. She hurried to Phil. There was a fleck of blood on his right check. She found some tissue and blotted that. “I could sue him for assault, I suppose, but Kennedy knows it wouldn't stick.” “Why not?” “I have a black belt in Karate. There are probably witnesses here that I was holding your hand. That maybe we were doing more than a client-attorney relationship justifies.” “So you let him beat you up like that?” she asked, horrified. “I'm not beat up. Hell, I've taken ten times as much punishment in the dojo.” “The what?” “The dojo, the karate club where I work out.” He ran his comb through his rumbled hair. “I'm not afraid of him --” “He could have killed you with that ashtray. I'm going to stick to the original deal I made with Ben,” said Robin. “Tell his attorneys I'll sign the agreement.” “You can't be serious.” “Yes,” she said. “you push him further, he just might kill someone.” “I can handle him,” said Phil.

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“I can't.” She opened Phil's leather case, found the original agreement and signed it. Ben had won again. “I have to get home–the kids will be worried.” A few minutes later she was driving west into the dull smog-shrouded sun, toward Westlake, looking forward to seeing the kids. Robin knew that in a few more days she would have to find a house. She didn't know what Ben would do next. She was afraid for Phil. If Ben harmed him seriously, Robin knew she would feel responsible. And Phil was about the only person she knew who could help her keep the kids.

Chapter Nine On Monday, Sister Wilson drove the kids to Los Angeles. The twins needed to see about orthodontics and Kimmy had a singing lesson. This gave Robin a few hours to check out real estate with her brother. “It's days like this I'm glad you're in real estate,” Robin told Jerry as he drove her to the third house that morning. The house was in desperate need of a paint job. The front lawn was ragged, the hot California sun had burnt it. It looked like Astroturf that had been rejected, or attacked by moths. The front windows were relatively clean although one was cracked. “This is all you get for seven hundred dollars?” she asked. “I'm afraid so,” said Jerry. “And this is underpriced.” Everything they had looked at was too expensive, too small or too awful–especially compared to their home in Hancock Park. Robin was beginning to realize that her lawyer was right–it took a lot more money to live than she thought.

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Well, she had agreed to certain financial conditions with Ben and she was going to get by. Perhaps she could do some more modeling. It would be fun she told herself. They walked slowly toward this latest house. Robin felt she was a mouse ... and the house, a carnivorous snake. She had the dreadful feeling it would consume her. Maybe a coat of paint and a little bit of new grass would transform the house into something a bit more appealing. Her mother had claimed the cheapest way to improve anything was a coat of paint and as Robin looked at the dilapidated house, she hoped her mother had been right. Robin stepped over a smashed toy abandoned by the last occupants. It looked like it had once worn a Batman costume. All that was left was a splotch of orange on black trampled into the small plastic body. It perched on the edge of what was left of a flower bed. “Uh, how far is the school?” she asked. “That's the good part. It's less than four blocks.” “And the bad part?” He unfastened the lock box, shook out a key and slipped it into the front door, which creaked open. “To be honest, Robin, the school doesn't have the best teachers. There's a problem, I've heard, with drugs.” He shut the door. The room smelled musty and there were cobwebs on the grate in the fireplace. “Sis, why don't you and the kids move in with Sally and me for awhile?” The kitchen, the cabinets needed paint but at least the room was spacious with a couple of big windows and a sliding glass door that allowed sunlight to filter in.

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Tiny flecks of dust floated in crimson shafts of sun. She saw where the red hue came from. Someone had affixed crimson-colored plastic to the glass door–probably to keep the sun out in the hottest part of the day. The Hancock Park house was always cool–they seldom turned the air conditioning on, even in the heat of summer. The walls were thick, made from lathe and plaster and tremendously well insulated. These walls looked like a cat could bite its way through. She slid open a drawer. It took all her energy to get it open. There was one dented spoon inside. “I asked why you and the kids don't come and move in with us for awhile?” said Jerry. “You think four people, two frogs, three cats, a Gila monster and bowl of gold fish would make your wife feel any better about me?” “All those animals survived the fire?” “No. Only the cat. But Ben sent the animals to the kids. It's his way of making a heavy out of me. I get rid of them, I'm a wicked mother.” “There's room for all of you at our place. We could keep it a secret,” said Jerry. “Hide you in the back bedroom.” “I think after a week or two, even Sally would start to twig,” said Robin. There was no fridge but there was a chipped range jammed into an alcove. Robin got the oven door open and looked in. It was filthy. “Does the rent include utilities?” “Nope. But in the nine hundred dollar range there are some condos–The Towers– about three miles from here. They have a pool --” “I can't spend more than seven hundred and fifty dollars.”

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“I can give you a few hundred extra a month.” She shook her head, opened another cupboard at chin level and looked in. She doubted if anyone had ever used it. Probably the people who lived in the place last didn't have any dishes. She realized how lucky she was. Sure, it would be tough to make it on her own with the kids. Sure, she'd have to cut back on spending. But as she watched the dust dance in the light beam, she realized what a wonderful life she had. Heck, the insurance would replace all of her dinnerware, all of her silverware and with a little hard work, she and the kids could make the place sparkle. Really, it was all attitude. She would–they would–make a project out of it. Simple as that. And sure it would be tough without Ben and his endless credit cards but Robin knew safety for the kids was so much more important. Jerry knelt down and ran his finger over the linoleum in front of the sink. Robin noticed the reddish tinge in the water. What did that mean? A body under the sink? Decomposing? Ha! That's all she needed. She opened the cupboards under the sink and saw the rust. The water pipe was dripping water streaked with rust. “I don't have to have that fixed, do I?” she asked. “No–but I wouldn't sign a lease–if you've got your heart set on living here–until the owner fixes up some of this stuff,” said Jerry. She spotted a thin line of ants snaking from the water to a hole in the plaster at the back of the cupboard. “Maybe when the water is fixed, those ants'll go someplace else for a drink.”

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The sliding glass door took a bit of maneuvering but they finally got it open. The grass in the backyard was not much better than the front. The good thing was, it was a large back yard. There were several yellow patches of grass. “The last people must have had sheds out here,” said Jerry. “The grass'll grow back. You know, you let Ben off the hook pretty easy.” “He likes money more than I do. We'll do all right. The children and I will have fun fixing this place up. Besides, it'll be a good lesson for the kids to learn.” “Urban Survival 101?”“Something like that. Hey, don't you remember when we were kids and Dad lost the house when he invested in that crazy gold stock thing? He and Mom thought it was such a tragedy. But we liked it, didn't we?” “I never liked it.” “Sure you did.” “When I was seventeen I had no car, no nothing,” said Jerry. “Neither did I.” “Yeah–but you had half the guys in the ward after your body. And I noticed you ended up with the guy who had the flashiest car.” “Ben does have a way with a buck, doesn't he? Maybe you're right. Maybe I should have gone for more. On the other hand, the way things are now–he's at least leaving us alone.” “He called me, said he was coming out here to baptize the boys–asked me to make all the arrangements with Bishop Searle.”

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“Good grief, Charlie Brown! I haven't even been to the ward except for part of a Sacrament Service and Ben already knows who the bishop is–probably called him and told him what a bitch I am.” “I wouldn't worry about him conning Bishop Searle.” “Why not?” “Bishop Searle's a cop.” “Ben can con anyone.” She slid the patio door shut. It made a sound like a fingernail scraping across a blackboard. The tone made her wince. Yes, there would be a lot of work to change the house into something that was liveable. Robin stared at the waves of dust that had streaked the window–the dark shadows distorted everything. She wondered what Ben was doing now. He certainly wasn't worried about dirty windows. Other people took care of those problems for him. She remembered the many times she had supervised the window cleaners at their home. She wondered who would do that for Ben now. The thought of whom it might be, made her feel cold. ******** A Los Angeles police car coasted to a stop in front of The Morgan Condo on Wilshire Boulevard. The Morgan, towering into the pale sky, was at the east end of the Million Dollar Mile along Wilshire. It was called the Million Dollar Mile because of the price of condos. Some of the penthouses covering two complete floors sold for twelve million dollars. There were two cops in the front seat of the squad car. One was middle aged, heavy set and if you rubbed his forehead hard enough, you would probably see the word “establishment” etched into his skin. The other cop was a tall black who looked like Wilt

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Chamberlain, and he carried an over-sized baton on his left hip. He smiled a lot and seemed to be amused by the other cop's deliberate roughness. The white cop who was driving checked his rear view mirror and saw that the Winnebago had followed him. Cardston Degere was sitting behind the motor home's large steering wheel. The white cop said to his partner: “I'll see if Bailey is home, you keep an eye on that guy.” “There's something I don't understand.” The white cop gave his partner a tired look. The younger man had a bit of an attitude. “I think we could get into a mess of trouble,” said the black guy. “Why?” “For starters that guy in the motor home could sue our asses off.”“You let me worry about that,” said the older cop, he opened the squad car door and stepped out. The canopy of the condominium shaded him. The doorman, from behind smoked glass, watched the older cop walk toward the door. The doorman touched a button and before the cop could ring the bell, the lock clicked open. A warm wall of air followed the cop into the marbled lobby. “Is this the residence of Mr. Benjamin Bailey?” the cop asked the doorman. “Yes.” “Tell him Mr. Degere is here.” ******* Five minutes later, Cardston was standing in the doorway of Ben's penthouse. The cops were just a memory, albeit an unpleasant one.

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Ben sat in a leather sofa behind an enormous coffee table. He was dressed in a pale yellow Chinese robe. “Come into my humble home, Card --” The front room and foyer each had cathedral ceilings and there were about a dozen skylights with billowy drapes beneath them. Cardston stepped softly on the tile, glancing up. “You don't have to act like you're in a church,” said Ben. “How big is this place?” “Six bedroom, seven baths and an entertainment room,” said Ben. “Want a drink?” Without waiting for a reply, Ben uncorked a bottle of champagne and poured two glassfuls. Still awed by the height of the living room–it was at least 25 feet–Cardston walked toward Ben, slipped on a rug, caught himself and made it to the champagne. Ben was watching home movies of his children on a giant color television set. The twins and Kimmy scampered across sandy beaches, playing with their mother. The skyline of Oahu was in the background. Big fluffy clouds rolled across the sky and everyone there was sunshine and more kids. “To better times,” said Ben, clicking the edge of his glass against Cardston's. They finished off the glasses quickly and Ben refilled both. They drank their second glasses slower. Cardston walked over to a massive wall of glass and looked down at the city. There was not much haze over the downtown area and in the distance, the outline of Mt. Baldy was visible. It shimmered in sunlight and distant fog. Or was it smog? “Didn't I promise you a place like this?”

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Cardston shrugged. “You've got a nice tan,” said Ben. “Malibu. I got it in Malibu. When did you buy this pad?” “Pad? That's what you call a one room shack on the beach, my friend. “This, this you call a residence. And it's not mine. It's a client's. He's in Europe.” “For how long?” “You cut right to the chase, don't you, Old Shoe?” asked Ben. “We can have it for a couple of months. Think you could be comfy here?” “Maybe.” Cardston drained his drink and poured a third. He held the bottle above Ben's. Ben nodded and Cardston filled the older man's glass. “I appreciate your coming,” said Ben.“I didn't have much choice.” “You could have resisted arrest.” “As you know, I'm not very good at resisting many things.” “We all have assets.” “How did you get those cops to pick me up like that?” asked the younger man. “I told you. I have friends in high places.” He finished his champagne. He had gulped it down quickly and it burned his throat. “Don't ever try to cut-out like that again. OK?” “You really confused me, Ben.” “How so?” “When we met in New York, it was so wonderful. Really great. We had such good times, don't your remember–I mean there I was with my father's company and almost

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going broke and you came in and saved the day for me and you turned out to be such a dynamite lover. You were everything I had ever wanted. Ever dreamed of.” “It can still be good,” said Ben. “But then I showed up at your party and you took me into the basement and you got real mean. You hurt me. I'm not into pain, Ben. Really I'm not.” “So no more pain,” said Ben. “I promise.” “Why did you hurt me?” “My wife was making me crazy. But she and I are history.” “You left her?” “Yes, because I want to be with you, Cardston.” Cardston smiled. Cardston picked up some salted peanuts and washed them down with what was left of his champagne. Ben opened a second bottle. As if seeing the images of Ben's kids of television for the first time, Cardston smiled and said: “Nice shots of the kids. You miss them don't you?” “Sure.” “Right out of a story book.” Then he smiled, a bit cruelly. “Or a fairy tale.” Ben gave the younger man a tired look. “Friends again?” asked Ben. “All is forgiven.” “Of course. But then as Camus said–`life is the sum of all your choices'.” “And what does that mean?” “It means that I am here and maybe I shouldn't be. But it's my life and for some reason I have decided to spend part of it with you.” “I'm deeply touched.”

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“You're deeply sarcastic, my friend,” Cardston said, gazing around the room. He seemed to be pleased to be there–”And I suppose, your house is my house. Or should we say your borrowed condo is my borrowed condo?” “Why don't we say that?” Ben rubbed his jaw. A dark shadow of stubble had imparted a blue sheen to his face. “We really need to get a few ground rules straightened out,” said Cardston. “Yeah, we'll talk later,” agreed Ben. He could not take his eyes off the television screen and the flitting images of his children. “I'm going to baptize the boys in a couple of weeks, I want you to be there.” “I don't know,” said Cardston. “I haven't been to church in ten years.” “It'll do you good.” “Yes.” Cardston walked down the corridor and glanced into the master bedroom. “Come on, I got something that'll do you a lot of good.” “You think I just brought you here for sex?” asked Ben. “Of course not,” said Cardston. He unbuttoned his shirt and let it fall to the floor. He unbuckled his belt and let his pants fall to the floor. The pants lay in a pile. Like a huge brown orchid. “Now come on.” He pulled his shoes and socks off and stood in the corridor, halfway between the bedroom and the front room. Soft light from one of the skylights spilled across his compact body. He was lean and firm and tanned. There was no hair on his chest or under his arms. The black briefs clung to him, sculpting his body. Ben moved after him. He felt the roller-coaster rush of excitement again. He felt the guilt, although the booze dulled that slightly. If the guilt got to be too much, there were

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pain pills. That's why they called them pain pills And they worked pretty well except recently he was taking an increasing number. He wondered if there were a doctor somewhere who made a pill that dulled only guilt. ******* Later, after the sex and some more pills and wine, they lay on the bed, gazing at the light streaming through the skylight. “I'll be out of town for a few days,” said Ben. “You might as well move in. Give me something to come home to.” “Someone.” “Right,” said Ben. He tried to talk himself out of it. He tried to tell himself that what he and Cardston had done hurt no one. But the pain was there and as he looked at the photo of his children, the ache moved to the back of his neck, like a knot. “Why don't you hire some of those high-priced lawyers to get them back?” asked Cardston. “Then what?” asked Ben. “They could move in with us. I'm pretty good with kids.” “You're a love. And the plan's in action. But it's going to take a long time. A long time.” Cardston stroked Ben's neck. It felt good but Ben said nothing–he did not want to admit that Cardston was able to furnish more comfort than the simple release they both derived from sex. As long as Ben regarded Cardston as simply a facilitator of body functions, Ben could cope with their relationship. If Ben ever recognized Cardston as anything more than a sex partner, that would mean that he, Ben, was dependent on

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another man for the things a woman was meant to supply. He was aware of the fact that he was referring to himself in his mind as “Ben” and he found this curious. He supposed it was some kind of a technique–defense mechanism–to distance himself from what was going on. Curious. Maybe Robin had been right about some things. Ben leaned back on the bed. It was the first time since the divorce proceedings, the first time, really, since the house had burned down, that he felt tranquil. He was aware of Cardston's soft hands working their magic on his spine–the younger man's fingers felt so warm, so calming. He turned. Ben had taken out his contact lenses and things were slightly out of focus–he could feel Cardston's eyes on him. And the way the last part of the light from the setting sun slipped through the cool air, Ben could make out the silhouette of Cardston's neatly cropped pony tail. “I wish you'd get rid of that pony tail,” said Ben. “I like it.” “I don't. It makes you look too butch.” “I am a little butch,” said Cardston. “Well, get rid of it.” “If you want me to,” said the younger man. Ben reached over and took the pony tail in his hand and gave it a gentle tug, like a mother pinching her baby's cheek, an affectionate sort of gesture. “When did you know you were queer?” “Do we really have to talk about this?” “Why not?” asked Ben.

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“When I was about seventeen, the bishop asked me if I was preparing to go on a mission.” “And you told him you were queer and you might end up screwing some of your missionary companions?” asked Ben. “Don't be so crude. My mother and dad and three sisters–they were all very active in the church–were putting pressure on me to serve. Dad had gone to England and he said it was the best two years of his life, that he really felt close to the Spirit–that it changed his life–you know how returned missionaries can be? Anyway, I felt all this pressure to go on so when our bishop asked me if I was preparing to go on a mission I said, why not?” “Why not? Your bishop asked you to serve in the greatest calling The Church has and you said–why not?” Cardston got up and pulled on his shorts and looked out at the city as dusk moved across it. Commuters, winding their way home along Wilshire, were switching on their headlights. Ben fumbled for his contacts, ran them across his tongue and slipped the lenses on his eyes. He had light blue eyes but the lenses were tinted several shades darker. “So what did your bishop say after you said `why not'?” “He was a pretty cool guy, he said he understood there was a lot of pressure but that going on a mission would totally change my life. He challenged me to prepare --” “And?” asked Ben, and he was thinking back to his own mission–for the most part good memories (people he helped convert, being treated as someone special, working long hours and falling into bed exhausted, feeling like what you did was good, worthwhile, learning how to be selfless.)

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“I didn't really want to go–I mean, of all the guys I knew, I was probably the most ill-prepared and unworthy.” “But did you know you were gay then?” asked Ben. “No–I knew I felt a lot differently about women than my friends did, and I knew I had feelings toward guys that other guys did not share, but I didn't deal with being gay then.” “So when did you find out?” asked Ben. He walked to the master bedroom, switched on the faucets and watched the hot water swirl into the jacuzzi. “After Bishop Green and I talked some more, it was the summer of '75, I prayed about going on a mission and I got this feeling that I should go–so I told the bishop I was ready and we started the interview process.” “Tough interview?” asked Ben. He was remembering his own. He had been forced to tell a number of lies in order to be accepted. (He had lied about having sex with other guys, he had lied about believing The Church was true, he had lied about jerking-off.) “No. I had never done anything with anyone–man, woman, or sheep for that matter.” Cardston laughed nervously. “I was a total virgin–so when the bishop interviewed me and the stake president interviewed me and the general authority interviewed me–no problem.” “They never asked you if you were interested in guys?” “No–just if I'd ever gone to bed with a woman. I think the general authority asked me if I had any kind of relationship with a guy and I said no. He said that was good and he told me how important it was to prepare for a mission and that Father-in-Heaven was pleased with my progress.”

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“So you passed all the interviews OK?” “Yes, and I got a letter from Salt Lake City saying I was called to the Australian mission–I had about two months notice. So I figured I was going to have some fun before I left.” “I don't get it,” said Ben. “The guys in our ward had this theory that if you were going on a mission–where you supposedly have to be perfect–that you had a little window of opportunity before you actually went.” “And that's when you cut loose?” “I suppose,” said Cardston. “There were a lot of LDS girls in Southern Alberta–and they knew about that window of opportunity–and they kind of thought–and don't ask me why–that if they went to bed with a guy who had passed his interview but was going on a mission, they figured it was all right. Kind of like it's OK in wartime for women to do a little mercy fucking.” “How many times did you got laid?” asked Ben. “I could have gone to bed with a dozen Mormon women but the easier they made it, the less I wanted it and one night, we were parked out by this sugar beet field, this girl– her name was Candy–said, `What's wrong, you're not gay or anything are you?'“ “And you realized you were?” “I was real frightened I might be so we did it and afterwards she said it was really good and I sure wasn't gay. I realized I was. I wanted to make it with a guy and a few nights later I met this guy from the ward who everyone said was a fruit and he got me drunk and went down on me and that's how I really lost my cherry. Besides, I was

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reading this book about New York and the gay scene there and I kept thinking what a wonderful time an innocent young man from Southern Alberta could have in the Big Apple.” “And I suppose the beguiling Candy blew the whistle to the bishop and they stopped you from going down under...but since you'd been going down under with so many guys, what the hey?” Ben walked over and climbed into the tub. He poured some Vitabath into the tub. The water gushed out of the faucet, churning the soapy gel into froth. White bubbles frothed around Ben and he switched on the jets. He got in–the hot water gently pounded his body. Cardston came over and sat on the side of the tub. “Turn up the hot water,” said Ben. Cardston twisted the faucet. Ben stared up at the skylight. “To get to the end of the story,” said Cardston, “Nobody blew the whistle. I found out that I really liked guys and I figured if I went on a mission, I'd get found out. And if I didn't I'd probably end up screwing up my companion's life.” “I never realized you were so ethical, Elder Degere,” said Ben. “I think the word might be horny. And don't call me `Elder'–I don't like it.” “Fine, my little fairy princess.” Ben used his large toe to turn off the water. He was losing interest in the story, anyway. Ben gazed into the mirror where he could see the large screen television reflected. The video tape of his children danced across the huge color tube. “But you went on a mission even though you were screwing guys?” “Yeah,” said Ben. He kept looking at his kids.

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Cardston moved between the image and Ben. “You mind getting out of my way?” asked Ben. “I think you like me in your way.” “What I'd like is my children. What I'd like is my wife to disappear.” “You mean like dead?” “Right. Now get out of my way and be a dear and fetch me a drink.”For a long moment Cardston stood there, then turned and headed for the living room. Ben uttered a little prayer to his Father in Heaven, requesting that a large heavy object fall from a plane and squash his wife's brains to mush. Then he turned the hot water back on and the cauldron of bubbles covered his toes. He thought about a mission. It was supposed to be a special opportunity to serve Father-in-Heaven for two or three years. Missionaries always traveled in pairs, two by two, just like it said to do in the Bible. The idea was to share the true gospel with the world, to convert as many souls as possible. To bring them to Christ, to his true teachings. You had to be a very special young man to qualify for a mission. And it was also great stepping stone for further service in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

Chapter Ten Robin swung open the fridge door, found a can of Classic Coke and peeled back the tab. She took a long gulp.

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“Hey, Mom, Sis. Wilson says good Mormons aren't supposed to drink Coke,” Daryl pointed out. Robin took another sip and let the cool liquid slip down her throat. “Doctor's orders.” “The doctor knows more than the Church?” “You'll understand when you grow up,” she said realizing she was becoming more like her mother every day. The Coke gave her a little tingle. The highlight, she reflected, of her physical excursions into life. Other women had exotic lovers and were sometimes spirited off to clandestine Middle east countries. Robin took another swallow of the Coke. “Can I have some?” asked Daryl. “I thought you told me good Mormons don't drink it,” said Robin, looking down at her upturned son's face. Daryl, the neat. I must never refer to either of the twins as neat or messy–Lord knows what psychological trauma that will give them. “Can I have a hit?” asked the child. “One swallow --” Robin held out the can and watched as Daryl, the neat, took two swallows. “I told you one swallow and when you deliberately disobey me it makes me annoyed. Is there a reason you want to make me angry?” “Just thirsty, Mom. You can't blame a guy for being thirsty, can you?” He picked up a fresh Kleenex and blotted a drop of Coke on the back of his wrist, then wadded the Kleenex into a small ball and tossed it half-way across the kitchen. The tissue landed squarely in a box filled with empty paint pails and solvent soaked rags.

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By this time the other twin had realized there was a chance that he too could participate in a swallow of forbidden Coca-Cola. Dale, the messy, dropped his paintbrush on the floor, tracked through some dirty rags and walked over to the fridge. Dale's paint-splattered hand closed on the old white Westinghouse fridge. “And what do you think you're doing, young man?” asked Robin. “Getting a soft drink.” Robin opened the fridge door. “I wish you'd be more careful with that paint, you're getting it all over the fridge,” she said. “So what? White paint, white fridge.” “The colors are different,” pipped up Kimmy. “White is white. Get real, you silly prick,” said Dale. He grabbed a Coke from the fridge and yanked off the tab. The soft drink spirited out of the can and he covered it with his mouth. “Jeez, Mom,” said Kimmy. “He called me a silly prick.” Robin pulled the Coke can from Dale's mouth–the boy coughed as the Coke shot up his nose and into his hair. He tried to grab the can away from his mother. “Gimme that, Mom.” The children were getting tougher to manage but, thought Robin, who could blame them? They had gone from a great home to a dump. And the family was one father short. Robin placed the erupting can on top of the fridge, grabbed Dale by his arm and firmly led him to the sink. She lifted him high and plunked him down on the counter top. The child's jet black eyes burned as he glared at Robin who found a paper towel, held it

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under the cold water and washed his face. She could feel how tense and angry his body was. “You're making me very upset, Dale. This is not like you at all,” said Robin. “But --” “I'm talking to you, young man. We do not use swear words in this house. Is that clear --” “ A prick is part of a cactus.” “It's also another name for a penis.” She took his shoulders firmly in her hands. Because he was perched on the chipped counter top, his eyes were level with hers. She moved her head closer so only about a foot separated them. “Take a deep breath,” she commanded. She felt his body shudder slightly as he took a deep breath. “Take another one.” He took another. “Look into my eyes.” He gazed into her eyes and some of his anger subsided. “What's our rule about swearing” “I'm not supposed to,” he said. “Right. Now tell your sister you're sorry.” The boy considered this for a moment, then looked back into his mother's eyes, then shifted his line of vision to Kimmy. By now she had found a can of Coke and took a perverse pleasure in savoring it. “Put the Coke down, Kimmy,” said Robin.

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The girl set the Coke on the edge of a packing crate covered with paint splatters. Sister Wilson, who was sanding a patch of wall, stopped working and turned to watch Robin. Robin knew Sister Wilson was much more tolerant of the kids than she was, and the older woman seemed to have more control of them. Robin stared back into Dale's eyes. Finally the boy turned to his sister. “I'm sorry,” he whispered. “And next time I ask you to do something, are you going to do it?” “Yes.” “Sit on that chair over there and think about what I said and think about what you said,” Robin told her son. She walked to Kimmy and took the Coke can. “Sorry, Mom,” said the girl. “OK–let's finish painting this place and then we'll do something fun,” said Robin. “Well,” pointed out Kimmy, “how come Dale gets to be bad but he doesn't have to help paint this place?” “Good question,” said Robin. “Can you answer that one, Dale?” “Nope.” Robin picked up a paint brush and started in on the south wall. They had already painted the top half in light green. “The reason Dale has to sit in that chair is to think about what he has done wrong. He's let down his family. And thinking about that is a lot more painful than having to paint a wall.” “Are you in pain?” Kimmy asked her brother who was starting to squirm on his chair.

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He shook his head from side to side.Sister Wilson started to chuckle but as soon as Robin looked at her, the older woman's smile vanished. Robin realized that once again she may have made a mistake with the kids–it was obvious by the way Dale was grinning that he enjoyed being the center of attention and on top of that he had gotten out of doing work. “Mom,” asked Kimmy. “If I were bad would you make me sit in a chair?” The little girl was holding a dripping paint brush in her tiny hand. “If you were bad,” said Robin, “I'd make you paint the outside of the house as well as this kitchen.” She turned to Dale. “Your punishment is over–go back to work.” “I don't mind thinking some more about letting the family down,” he said. “Somehow,” said Robin, “I don't think your emotional pain is so terrible. Now get off that chair and let's finish up this kitchen.” “We're just kids,” said Dale. “You're making us work like slaves.” “Child labor laws don't apply to kitchens,” said Robin. She found a paint brush and a small tin of paint and handed it to Dale. “See that patch of wall over there, paint it.” “No.” The seven-year-old glared at his mother. What do I do now, she wondered? Here I am in charge of three kids and faced with a mutiny. I might have made a terrible mistake trying to do this all on my own. “You want to go to your bedroom for the rest of your life?” “I don't give a damn.” “I told you about language like that.”“I hate this house. I hate living out here. I hate you,” said the twin.

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Robin looked at the other two kids. She saw only sadness and confusion. It made her feel as though she had failed them. They needed a Daddy. And it had been a lot more fun with Ben around. Even if he was nuts. Kimmy turned to the wall and slowly began to apply little dabs of paint–the soft slap, slappity of her brush was the only sound in the room, with the exception of the wind-up clock on the chipped tile counter. Daryl laid his brush on a newspaper and walked over to take a seat next to his brother. Kimmy saw the unity of the twins, set her brush down and walked over to join them. She crossed her arms, smiling defiantly at her mother. “What's this–a mutiny?” asked Robin. She knew how closely the twins stuck together. It was infuriating, but Robin had to admit to herself there was something noble about the twins' loyalty. “Mutiny,” agreed Dale. “Mutiny,” said Daryl. “Me too,” said Kimmy. Robin realized the kids were escalating the stakes. About once every three or four days the kids actually banded together and formed a united front. And since the divorce, the kids were playing this game more and more. But Robin could handle them. The easiest way was to divide them, then attack. The three children watched her. This was a game with them. Robin picked up a brush, walked over to a half-finished wall. She dipped her paintbrush into a dented pale of white and started to apply the stuff to the wall. She knew the children were watching her. Did they really think they could mutiny?

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She slapped on a band of paint. “Well, the way I look at it,” she said, “Magic Mountain is coming up–there are some people who deserve to go and there are some people who don't. The good children–and those are the ones who help me, they deserve to go. The others, well, they can stay at home and finish this painting.” The kids exchanged worried glances. “I hear that the new roller coaster at Magic Mountain is absolutely mind-boggling. I hear kids from as far away as France and New Zealand save their money for years so they can come to California for a few days and maybe, just maybe get one ride on that new roller coaster at Magic Mountain.” She dipped the tip of her brush into the paint and glanced at the kids. They were starting to fidget. “If we started to help right now, would you wipe the slate clean, Mom?” asked Dale. “Is everyone sorry?” she asked. The kids all said yes and Robin hoped they did not notice her heave a sigh of relief. She wondered how much longer she would be able to outsmart them. They seemed to become brighter each day. Was this what parenthood was all about–praying that you could keep one step ahead of three little minds that were as bright and agile as streaks of lightning? Maybe. “How about it, Mom?” asked Kimmy. “You said we were supposed to forgive and forget.” “OK, are you all sorry?” she asked and almost as soon as she said it she regretted it. Her own mother had used a great deal of guilt to manipulate her and now here she was, 25 years later, doing the same thing. Maybe there was a reason mothers used guilt to manipulate kids. Maybe that was the only thing that worked. But if you can't get a

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child to do something through love, then what's the point in trying to teach the child about anything? The kids all said they were sorry and she walked over to them and gathered them into her arms. “You know I love you all very much, don't you?” she asked. They said they did. “But we all have to work together to make our lives work and since we don't have as much money as we used to, we have to be more considerate of each other.” “Being broke is a bummer,” said Dale. “We are not broke,” said Robin. “We simply do not have as much money was we used to. And in a way that's a good thing.” “Why?” asked Kimmy. “Because,” said a male voice from the doorway. “There are a lot more important things in life than money.” The kids all turned toward the open doorway. Standing there was Cardston. He was wearing a three-button rayon sweater and white pleated trousers. Around his neck was an intricate topaz bolo. His blue-gray eyes slowly scanned the room. His blond pony tail was neatly cropped and hung down along his neck. There were laugh lines along the edges of his eyes. “Hi, remember me?”“Yes,” said Robin. “I do. The last time I saw you, you were at our Christmas party. Naked.” His image was clearly etched in her mind–she remembered with startling clarity how Cardston had raced half-naked out of the exercise room in their Hancock Park home. A home which was a pile of ashes now.

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In Cardston's arms were half a dozen gifts. He glanced down at the brightly-wrapped packages. “I happened to be in the neighborhood and I thought I'd drop these off for the kids. Is that all right?” Robin wasn't sure what she should say. She didn't understand what Cardston was doing in her home.

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Chapter 11 Before she could stop them, the kids clustered around Cardston as he handed out gifts. There was a new doll for Kimmy. The doll wore a soft blue lace gown and its face was crafted from a delicate porcelain so translucent the skin color seemed pink glass. Each of the boys got some kind of transformer toy–one second: a dinosaur, the next: a cumbersome earth-moving machine, blazing with headlights where the ancient reptile's eyes had been. “Wow,” said Dale. “I've never seen such a great transformer.” “If you push its button,” explained Cardston, “then you can use it as a walkie-talkie.” Cardston gave each of the kids a small white Book of Mormon with the child's name already engraved inside. “Hold it kids!” yelled Robin. “Leave all those gifts right here and go play in the backyard. Mr. Degere and I have to talk.” The kids started to protest but Sister Wilson set her paint brush down and herded them outside. The sun was starting to bake the backyard. Robin and Cardston were alone. “What the hell do you mean coming here like this?” she demanded. And what gives you the right to bring this stuff into our home? Take it and leave.” “I should have called first.”

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“It wouldn't have done any good.” Robin swallowed, her throat felt dry and raspy. She could feel the nerve endings in her stomach starting to tighten. She picked up a transformer and shoved it at him. “I would like to be friends,” he said taking the transformer. “That's just not possible,” she said. “And I don't want you coming back.” “Why?” Cardston's blue-gray eyes seemed calm and steady. She did not want the children to hear her. “I hate what you and my husband did.” “You're really painting me the heavy, aren't you?” “You got that right.” “What about my side of the story?” he asked. Why did she feel so much negative energy from this man? First impressions? She tried to refocus–in truth, she had only seen a frightened man run out of their exercise room. Yes, and she had seen Cardston and Ben holding hands but maybe that was all Ben's doing. Ben had claimed Cardston was the one who was making a pass. But like so many other things Ben had said, that could easily turn out to be a crock. Cardston was looking out over the open cans of paint, through the sliding glass door at the kids laughing and screaming and kicking sand at each other in a corner of the back yard. “I wish you'd just give me a few minutes to explain what really happened.” “You got 60 seconds.” Why didn't she listen to the voice that warned her Cardston was trouble, that was telling her to get rid of him now? Cardston's frail fingers fidgeted with his pony tail. His eyes seemed to mist over. Robin had the feeling he might have been a cocker spaniel in a different lifetime. She felt

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herself feeling sorry for him, almost wanted to protect him from the world. Here I go again, being a rescuer. I can't do that–just can't. “Now you got 45 seconds.” “Wouldn't it possible to be friends and to talk?” asked Cardston. “I don't think so. Your time is about up.” “Please.” “Hit the bricks.” That made her feel a little better, until she saw the pain on Cardston's pathetic face. Why was he so weak? It must be some kind of an act. Cardston reached for the door. He looked down at the floor and mumbled: “I need some advice about Ben.” “He likes to have the washing and ironing done on Monday. Likes to eat at six. Insists on family prayers around eight. Now either leave or I'll call the police.” A look of bewilderment moved across Cardston's closely-shaved face. “You think I've got something going with him?” Robin had seen Cardston scamper out of their exercise room, and he had been half naked. And now he was standing in front of her (fully dressed, thank Heavens) suggesting he was–innocent? “Sometimes things are not the way they look,” he said. She opened the door for him. “I do not have anything going with Ben,” he blurted out. “Really? Well, I think you've had a little lover's spat. I can't tell you how sorry I am and if you've driven all the way out here for some kind of guidance in how to deal with Ben, you've wasted a lot of gas on the freeway. Take the rest of those gifts with you.”

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He stood there. Robin thought it was about time to call the police. But that would upset the children. And she could sense Cardston was intimidated by her. She wondered if she could physically toss him out. He was not much bigger than she was, and she had anger on her side. Sometimes anger made you stronger, sometimes it also made you do things that you regretted later. The way anger had twisted Ben, really mangled his spirit. “Ben was annoyed with me because I wasn't interested in what he was interested in– ” Cardston said. “Give that a rest. I saw you running out of our place half naked Christmas Eve.” “I was in the shower and Ben came into the exercise room, and he made a pass at me. All I wanted to do was get out of there.” “Pardon me. But I've never heard so much bullshit.” Kimmy dashed into the house. “Can't I keep the doll, Mummy?” “Back outside, young lady. Now!” said Robin. The child knew better than to argue. She hung her head and left. She paused in the doorway and said to Cardston: “Next time, please bring me a preemie, all right?” “Out,” said Robin. The child made a face and left. “Boy, kids are something else,” said Cardston. “Yeah. She's into preemies, wants the one without any hair or fingernails. You were saying Ben attacked you?” “Yes. He came on to me and I left–frankly I was frightened.”Robin let her mind move back to Christmas Eve. Cardston had seemed frightened. That part was true.

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“In fairness to Ben, it's not the first time someone has read me wrong. A lot of guys are attracted to me. Maybe I look a little swishy, but I'm not. I've tried to put on some extra weight but I haven't been able to. I could drink five chocolate milkshakes a day and the only thing I'd get is zits.” Kimmy came back into the kitchen and climbed up on the counter and got her fingers wrapped around the brown bear cookie jar. She started to fall but Robin snared her out of mid-air. “Young lady, if you want a cookie, what do you do?” “Grab it when you aren't looking?” “I didn't hear that,” said Robin. “What do you do?” Her voice was sterner but still not angry. How could she be rough on a kid with a sense of humor like that? Kimmy's mind was so agile, so quick. Robin set the child down on the well-worn linoleum and gave her three cookies. “One for you, and who are the others for?” “My dear brothers,” said the child. “Say it like you mean it.” “My dear brothers.” “Go–and eat the little one yourself.” Kimmy, jamming a cookie in her mouth, tore out into the back yard. Robin looked back at Cardston. She picked up the cookie jar and took one out. She did not offer a cookie to Cardston. “So you were,” she said, munching the cookie, “just an innocent bystander, that right?”“Yes.” “But nevertheless an innocent victim who just happened to win a very expensive Winnebago,” said Robin.

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“That's another thing. I didn't dream Ben was going to set it up so I'd win. I didn't quite know how to handle it–it all happened so quickly.” His delicate fingers folded the end of the braid under his shirt collar. “I hope you can trust me,” said Cardston. “I can't. Now leave.” He looked like a Cocker Spaniel that had just been kicked in the guts. “What would you do if I told you Ben may want to kill you? That he may want to harm your children?” “You better go to the police,” she said.” “I can't. But I can't live with myself knowing you and your children could be harmed. Even if you were total strangers and I heard something was going to happen to you, I would have to do something to warn you. I don't want to live in a world like that.” She was frightened. He looked at her with those cocker spaniel eyes. “You won't tell Ben about this, will you?” “Why do you have anything to do with him?” “He bought my company, he owes me a lot of money. I have to at least maintain a business relationship with him --” “I don't go for that,” she said. “Robin,” said Cardston, “I'm telling you the truth. Please let the kids keep those things. If you don't want them, give them away–I can't take them back.” He set the transformer on the table.The kids came back into the house for another raid on the

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cookies. Robin could fell her stomach grinding. She turned back to Cardston and the kids grabbed the cookies and their toys and raced into the backyard to play with their gifts. A few drops of rain fell against the windows. Robin glanced out through the back patio where the boys were playing with their toys. She saw spots of rain explode into tiny puddles in the dirt. She would have to take the gifts away from the kids but she was too tired to fight with them. Outside, a car drove up and the engine died. She heard someone walk toward their front door. Ben might be coming. Maybe he and Cardston were going to do something to her–maybe they were going to take the children. The footsteps grew louder.

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Chapter 12 The problem with women, Ben had once said, was that you can't live with them and you can't kill them. This thought rushed through Robin's mind as she stared out into rain, trying to see who was there. “You have great kids, you know that–great,” repeated Cardston. She saw the approaching visitor was her brother, Jerry. Thank the Lord! He was dressed in a paint-speckled pair of overalls and carried several bags of paint supplies. “Come in before you get drenched,” said Robin. “Aren't you a darling to help us this way? Oh, you know Cardston, don't you?” She was so relieved. Jerry wiped his feet off and held out his hand. “Sure, I should have known you were here,” he said to Cardston, “isn't that your Winnebago?” “Sure it and it's pretty handy,” said Cardston. “Had it out at Malibu, saved me a fortune in motel bills.” “I know what you mean. I rented one and took the family to Vancouver a couple of years ago,” Jerry's voice was flat, he was making polite conversation with Cardston. “If you want to borrow it, just give me a call and I'll drop it off at your place.” “That's a pretty generous offer but our holidays are over and next year, then we're going to Hawaii --” “Hey,” said Cardston, “after what you did for me, it's the least I could do. As a matter-of-fact, between us, I felt slightly uncomfortable getting that motor home the way I did.”“Give me the pink slip then,” said Jerry.

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“I don't feel that uncomfortable. Speaking of comfortable, I'd feel comfortable having the benefit of your expertise in some real estate.” “That's what I do best.” Jerry became noticeably friendly, real estate was, after all, his life. “I'm going to be moving out to this area probably. So I'll need to buy a little fixerupper. And I've got a couple of deals with some off-shore money–they need some commercial property.” “I'm your man,” said Jerry. “Great–well, I got to go,” said Cardston and pulling his collar up around his neck, he moved out into the rain–”And don't forget, any time you need my motor home just --” “–whistle,” said Robin and closed the door. Robin helped her brother unpack the supplies from the paint shop. “Boy, you bought a lot of stuff,” she said. “What do I owe you?” “Well, like they say in Fairbanks, mark it up on the ice and we'll settle in the spring. Heh-heh.” “Heh-heh-yourself. Come on. You must have spent fifty bucks, look at these tools,” she said. “You can't afford to support two families.” “Easy come, easy go,” he said. “Cardston knows you're the reason he won the motor home, right?” Jerry unwrapped a putty knife. “I suppose.” Jerry had put up with a lot of Ben's power games because Ben tossed him some juicy real estate business from time to time. Jerry popped open a can of spackle and started filling holes as he changed the subject: “I

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bet that fruit would be a bit surprised if he knew you told me about him galloping around bare ass naked on Christmas.” “Probably,” she said. Jerry glanced at the white Books of Mormon with each child's name imprinted on their soft leather covers. “Cardston didn't drop those off, did he?” “Yes.” “He's up to something. I don't trust him any more than I trust Ben.” “The way Cardston tells it, he wants nothing to do with Ben. He seems frightened of him.” “It's some kind of game they're playing, Sis.” “Maybe. Before you came I got this flash that Cardston and Ben were plotting together to hurt me. I thought you might be Ben.” The kids were standing in the open patio door, watching the drizzling rain turn the backyard to mud. Kimmy held her hand out and let fat drops shatter on her palm. Dale headed for the fridge to snare more cookies. He set his transformer walkie-talkie on the countertop a few feet from his mother and uncle who were speaking in low voices. Dale signaled to his brother to create a diversion on the other side of the kitchen so that the raid on the cookies would be successful. ********** Outside, in his Winnebago, Cardston locked the door. He walked to the rear of the motor home and pulled the curtains shut. Hardly necessary since the rain, slashed down, streaking the windows. He unlocked a cabinet and pulled a drawer open. Cardston took out a set of headsets–high-tech gadgets that allowed the wearer to hear any voice in range

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of the transformer walkie-talkies. Sitting in his Winnebago, in the midst of the rain storm, Cardston could hear what was being said in Robin's kitchen more clearly than had he been in the house. “I don't know what to think about him,” said Robin. “Maybe he's got a thing for the kids. You know how those queers are.” (The kids continued playing with their transformer/walkie-talkies. Although they pushed and pressed switches, these had no effect on the radio transmission to Cardston in the motor home.) “I can't imagine he's a child molester ... something interesting about him ... to another woman.” “Interesting?” “Yeah, he's different ... crazy thing is there's something about him, that reminds me of myself.” There was some static as the twins dropped one of the transformers, then Robin made Dale put the cookies back in the fridge. Kimmy said something. Everyone laughed and Mrs. Wilson came back in. Cardston tried to figure out what was had been said, but couldn't–he found it exciting Robin had found him interesting. The transmission from the kitchen continued. “I'm past thirty. I have three children. I'm really not interested in going out with men who aren't good LDS–I'm not exactly the catch of the century. I don't even have decent boobs.”

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“Your boobs are fine. And today's modern man is not all that interested in large mammary development.” “Then how come your wife happens to be a size C, double cup?”“I may not be a modern man,” said Jerry, a bit sheepish. “And speaking of Sally–she's got a guy for you. One of her shirt-tail relatives, Dwight. Anyway, all of us are going out Friday, you want to come along and meet this guy?” “I don't know.” “He'll treat you with the utmost respect.” “I don't want respect,” said Robin. “What do you want, Sis?' “Non-stop sex?” She laughed. Even from in the motor home it was obvious to Cardston she was making a joke. The fact was–no matter what Robin said–she was a very straight woman. Cardston doubted she would ever make love with anyone she was not married to. “It would be good for you to start going out with some guys,” said Jerry. “You know who I find interesting? The attorney of mine. He really stood up to Ben --” “Start dating him, maybe you'll get a discount.” After they stopped laughing, Jerry said: “Sis, promise you won't let that fruit, Jerry, in here again.” Robin said OK. Cardston realized how he could help Ben. It was simple. Isolate Robin from her family. And since Jerry was her only family, it made sense to get rid of him. Then with Jerry gone, Robin would fall apart. And Ben would end up with the kids. Simple.

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Chapter 13 Mormons are probably one of the most gregarious religious groups on earth. Everyone tries to help everyone. The Church has few paid clergy, each of thousands of wards (or parishes) are under the direction of a local bishop who donates his time and services to the congregation. The bishop receives no salary and usually has a full-time job to support his own family. Everyone helps administer the programs, and because of this The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is highly cost-effective. The L.D.S religion is one of the wealthiest organizations in the United States; and, if it were a business enterprise would rank in the top fifth of The Fortune Five Hundred. Programs within the church work smoothly because of the volunteer efforts of its eight million members. Mormons donate several hours or more on a daily basis to their church and they jokingly define a good member as someone going to, attending, or coming from a meeting. It's an accurate description. In the Mormon philosophy Sunday is hardly a day of rest–it's a day to prepare for the rest of the week. Everyone attends Sacrament Service. And there are special classes for the various age groups from the children (Primary) to the adults (woman go to Relief Society, men go to Priesthood.) It is in these classes that men, as holders of the priesthood, learn they are head of the household. Women are taught their primary role is to support the men. This is the only way women can share in the priesthood–which is the ultimate authority to act on behalf of God. A man and woman, married for time and all eternity in the temple, is the beginning of the perfect family unit. Mormons believe that through the priesthood a couple can someday–although it may take millions of years–

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become Gods, namely, they'll have their own worlds, maybe even their own universe. It's something to look forward to. And because of this Mormons are not concerned with population explosion; they do their best to create it. After all, each child may become a God with his own universe. At the beginning of each month there is a special Fast and Testimony Meeting. After the sacrament is passed, anyone in the congregation may bear testimony to the truthfulness and divinity of the church and its leaders. The testimony offers members an opportunity to share special experiences with others in the congregation. Adults are expected to skip two meals. The money saved is given to the church. Many Mormons find they are a bit more humble on an empty stomach. Robin had once tried to explain the meaning of fast to Kimmy and Kimmy said as far as she was concerned fast was the wrong name. “Nothing goes very fast when you're waiting for dinner,” the child said. In addition to fast offerings, each of the members gives ten per cent of his or her money to the church. This tithing amounts to over four billion dollars a year. The Mormon Church operates many businesses and is heavily involved in global real estate. In total, over eight billion dollars is earned by the church annually. Some of this money is used to help the poor, especially members of the church in good standing. Although there is a slight Catch 22: a member in good standing should be industrious enough to stay off welfare. Nevertheless, the L.D.S. Church operates a vast welfare system for its members and no one ever has to go hungry or without shelter. Even a Mormon who has lost his way or his faith (a Jack Mormon) will not be turned away if he or his family are in need. Although once on welfare the Jack Mormon is expected to get back on track and return to the fold spiritually.

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Robin took her three children to the Fast and Testimony Service at the Westlake Stake. As she entered the chapel, the organist was playing “America, The Beautiful.” The Church was designed to hold around three hundred members, however, the ward had grown to over sevem hundred. About half of these members were seated in oak pews, bleached white. She felt guilty for having missed Sunday School that morning–but what with the recent move, the complications of fixing up their rented place, registering the kids at school, having the phone connected and the electricity turned on and renting a refrigerator, Robin simply had run out of time. Robin and Ben had traveled to many places in the world and they generally attended a Mormon Church in whatever city they were visiting. Considering that The Church had 16,000 wards and 44 temples around the globe this was not a difficult task. For Robin one of the best things about being a Mormon was: no matter where you went on the planet there was always an LDS Chapel you could attend. You felt like you had roots for Calcutta to Calgary. And as she walked into the Westlake Ward she yearned to feel the warmth of people. A few of them already knew Robin from having met her at church functions in Los Angeles. These people smiled and shook hands. Mormons were great for shaking hands. Most of the ward was made up of families–and Robin was pleased to see a lot of youngsters the same age as her children. Kimmy was staring at a blond boy, about her age. Robin had barely taken her seat when Bishop Searle began to speak from behind the podium. “Brothers and Sisters,” said Bishop Searle, “thank-you for your reverence, I appreciate your taking your seats quickly and quietly, as you know Ward Seven meets right after we do.” He talked on, chatting about ward business and plans. The bishop

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was as close to a diamond in the rough as Robin had seen. He was a big man. Large jowls. Deep-set eyes. A thick head of hair. He looked awkward but Robin decided he had a gentle nature. He reminded her a little of her own father–she remembered how gentle, and awkward, her father was. Robin felt warm, no not warm, rather–serene–as she listened to Bishop Searle. She trusted him, and she was glad he was a policeman. She hoped she would never have to use his professional services but it gave her comfort to know that if things went absolutely crazy with Ben (and they just might) that the “father of her ward” would be on her side and he would understand. She thanked her Father in Heaven for Bishop Searle. The bishop called on an elderly man to offer an opening prayer and soon the congregation was singing a sacrament hymn. Then for the sacrament young men blessed the water and bread and passed it to the congregation. It was a ritual. Time to think of one's place in the universe and evaluate the week. After the sacrament, the bishop said: “Thank you for showing reverence during the sacrament. Sister Robin Wendell and her three children, Daryl, Dale and Kimmy have just moved into our ward. Would the family please stand?” Robin–who had been thinking about other things–managed to get the kids to stand in a more or less neat row. Pews creaked as bodies shifted and members of the church twisted around to see. Because Robin had already visited the ward and talked with several of the members and because her brother and his family already attended the ward, she got the feeling that most of the congregation had heard about her and no doubt knew about her separation and impending divorce. As Robin smiled back at some of the people she had the feeling she was not quite as welcome as she would be had she come with a

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husband. Mormons married for time and all eternity, not just for this lifetime so a divorce was looked upon as a serious failure. At one time it was almost impossible to even get a divorce. Robin remembered that some of the sisters in her last ward felt a bit uneasy (even a trifle hostile) when an attractive divorcee became a part of the congregation. After all, a single woman with several children is anxious to rebuild her family and sometimes rebuilding that family meant culling a husband from existing stock. She had no plans for getting married again–at least for a long time–and she could never see herself involved with a married man. But some of the good sisters of this new ward could not read her mind or maybe they thought they could; from some of their faces, Robin sensed a certain lack of warmth. Robin and the kids sat down. The twins exchanged glances and Robin wondered what kind of skullduggery they were hatching. They were always up to something and lately they seemed to have become more bent on destruction, breaking glasses, deliberately crashing their bikes, marking up the walls. She hoped, she prayed that this was just a passing fad. Kimmy clutched a preemie doll, then suddenly looked up at Robin and grinned that devastating grin of hers. Bishop Searle asked the congregation to vote on accepting Robin and her children into the ward. Everyone raised a hand. He asked if there were any opposed. There were not, there never were unless someone knew you were an axe-murderer. Each year members were asked to vote on the church leaders, and when she had been a little girl Robin recalled someone voting no. Then the man, waving a knife, started to scream that the church leaders were working for the Son of Satan and made for the bishop. Several

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large elders tackled him and that was the only time Robin remembered someone actually voting negatively. The bishop bore his testimony, saying he knew the church was true and that its leaders were divinely inspired and that he felt very humble to be the ward's bishop. He sat down and then other members of the congregation rose and talked briefly about how important the church was in his life and how it made his family better people. Robin felt she too should stand and bear testimony but her mind kept drifting to worldly things–what Cardston had said about Ben wanting to kill her. What was that all about? Did Ben really hate her that much, did he really want to kill her and perhaps the children? Was it true or was it just a nutty idea Cardston had hatched? But what kind of a person would come to her with such a story? Robin was afraid there was at least some truth in what Cardston said. But how much truth and how much fiction was anyone's guess. She knew that under certain circumstances Ben might kill her. What did gangsters call murder, whacking? Yeah, Ben might whack her. Even though the interior of the church was warm, Robin could feel ice transverse her spine. Robin glanced around. She saw mostly strangers. Friendly strangers, but nevertheless, strangers. Someday they would be friends, maybe. Her eyes met her brother's. He was seated in one of the rear pews with Sally and their two kids. A nineyear-old boy and eight-year-old girl. The two kids were dressed immaculately. Sally and Robin had always gotten along, but there a severity about Sally that bothered Robin. When Jerry and Sally had first started to go together, he asked what Robin thought. Robin had said she thought Sally was great. Now, sitting in the Westlake Ward thinking about how quickly kids grow up, how quickly people dash through life, Robin realized

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she should have told her brother to find a wife who was just a bit more fun, a little more spontaneous. Maybe this was the reason Robin and Sally never became friends. Sally did not approve of Robin's spontaneity and her off-the wall-humor. Sally seemed jealous of Robin, especially when she had the big house in Hancock Park. Sally visited the mansion only once, and after that visit she always had an excuse for not coming back. The excuses were all reasonable. All logical. But of all the times Robin invited Sally to the Hancock Place ... it never worked out. Robin had particularly wanted Sally to come to the Christmas party. But Jerry had arrived filled with apologies. Sally looked up from some scriptures she was reading and her eyes met Robin's. Sally smiled a cold tight smile. Robin decided the time had come to bear her testimony. She stood and said: “Brothers and Sisters, I would like to thank everyone for being so kind to my children and myself. We feel very fortunate that we can be a part of this ward. I hope in the next while we can get to know each other better --” She was going to talk about how much she needed the Gospel of Jesus Christ in her life when she saw Cardston. He was sitting just to the left and behind Jerry. Robin was taken aback slightly. Cardston had said something about coming to the Westlake Ward but she did not expect him so soon and she had the impression he was not big on attending church regularly. Robin became aware that she had stopped talking and everyone was looking at her, waiting for her to finish her sentence. “...and so brothers and sisters, thank you for everything. In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.”

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The kids looked at her curiously, Robin was an accomplished public speaker and they had never seen their mother freeze-up in front of an audience, certainly not a group of Mormons. Bishop Searle's voice brought Robin back to the present– “Daryl and Dale,” he told the congregation, “will be eight on Monday and their father is going to baptize them next Sunday. The baptism will be at four p.m. In the baptismal room.” Dale nudged his mother. “Hey,” he said. “Is Dad coming out here next week?” “I guess so,” said Robin. The Mormon Church did not allow women to hold the priesthood, only men could perform sacraments–and usually a father (who held the priesthood) baptized his own children. When a child reached eight he was at what the church called the age of reason. And the theory was that the child would either accept or reject baptism. Members were encouraged to baptize their children as soon after their eighth birthday as possible. Robin had assumed that if she moved fifty miles from their Hancock place she would be able to distance herself from Ben. But judging by how quickly he had talked to the bishop and set up the twins' baptism, it looked like the family was going to see a lot of him. They were inexorably interwoven by their children. So be it, thought Robin. The idea of moving further away than Westlake went through her mind. After the last move the thought made her ache. At least in Westlake she had Jerry. Besides, where would she move? She had no other family. Oh, she knew some college roommates from Brigham Young University who lived in Utah, but she didn't want to take the kids to Utah. It was too far and there were too many Mormons. She had seen some of her friends become–what? Inbred? Insular? The

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Church was too strong, too omnipotent in Utah. She liked the freedom of California–it was a better balance for raising the kids. Before she could continue with her thoughts, a young boy stood up at the front of the church. Robin guessed the lad was about ten or so. He had long sandy hair and his suit was ill-fitted, but he possessed a sincere face, freckled and tanned. “Brothers and Sisters,” he said, “I'm from Montana, visiting my grandparents here and this is the first time I have borne my testimony. And I want to tell you it's a humbling experience. I need to tell you something that happened to Dad and me at our ranch out west of Butte. It's about the power of prayer --” Robin was glad the young boy was speaking. Most of the people in the ward were listening. He seemed so innocent. “–last Wednesday Dad took me out to round up twenty head of cattle and we rode hard for most the morning and we couldn't find them. It was hot and I was hungry and so was Dad, but we didn't have no water or food. We were in the middle of this big meadow and Dad said the time had come for Father in Heaven to help us. So we get off our horses and knelt in the meadow. I knelt in some puffballs and we asked Father in Heaven to help us. And we got back on our horses and Dad said he figured we'd find the cows pretty quick. “I wasn't so sure, but five minutes later we came to this ridge and I rode over it and right there at the bottom, if you can believe this Brothers and Sisters, were the sons of bitches. Amen.” The young man sat down.

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Everyone was aghast. Then the bishop started to laugh and the dam broke–Robin never laughed so hard or long herself, and it seemed like everyone in the congregation was going to fall out of their pews. After the laughing stopped, the bishop dried his tears and asked the choir to sing the final song. One of the college boys who was going on a mission gave the closing prayer. He had to speak quickly to stop from laughing. As Robin and the kids left the ward house and walked into the bright sunlight, she saw that her twins had already made friends–they were trading baseball cards with a sandy haired boy of their own age. That was a good start -When the boy from Montana came out into the sunshine, a group of men crowded around him and shook his hand. He seemed pleased with the attention. Dale asked Robin how come the boy could get away with swearing in church when no one was allowed to say anything bad anywhere else. Robin said because the boy from Montana didn't know any better. And that makes it right?” asked the other twin. “Sometimes,” said Robin. “But remember, you know better.” And despite herself she started to laugh again. “Hi,” said Cardston, “how are you, Sister Bailey?” “It's Sister Wendell,” she said. And all the laughter left her. What did Cardston want, she wondered. Wasn't it just a little odd that of all the places in the world he might move to, he had picked Westlake? Usually going to church made her feel warm and safe. This was the first time she had ever come out of a service terrified. What was going on? All of Robin's defenses

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were ready. She could feel her body bracing for an attack. Why? Was Father-in-Heaven trying to warn her of something?

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Chapter 14 “I'm sorry I called you Sister Bailey,” said Cardston. “From now on it'll be Sister Wendell–unless you'll permit me to call you Robin?” He spoke easily: in a precise Boston accent, something that had taken him five years to cultivate. His original Southern Alberta twang had once made people think he was from Texas or Oklahoma. “Robin is fine.” She was cool, almost aloof. The sunlight was behind her back and Cardston lifted his palm to shade his eyes. “Say, how about I take you and the kids for lunch at Big Boy's, Robin?” “We were planning on some other things,” said Robin and silently chided herself, she was not out of church five minutes and already she was fibbing. Well, maybe the fib could be justified.... Robin was famished since she had skipped Saturday's dinner; it had been early morning since the kids had eaten. Cardston knelt by Kimmy who was dragging her teddy bear, with only one button eye behind her. The creature flopped against the sidewalk. “Hey, your teddy looks like he's one eye short,” said Cardston. “Teddy only has one eye,” said Kimmy. “That way he's always winking.” “Right. How would you like a thick chocolate milkshake and the best hamburger you've ever tasted?” “Dyn-a-mite! How about it, Mom?” Kimmy glanced up at Robin.

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Robin was pleased her daughter had asked. She had lectured Kimmy many times about how important it was to ask permission when a stranger offered something. “I was telling Mr. Degere that we have other things planned.” “Like what?” asked Kimmy. “Your uncle Jerry said something about having dinner at his place.” In truth, Jerry had mentioned she and the kids would always have an invitation for dinner on Sunday. The problem so far had been Jerry's wife. Sally never really objected to family gatherings. She was the kind of person who was always going to do something, always said she was planning something for you, but at the last minute something inevitably came up which made it impossible (certainly not Sally's fault) for her to accomplish her “kind act.” “Great,” squealed Kimmy. “There's Uncle Jerry and Aunt Sally --” She let go of her teddy bear and raced across the sidewalk. Jerry picked the child up and she clung to him, wrapping her bony legs around his chest. “Mummy says we're going to your place to eat,” said Kimmy, snapping Robin back to the present. “Oh, isn't that lovely,” said Sally. “But you really should tell me about these things, Jerry. Now, don't worry, we can stop by the store and pick up a few things --” Robin overheard this–Sally had been careful to raise her voice so Robin could. “Don't go to any trouble, Sally–I should have phoned but things were just kind of crazy what with the move and everything --” said Robin. “Uh, no trouble,” said Sally. She gently nibbled at her lower lip–she reminded Robin of a bird of prey, deciding which of several small mice she should pounce upon.

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“Let's make it next Sunday,” said Robin. “And why don't you and the kids come over to our place? We'll have our barbecue working.” “Now that's an idea we can all live with,” said Sally. And at last, she broke into a smile. “Good then,” said Robin, “we'll have a great time next Sunday.” She gave her brother a quick squeeze. Kimmy had scampered back to pick up her teddy bear. Cardston handed it to her. “I've always wanted a little girl like you, you know that?” he asked. “I already got a Daddy,” said the child. “I know you have, and he's a great guy. Are you certain that I can't buy you and your Mummy and brothers a chocolate milkshake?” “How about strawberry?” “If it's strawberry you want, then it's strawberry you got. But of course it's all up to your mother.” For Robin the past few weeks had been tough but the one redeeming aspect for her was being out of Ben's world. And now that she was away from that day-to-day grind, she had become acutely aware of situations where she felt manipulated. She was about to disappoint her daughter and say “No,” when Cardston waved to Jerry. “Hi, Jerry–” he said. “I've got those Asian clients looking to rent a commercial building out here–I know Church is hardly the place to discuss this–but if you come across about 300,000 square feet, give me a jingle, all right?” The two men shook hands and Jerry introduced Cardston to Sally. “It's nice to meet you, Cardston. Isn't there a temple in Alberta called that?”

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“Matter-of-fact, you're right. My family settled up there about a hundred years ago,” said Cardston. “You ever been to the Cardston Temple?” “No. But I'd love to go. Say, we're having dinner in a little while and we can certainly find room for one more, would you like to drop over?” Good old Sally, thought Robin, no room for us but always room for a business client. And she used to criticize me for being too concerned about helping Ben. “I'm sorry–but I already asked Robin and the kids out for lunch.” Robin was about to say: “Go ahead,” when Jerry said: “I bet the kids would love milkshakes.” And he smiled at Robin. Robin realized her brother could use the commission on 300,000 square feet of commercial property. What the heck, she thought, it's the middle of the day, surrounded by people I know. It'll be safe enough. So instead of declining, Robin smiled (and felt like a hypocrite) and said: “The kids would love to go–but if you'd rather go to Sally's that's fine.” “No, I'd enjoy taking your kids for lunch, let's go,” said Cardston. A few minutes later, Robin and her three children sat in Cardston's Winnebago as he maneuvered it out of the church parking lot. Robin was in the passenger seat next to him, the kids played in the back. “Hold it down, back there, I'm sure Brother Degere did not bargain to have his sofa demolished by you three.” The twins stopped bouncing.“They're OK. This is a pretty sturdy vehicle,” said Cardston. “Don't tell them it's sturdy–that's an invitation. If they set their minds to it, they could level this vehicle before we went a block.”

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Cardston smiled. He seemed so, so innocent and gentle–maybe he had been telling the truth, maybe she had been filling in too many of the blanks, yet .... “That kid from Montana gave quite a testimony, didn't he?” asked Cardston. “Yes. He sure did.” Robin smiled to herself. Cardston shifted into second and the motor home hurried along a wide boulevard. “Do you think?” asked Cardston, “that kid knew he was going to get a laugh?” “I don't think so.” “I think he knew. I think he got quite a charge out of shaking up The Saints.” “Do you like to shake up people, Cardston?” asked Robin. “I like a joke and most jokes are simply ways to look at things differently. If that's shaking up people, then I suppose I'm guilty.” “I'm sure when you mentioned that Ben was going to try and kill me and the kids you were being serious.” “I believe I said that if I heard anything I would pass it along to you.” “Isn't that curious?” said Robin. “I thought you said Ben was going to kill me or harm the children. Or was that a joke?” “I think I phrased it as more of a question.” Robin looked at Cardston. Something was not right. She had seen him in the steam room with Ben. He had come to her house, bringing presents for her kids, telling her a dreadful story about her husband wanting to kill her. And now he was sitting there next to her, lying about what she had heard him say. Something went tilt in her mind. It had not been a good idea to accept his luncheon invitation. “Let us off there,” she said, pointing to a parking lot.

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“I thought we were going for something to eat.” “Please, I need to walk for awhile. I don't feel very well. Just let us off.” She wanted to get the kids away from this guy. Cardston, puzzled, slowed the motor home. He glanced in his rear view mirror and caught sight of the twins. They had opened the drawer in the tiny kitchen and taken out his scanner. One of them flipped the scanner on. Only static came through since they were too far from their home. “Hey,” said Dale, “this is pretty neat–listen I can hear the police --” He turned up the volume and sure enough the cross talk between the Westlake Police dispatcher and patrol cars echoed through the interior of the motor home. “How come you listen to police broadcasts?” asked Kimmy. “When I was out at Malibu I used it to monitor the conversations between the road gangs. That way I always knew which routes were open.” “Hey, yelled the other twin, I just heard a guy say the f-word.” “You better shut that thing off,” said Robin. She got up to go to the rear of the motor home. She had to hold onto the back of her seat for support. Cardston was trying to pull into the parking lot but traffic had him blocked in.“We're at the restaurant,” Cardston announced and turned into the next parking lot. “OK, kids, go get a table, your mother and I need to talk.” The kids hurried out and dashed into the restaurant. “How's your stomach?” he asked. She looked out the window and saw the kids running into the restaurant. “I'll live.” “There's a washroom in the back of this thing.”

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“I don't feel too bad. Maybe instead of walking, I'll just sit at a table–maybe a Seven-up will help.” “I don't think you were sick, Robin. I think it was something else.” She looked at his cocker spaniel eyes. They seemed moist, almost as though he had been kicked in the stomach. “Let me be blunt. You're scaring the shit out of me,” she said. “What?” he asked as they walked into the restaurant. “You're frightening me. You frightened me when you came to my house and said Ben was going to harm us. And when we started to talk about it a moment ago, you acted like that's not what you really meant. What's with you?” She felt secure facing him in the midst of the restaurant. “I want to help.” “You have a strange way of doing it.” “What do you suggest I do?” “I told you, if you know Ben is going to harm us, go to the police.” “I did. They talked to Ben, he made some phone calls to the mayor's office. The police said if I wasn't careful I could end up in jail. They kept my name from Ben or he would have sued me by now.” “I wish I could believe that,” she said. “I know you're frightened,” he said. “I've been frightened before and I know what it feels like. But I am on your side.” “You said you could never live with yourself if you thought we were going to be harmed. You said even if we were total strangers–that's what you said, total strangers–

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you would have to warn us. Because you didn't want to live in a world where people kill each other.” “OK. What are you so annoyed with me about?” “How do you intend to warn us if you're staying away from Ben, which I assume you are.” “Good question. Ben phoned me and said he wanted to be friends.” “Really?” “Really. And normally I would have told him to take a hike but I got to thinking about you and kids. I figured if I stayed in touch with Ben I might be able to help.” “What's in it for you?' “Nothing–Come on, it's the middle of the afternoon. The kids are hungry. So are you. I am too. How about giving me the benefit of the doubt for the next 60 minutes?” A few minutes later as the kids wolfed down their food, Robin glanced around the restaurant. There were a lot of families from the church–apparently the restaurant was a favorite watering hole for The Saints after church services. The kids finished their hamburgers with considerable gusto and Dale belched as he stuffed the last crumbs of food into his mouth. Both Kimmy and Daryl began to laugh. “Take it easy,” said Robin. “How come we can laugh when people swear in Church and we can't laugh here?” asked Daryl. “I'm sorry. You can laugh all you want, just don't make a sound,” and she started to tickle them. The squealed with delight. “Mummy,” asked Kimmy, “can I go play on the swings out back?”

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“Great idea,” said Dale, “let's go.” He pushed his chair back and got up from the table. “Hold on,” said Robin. Daryl bounded after Dale and the two of them to the rear of the restaurant before Robin caught them. “Hey, what do you guys think you're doing?” “We're going to have a bit of fun, Mom,” explained Dale. “Don't be such a meanie.” Kimmy was already disappearing around a corner toward the play area which was visible through the plate glass. “OK,” said Robin. “But be careful.” She went back to the table. The kids were getting harder to manage by the hour. “Someday I'd like to have children like that,” said Cardston. “If you used that scanner to listen to the highway repair men, why was it tuned to the police frequency?” “Sometimes I listen to that.” “That legal?” she asked. “Sure,” said Cardston. “You know those wireless telephones --” “Yeah.” “They broadcast on a public frequency. And while it's illegal to tap your phone line, there's nothing wrong with listening to that same phone conversation if you're picking it up on a scanner.” “I guess that's why I don't have one of those wireless phones.” “You want me to buy you one?” he asked. “No.” She finally smiled.

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“I don't think Ben realizes what a great person he lost,” Cardston said. “I think he'll always look at me as a neurotic woman who couldn't accept him for what he was.” There was a pause. “No. That's not the reason,” said Cardston. “It was because he was involved with other men.” “You know that for a fact?” Here I go, she thought, defending Ben again. And against a guy who might be his lover for all I know. “Robin, I know what he's like. He tried to get me in your steam bath.” “I guess,” she said, after a moment, “if I were to be honest with myself, I've known about his problem for a long time. And there was a time when we could have handled it. If we would only have been honest with each other.” “Some things Mormons have a hard time being honest about,” said Cardston. When the bill came Cardston paid for it and while he was waiting for his Visa, he said to Robin: “I care about you and your family.” He picked up a cracker and bit into it and as he chewed it he thought how he would kill Jerry. A traffic accident would be good. Maybe a freeway shooting. “I'm sorry if I've been so uptight around you,” said Robin. “That's all right. You don't know me–you've only met me a couple of times. It takes a while to find out what people are up to. Most of my friends consider me pretty good people.” Robin hoped so. She needed someone to help her figure out what Ben's next stunt would be. She found out three hours later when she was reading some church scriptures at home when the phone rang. It was Phil, he attorney. Phil made small talk. At first she

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thought he was going to ask her out, but then he said he was turning over her divorce to a very capable associate in his firm. “I want you to handle it,” said Robin. She felt an anxiety attack. “I'm sorry, Robin, I've accepted a position for two years in Japan. I'm going to do the marketing and legal work for a company that has a global network of martial arts clubs.” “Good luck,” said Robin. “When did that come up?” “It's something I've been trying to make happen for a year or two.” “I see. Ben was working with a group like that in Asia. He didn't get the job for you, did he?” “I don't think it would be appropriate to discuss my relationship with your husband. I have to go now.” He hung up. Robin listened to the white sound in the receiver and then tried to go back to reading the scriptures. The lettering on the page of The Bible she was reading kept moving in and out of focus. She swore softly at Ben. It may have been the first time she took The Lord's name in vain. Certainly the first time it had happened while she was reading the scriptures.

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Chapter 15 The following Friday, as the sun was beginning to nibble its way through the 7:45 a.m. smog, Ben Bailey returned to his penthouse condominium on Wilshire Boulevard. Ben was tired, he had been flying all night on a JAL 747 from Tokyo. The trip had been worth it. Even looking at the conservative bottom line, Ben figured he would make over four million dollars on the book deals he had concluded with the Japanese. Ben was pleased that Robin's attorney, make that former attorney would be moving to Japan soon. It was amazing what happened to people when you helped them achieve their dreams. Ben had set up a sweet deal with Phil and a Japanese martial arts company.

Ben despised the Japanese–in his mind he thought of them as Japs. He had concluded that the Japanese would not rest until they were the dominant military power (as well as the primary economic force on the planet). Maybe another ten years. Maybe 20. They were unstoppable. Even though he loathed the Japanese and Asians in general, Ben still idolized his adopted daughter, Kimmy. She was part Asian. But in Ben's mind she was not. This was a curious facility Ben had. To both hate and love a particular culture, a particular person, a particular religion. He both hated and loved The Mormon Church. Ben had tried to figure out how he was able to feel so differently about the same thing. He had gone to a shrink who explained he was suffering from a dual personality. For example,

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when it came to the LDS church, one part of Ben loved and cherished its teachings. The other part of him, the sexual part, rejected the church, despised it–and in so doing was able to justify his homosexual activities. That little insight had cost Ben $825.00, however, he had refused to pay the bill, insisting he was one person. The shrink threatened legal action. Ben suggested the shrink send half the bill to him and the other half “to the other guy.” But deep down inside, Ben knew the shrink had been right. Ben knew there were two of him. And sometimes the two would argue with each other. Lately this was happening more and more. Ben pushed these thoughts to the back of his mind and by the time the percolator started his coffee, he was shaking. Various scenarios of the Asian War Machine marched through his mind which was screaming for sleep–the Goddamn sleeping pills that he taken on the flight, had not worked. “I didn't hear you come in,” said Cardston, pulling a silk robe around him. “Can I make you some breakfast?” He walked into the kitchen area. “I ate between Hawaii and LA at 38,000 feet.” “Can I help you with that coffee?” “Thanks.” Ben spilled some grounds on the tile floor. “What are you so upset about?” Cardston wanted to know. “I was thinking about what a country does before it decides to conquer the world.” This was a lie, he had been thinking about the two Bens. But he was not going to share that with anyone, especially Cardston. Cardston would think he was nuts. “What?”“Burns books. That's what the Germans did. They burnt books.” “Is someone burning books?”

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“It's much more sophisticated than that. People don't read like they used to. They watch television and movies. You control TV and film and you control the masses.” “Oh, so instead of burning books, someone is trying to control the TV and film media?” “Right. The Goddamn Japanese.” “Maybe they're just good businessmen.” “There's no question about that,” said Ben. “And they also think they're the chosen people to rule the planet.” “I think the world is too complex for any one group of people to control much for very long.” “That's where you're wrong. The Japs control computer production, and banking and manufacturing on 95 per cent of this globe.” Ben amazed himself from time to time with his crazy logic. He wondered which of the two Bens were responsible for it. By then the coffee was beginning to percolate and Cardston poured some for him. Ben drank it too fast and it burnt his lips and he cursed. “You've had a long trip, Ben. Why don't you take a steam bath and get some rest?” Cardston took some milk out of the refrigerator and stirred it into Ben's coffee. “Don't worry about me. Don't you see what the Japs are doing with the broadcast media what the Krauts did?” “The Germans burnt books–the Japanese buy TV stations and film companies. A bit of a difference.” Cardston whipped up the coffee grounds from the tile. “Use your head, man! The Germans destroyed culture with their book burnings. The Japanese can obliterate our culture by trashing our film libraries. They already own most

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of our fucking film libraries, for God's sakes. That's why they'll spend any amount to get the rest of our studios and networks. Then they'll replace our culture with theirs. They'll have us.” Ben drained his cup, tossed it in the sink where it shattered. Then he picked up the percolator and up-ended it into the sink. “I'd like some coffee, Old Shoe,” said Cardston. “Then go to a fucking restaurant.” Ben did not mean to be so angry but he could not help himself for he both loved and hated Cardston. Cardston was his salvation and his destruction. “Why should I?” asked Cardston. “Because tomorrow the maid comes and she happens to be LDS and I don't want her seeing coffee around here. She'll tell all her friends we're breaking the Word of Wisdom.” “Why did you hire a Mormon maid?” “Because the fucking bishop said she needed a job,” snapped Ben. “We're supposed to help each other, you know.” “Oh, that's right,” said Cardston. “We must follow the teachings of the church.” Ben rinsed out the percolator. He grabbed a towel and set to work drying it with maniacal determination. “The Church health rules don't mean anything to you, do they?” “On a scale of one to ten–no make that on a scale of one to a hundred–drinking an occasional cup of coffee is probably a two or a three. But our fucking each other has got to be around 99.” Ben sighed. He was tired. And sleepy. He couldn't make his anger work anymore. “You're one of the few people who understands me.”

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Cardston reached into his robe and found a bottle of blue pills. “Take one of these.” He helped Ben undress and got him in the steam room and turned the light low. “You sit there, I'm going to get you some orange juice.” Ben lay back on the slats of the cedar bench and let the hot steam move through his body. His life was not working and he hated himself. In a few minutes Cardston returned and started to work on Ben's back, kneading and probing. “Where'd you learn how to give backrubs like that?” asked Ben. “I had a friend who taught Shiatzu.” “It feels good. Sorry I got so mad.” “It's all right.” After a moment Ben asked if Robin or the kids had called. “Yes, I said you'd be back tomorrow. I'm going to rent a place out in Westlake.” “What for?” “Because I know you love your kids. And if you'll be going to Westlake a lot you'll need a place to spend some time. Besides, apartments are pretty cheap.” “You don't need an apartment. There's plenty of space here.” “We both need some quiet time, Old Shoe. That sleeping pill starting to work?” “Mmm.” “Can I give you a little advice?” asked Cardston. “Go for it. Everyone else does.” “It's a negative thing to wish your wife dead. Negative energy is not a good thing.”

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“Things would be a lot simpler if she were dead.” Ben had tried so hard to love his wife, tried so hard to make things work with her. Nothing had. She had refused to try to understand him, kept bringing up all that stuff about honoring his priesthood.

“Maybe you're not thinking clearly. You're certain you want her dead, huh?” “Yes.” “That's another reason for me to be out there then, spend some time with her.” “What are you talking about?” “If you're really going to get rid of her then you need some eyes and ears out there.” “What are you talking about?” Ben wanted to go to sleep, couldn't. “If you don't have some help you'll screw things up and they'll put you in jail and I won't have a ... friend ... any more.” “You could always come and visit me in the slammer.” Ben was nearly asleep due to the back rub and the effects of the sleeping pill. He was not even certain what Cardston was talking about. Ben babbled on–like being on automatic pilot. “I don't even want to talk about that possibility, Old Shoe,” said Cardston. “And I really wish you'd stop thinking about getting rid of her. There are other ways to deal with this. The courts for one thing --” “I want her to disappear. Want my life to be right.” “I think I might be able to accomplish everything you want.” “I appreciate that. But I don't want you living out there. I want you here.” Ben's mind spiraled to sponge. So tired. “I've got the place in Westlake for a month.”

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“So keep it for a month. I'll pay for it. But you stay here with me,” said Ben. “If that's what you want.” “You know what I want?” asked Ben. “I want it to all work out. That's what I want. God, I wish I didn't feel, didn't know so much of the church was true.” “It has a lot of good things,” said Cardston. “It's the key to happiness, especially in the next life. I know that,” said Ben in the twilight of light and darkness. “Then maybe we shouldn't see each other any more.” “I need you,” said Ben. “You can't have it two ways,” said Cardston. “Either the church is true and you live its teachings. Or it's not true and you live by your own standards.” “I need you,” said Ben. “And I need to be a part of the church. He pulled the younger man toward him. Cardston gave no resistance.

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Chapter 16 On Tuesday morning Cardston drove to Westlake to meet with Jerry and discuss the commercial space they had talked about. Cardston was thinking of Ben. The pair of them would make quite a team. Never mind that it would take a awhile for Ben to understand and appreciate, really appreciate, what was going to happen. Cardston had tremendous confidence in his ability to make Ben happy. And then they would live together, happily ever after. These were romantic and idealistic thoughts, but there was no reason why they could not come true. No reason at all, thought Cardston. Cardston watched a dark row of clouds skid across the sun. More rain. That was all right. Southern California needed moisture. It was, after all, a desert–and the cities and towns were simply deals developers had made with zoning boards and Mother Nature. Zoning boards were much more accommodating that Mother Nature. But then you couldn't bribe Mother Nature. Cardston smiled at the metaphor. He was trying to figure out the metaphor for himself and Ben–that would take a while. For now there was one critical item: the plan. The plan was still a bit fuzzy. Essentially Cardston had to insure Ben ended up with his three children. As the first few raindrops splattered against the Winnebago's windshield, the fuzzy edges of the plan that was whirring in Cardston's mind came into focus. In order to get the children, it was obvious that Robin would have to be dealt with–it would not be a good idea to kill her, although Cardston was certain that if he needed to, he could do that. The plan, rather, was to isolate her, to place her in a position where she was of no use as a mother. Then

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the courts would award the children to Ben. And of course once Ben had the kids and felt better about himself, the natural pattern would be for Cardston to become a part of that family. The key was to destroy Robin's support system. Once Jerry was out of the picture, Robin's support system would crumble. The notion that Cardston could replace Robin, had occurred to him on Christmas Eve when he first met Robin and sensed how similar they were. The raindrops turned into a downpour. As he parked the Winnebago, Cardston realized the metaphor he had been looking for was a single word: family. He and Ben and the kids would be a family. Sure, there were risks but everything had risks. And the risk he was going to take was well worth the results. Besides, getting rid of Jerry was going to be a rather enjoyable task. It was easy to despise, a person like Jerry. Jerry was really little more than an insensitive redneck. He had badmouthed Cardston to Robin. True, Jerry had encouraged Robin to have lunch with Cardston but that was only because Jerry wanted to close a real estate deal. And Jerry had helped Cardston get the motor home but only because Jerry was “sucking-up” to Ben. Cardston thought about the way things would look to the police after Jerry was dead. All anyone would be able to say was that he, Cardston, had done nice things for Robin. He had taken her and the kids out to lunch. He had brought the children presents. There would be no reason to link Cardston to Jerry's death. No motive. On the other hand, if Cardston killed Robin, the link would be more obvious. (Cardston seeking revenge for an angry ex-husband.) A successful crime could be neither too complicated nor too obvious.

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Jerry, clad in a fluorescent yellow rain coat, came around the corner. The moment he saw Cardston, the realtor burst into a warm smile. “Boy,” said Jerry, glancing at his watch, “right on time.” “I guess I'd make a good mailman,” said Cardston. He was annoyed Jerry had not been waiting for him at the site. After all, Jerry only had to drive a few miles, while Cardston had been on the freeway for the better part of an hour. And Cardston was certainly doing Jerry an enormous favor. “On the contrary,” said Jerry with what Cardston thought was a shit-eating grin, “you far under-estimate yourself, my friend.” God, does he really think I was serious about being a mailman? This guy is not only insensitive, he's also stupid. A typical uptight Mormon. Not an inkling of this registered on Cardston's placid face. Jerry bubbled with enthusiasm. “My client's prepared to give your principals a tenyear lease, with an excellent option for an additional ten years and he'll take care of any upgrades in the offices that are reasonable. My client is rich and successful, and he's gotten that way by making sure his renters are treated like royalty. I can guarantee your principals will be happy.” “And will you be happy?” “Pardon?” The shit-eating grin disappeared from Jerry's face. “This is a pretty good deal for you too, isn't it?” “It could work out all right.”

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“Will you cut the crap, Jerry? This is the kind of deal a realtor dreams about. I imagine you'll come out like a bandit --” And he almost added: “not bad for dealing with a queer, huh?” But of course, didn't. Just wanted to see Jerry squirm. “Yes, it's a good deal,” said Jerry. “My client would like to meet your people.” “Sure,” said Cardston. “My people would love to meet your man. How about you set up a small dinner party for–oh, I don't know? Eight or ten at Chasens?” Jerry swallowed. The rain could have been his tears. After all, a dinner like that would cost at least five hundred dollars and if something went wrong with the deal, Jerry would be stuck with the tab. On the other hand, if the deal went through, there would be a massive commission. So Jerry said: “Fine, sure, that'll be fine. I'll set it up. Be fun.” I'll make him writhe some more, thought Cardston. “I think I'll ask Robin, on second thought–why don't you? Be a lot of good fun for all of us to get together and I'm sure your wife would like to see her, give her someone to talk to.” Cardston was certain that Jerry's wife, Sally, detested Robin. He had seen how the two women responded to each other in Church. So Jerry stared out at the rain and nodded and said sure. “Great,” said Cardston and he was amazed at how much he was enjoying Jerry's misfortune. “I know you can set things up–probably easier than I can–so Robin'll be there. Talk to her, put in a good word, right?” “Yes.” “I tell you what,” said Cardston, “I'll just look around here if you don't mind. And if you could send the blueprints to my office in Los Angeles, that'll be good.” “I can show you around.”

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“Frankly, old buddy,” said Jerry. “I'd kind of like to poke around here on my own. I'll be fine. You go on.” Jerry shook hands with Cardston, tried one more time to show him around and was gently rebuffed. Cardston watched Jerry head back out into the rain and decided to hit him with one more zinger. Cardston figured Jerry would cheat on a deal–after all, the realtor had been Ben's stooge when they played the whistling game at the Christmas Eve party. Cardston saw how important it was for Jerry to act piously–take the kids to church, pretend to be a pillar of the community. Time for an off-color joke, thought Cardston. Ordinarily Jerry would probably not have laughed at anything crude. But these were not ordinary times for Jerry–Jerry was on the verge of making a year's commission with a little luck and a small–although very expensive–dinner party, and the key to it all was making Cardston happy. So Cardston said: “You're a real competitor, Jerry.” “Thanks.” “You know what my definition of a real competitor is?” asked Cardston. “What?” “A real serious competitor is a guy who enters a jack-off contest and comes in first and third.” Jerry started to laugh, almost before the last word had escaped Cardston's mouth. Cardston smiled a little bit. Yep, he had old Jerry eating right out of his hand. Felt good. Cardston waved goodbye, then turned and walked into the construction freight elevator. He was not interested in checking out the building, he simply wanted to kill some time. He pulled the wire mesh door closed and pushed the top floor button. The

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elevator's powerful electric motor kicked into gear and zipped him upward through the skeleton of what was soon to be an elegant high-rise office building. Cardston got off and stepped onto the roof. Carcasses of partially-assembled air conditioning and heat-exchange pumps were scattered across the tar-papered surface. They reminded him of sculptured dinosaur bones. The rain continued to slash down. Cardston walked to the edge of the building and looked down at the city through a curtain of rain. He felt like God looking down at a city of toys. Cardston could make out the small blue van Jerry was driving. Its red tail-lights glowed like fuzzy stop signs as it sloshed along the avenue. Jerry was headed toward Robin's home. Cardston smiled–he had shown that prick a thing or two, shown him up for the hypocrite he was. The Jerrys of the world didn't deserve to take up space on the planet. They were general jerk-offs who paid lip service to the community or the church or their family but were motivated by greed. The Jerrys of the world were just pawns. The world would be better off without them. “Hey, Mac! What the fuck you doing there?” Cardston turned and saw a heavy-set guy in coveralls standing by the elevator. “I was just looking at the building,” said Cardston. “Yeah, well, get away from that edge. Don't you know this is a hard hat area?” “Sorry,” said Cardston and walked back toward the elevator. “I've just rented one of the floors in this building and I --” “Fine, but if you want to look around I'll get you a hard hat. The insurance company catches you up here, I get my ass chewed out royally.”

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Cardston got in the elevator. Cardston had thought the construction worker was much older in the rain, but now Cardston saw that he was under 30. Solid features. Rugged. Looked like he worked out. And he was also queer. Cardston could spot a queer across a crowded smoke-filled bar room or on the sunset beach, jogging a half a mile away in the surf. By the time the elevator reached the main floor, the construction worker was suggesting they get together for a drink in Westwood. Cardston agreed. A few minutes later Cardston piloted his Winnebago toward Robin's. He fine tuned the scanner, certain he'd be able to pick up the conversation between Robin and her brother. Should be a lot of fun to listen to. A lot of fun. Cardston drove half a block past Jerry's blue van and parked around the corner. If Jerry spotted Cardston, Cardston would just say that he had come to visit Robin. Cardston walked back to the rear of his motor home and placed the scanner on the compact dining table. He was rewarded with audible background sound from within Robin's home. Inside the house, Robin and her brother were too far away from transformer/dinosaurs to be picked up clearly. But as they talked, they moved closer to where the toys waited. And now Cardston could hear the conversation clearly between brother and sister. “Can you imagine a child wanting a family of premature baby dolls?” asked Robin. “Kimmy knows more about sex than I do.” Here there was a pause, then it sounded like Robin said: “Which, come to think of it, isn't that much.” Then she said something about frosting her cake.

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Her cake? Ah, thought Cardston, the kids must all be having birthdays. (The twin's birthday had been announced in Church.) A caravan of trucks slogged through the downpour and made it impossible for Cardston to keep track of the conversation for several minutes. “–I may have to put her on the pill before she goes in the third grade,” Cardston heard Robin say. Then her laughter. “I'm sure Bishop Searle would get a kick out of that.” Jerry's voice was more relaxed now. Certainly more at ease than when he had been at the construction site. Then Robin said: “He seems like a nice man. I don't think Ben will get much past him.” “What about Cardston?” “Cardston?” asked Robin. “Yeah, he's moving into the ward.” “Why would he do that?” she asked. The conversation became muffled and Cardston heard metal clanking. Probably Robin taking a pan out of a cupboard. Cardston fussed with the dials on his scanner. Robin's voice: “...he flies me in his Lear jet to Hawaii. We make wild love for the weekend. The Church excommunicates us. My run-of-the-mill Mormon fantasy.” Cardston wondered who Robin was talking about. “I think,” said Jerry, “you need to find a guy pretty soon. Too bad Cardston is such a queer.” There was some more static on the scanner, then: “I don't know, Jerry, how can you tell if you can trust a man? Maybe there's something wrong with me. Ben always --”

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“Forget what Ben said. There's nothing wrong with you.” “Then why did I marry him?” “You were another person then,” said her brother. To hear Cardston tell it, Ben came onto him.” Well, at least, she's taking my side a little, thought Cardston, as he tweaked the dials on his scanner–didn't want to miss a thing. “The guy's a fudge packer,” said Jerry. “A what?” “Fudge packer. that what they call guys who do it to each other.” “Don't use that term again, Jerry.” “Sorry.” In the Winnebago the transmission started to fade. Cardston plugged in a set of headphones–that made the conversation a bit easier to understand. “Robin, I wouldn't trust Cardston if I were you. I don't think he belongs in the church.” Then a pause and the sound of metal against metal. “Pass me that frosting–this cake is going to turn out terrific. Kimmy will be so happy–pink's her favorite color. You like this?” “Yeah, it's great. Funny that all three kids have birthday's at the same time.” A long pause. “Cardston's got me into a deal with some Japanese Realtors and I stand to make a bundle–we're talking more money than I usually make in six months on one deal --” “That's wonderful.”

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“He wants you to come to dinner with these Japanese guys. I got the impression that if I said the right things to you about Cardston, he and I might do a lot more business.” There was a pause, then some static and then Robin said, “...Heck, I'll go to dinner and shine those guys on. You'll get the commission and everyone'll be happy.” “I'm concerned about what Cardston thinks he's going to get from you.” “Just a smile, big brother. Just a smile.” “I don't know,” he said. “Hey, what are sisters for?” And then they started to laugh and moved to a different part of the house. Cardston walked to the rear of his Winnebago and stared out at the rain as it slashed down. He kept listening to the scanner. But he only heard static. After about ten minutes Robin's voice drifted over the headsets. “Good ... that's nice... she'll love her doll ... don't worry ... no, I'm all right ... bye ... we'll talk --” A moment later the sound of wind–whistling in–hummed over the headsets. Cardston watched Jerry leave Robin's and get into his van. Cardston made an illegal U-turn but even so, by the time he drove onto Robin's street, the tail-lights from Jerry's van were more than a block away. Cardston stepped on his accelerator, the distance between Jerry and himself closed. Cardston did not usually do drugs while he was driving. But he found a small vial of coke and snorted a line– made everything feel even. Smooth. Ahead: the freeway. Cardston opened the utility compartment under his arm rest and took out a .38.

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He shifted into third and the hulking motor home lumbered forward. Delicious, Cardston thought, Robin and her brother are so close. Jerry dies, she goes to pieces, Ben gets what he wants. And so do I. Delicious.

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Chapter 17 Cardston overtook Jerry on the Ventura Freeway. The rain was still making everything sloppy wet and the Winnebago threw up long curtains of water from its rear wheels. Cardston, seated high above the rushing freeway, glanced down at Jerry. Cardston felt as though he were an eagle and Jerry a barn sparrow. He sounded his horn. Jerry looked to his left and spotted Cardston. Jerry was puzzled but Cardston waved his hand and signaled for Jerry to follow. The real estate agent seemed confused but smiled gamely back and waited as Cardston pulled in front of him. Ahead was an exit, but the rain slashed down so hard the freeway sign took on the appearance of a dull green carpet flapping in the sky. Cardston took the off-ramp and Jerry followed him. Cardston drove for several hundred yards then turned down a street where several inches of rain had backed up. Hunks of sticks and paper swirled above clogged drain gutters. Jerry drove past the Winnebago, parked, and turned on his emergency lights. Then hunkering down, trying to keep the rain from soaking him, Jerry ran to the open door of the Winnebago. “What's up?” “I got some important things to tell you, maybe even another contact.” Despite raindrops that made him look as though he were crying, Jerry–with that asinine grin smeared on his face–climbed up the steps and into the Winnebago. Cardston said: “Good to see you, hey why don't you turn off your emergency lights?” Cardston kept the hand gun where his body could screen it.

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“It's too wet out there,” said Jerry. “If a cop sees your lights, he'll stop. We don't need company.” Jerry kept smiling. “OK, Cardston. No problem.” He turned and slogged back to his van, opened the driver's door and made no effort to stop the interior from getting more soaked than it was. Things could not get any wetter, then he trudged back to the Winnebago and climbed inside. “Come in, close door,” said Cardston, he liked the feel of the hand gun. A reassuring sensation–the smooth curve of the weapon in his hands. Made him feel powerful. As powerful as God–God could take away life. So could he. “I've got great news.” A bakery van drove by and sloshed a wave of water on the motor home. Jerry got the door closed. “Is there something for me to sit on?” “The couch.” Cardston was enjoying the game, and the best part of it was that Jerry did not yet realize it was a game. “I don't want to ruin your couch with my pants, they're soaked,” said Jerry. His idiotic happy-face grin did not change. The rain let up a bit, it made a drumming noise on metal roof. “Yes, you're right. Better you stand.” Cardston brought up the .38 and leveled the weapon at Jerry. Still, Jerry's happy-face grin did not disappear. “I have to kill you,” said Cardston.“Is that one of those realistic water pistols 'cause on a day like to today they don't bother me.” “Fudge packer, huh?” asked Cardston.

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That did it. Jerry became a believer. “I wish you wouldn't point that gun at me. It looks like it has real bullets–” “I can assure you, this weapon is quite real and these bullets are genuine.” Jerry's eyes moved to the side, he was measuring the distance he would have to turn and jump through the door to escape the first shot. “If you try to get away I'll shoot you in the back, my friend, but if you want to live a little longer, I might be persuaded to explain why I intend to kill you.” “Apparently I upset you when I said something about you–I'm sorry. Is that what you want to hear?” “It's nice to be treated with respect, but of course anyone who has a gun acquires that. The basic reason–the bottom line, I'm going to send you to a better place is your relationship with Robin.” “I love her.” “I don't need anyone loving her.” “I've got a family. I've got a wife and kids–they need me. You can't be serious.” “Very serious. Serious with a large 'S.' Ben and I need a family too.” “Can I call my wife first? There's some stuff I have to tell her.” “I tell you what,” said Cardston, who was finding his task much more exciting than he expected, “you tell me what you have to tell her and I'll pass it on.”“My mother and I have a safety deposit box in Delta, Utah. There's some gold coins in there. Sally and the kids can have that money.” By now Jerry was certain he was going to get shot. “All right.”

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“Our attic has terrible wiring in it. We could have a fire anytime–I didn't want to tell her about it because it would only frighten her. But she's got to get that fixed.” “You're playing for time, now–” “Please don't shoot me.” Jerry's voice started to break. “Turn around and look out the door and tell me what you see.” Jerry swallowed and looked into the darkness through the open door. “Nothing. The rain is letting up a bit. It's all black.” “Open the door. Step outside.” Jerry opened the door and stepped down onto the wet earth. His back was still turned to Cardston. ******* Jerry was getting ready to leap to the side, when he felt something strike him over his right shoulder blade. He heard the shot and saw the slippery ground slam up at him, and he knew Cardston had pulled the trigger, knew the weapon was real. Cardston was crazy, Cardston would do something awful to Robin and her children. A wave of blackness shuddered through Jerry's body. He pray–it was a prayer of supplication. Jerry begged his Father-in-Heaven to protect Robin from this evil creature who had invaded their lives. As Jerry crumbled to the ground, Cardston continued to fire the .38 into Jerry's back. He shot him three more time, then watched the rain flow around Jerry's silhouette. The water seemed alive and imparted animation to the Jerry's still body. Cardston drove away. The rain was cold against Jerry's still body. He could feel his life ebbing from him. A half-ton truck sped by, splashing icy water against Jerry's body. He could not stand but

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he thought if he paced himself, he could crawl. He began, slowly, methodically, one hand in front of the other, one knee pushing against the cold earth. And all the time he felt himself growing weaker. He continued .... each movement more agonizing than the last as he life faded. ****** Sister Wilson returned home with the three kids. “How are things going?” Robin asked. She peeled off their rain clothing as she talked. But they were already absorbed in a game of Chinese Checkers. They were eating the hot soup that Robin had prepared for them and set around the Chinese checkers. “There's a naked woman standing out in the rain. She's getting all wet,” said Robin. She got the last of the rubber boots off the twins. The kids did not even look up. They had been fooled before with the “naked lady” bit. “Are you kids gambling or something?” Robin asked. “Don't be silly, Mom,” said Kimmy. “We don't gamble.” “And there's no naked woman out back. That's a fib. We are not supposed to fib and it's my turn again,” said Dale. “Were the kids good?” asked Robin, turning her attention to Sister Wilson.“They were just fine. But they all wanted to go to Magic Mountain,” said Sister Wilson. “And that's the last time I'm going to take them shopping–they were all over K-Mart. I'm getting too old to manage a three-ring circus.” “I'm sorry. Sister Wilson, I don't know what we'd do without you.”

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“I can't get them to listen to me. Grabbing stuff off the shelves. It's too much for me. I guess I better bring in the parcels from the car --” “You'll do no such thing,” said Robin. She walked over to the table to the Chinese Checkers Game. “What's this I hear about you kids acting like terrorists at K-Mart?” No answer. The children realized they were going to get in trouble. Robin seldom came down very hard on them but when she did, they sensed it. There was not much they could do to dissuade their mother from laying down the law. “Why did you act like hellions at K-Mart?” “Aw, we didn't,” said Daryl. “Sister Wilson said you gave her a very rough time. I told you, you could go with her if you did what she said.” “Leave us alone, Mom,” said Dale, “we're trying to have a little fun.” Robin was on the verge of “losing it.” She had made a mistake with the child support and alimony. There simply was not enough money to go around and getting more modeling was going to be tougher than she had anticipated. She'd already made a few calls to some of the agencies–nothing now, but they'd call back. That meant a lean year for everyone. Having a career and raising kids seemed to be mutually exclusive. No, things were not working out even close to the way she had hoped. Talk about leaping from the frying pan and into the flames. Her problem was that she had been so consumed with raising the kids, living in Ben's shadow, that she had never bothered to

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master the business side of life. She couldn't cope with bills, and mechanics and trust funds, and shopping, and dental work and more bills and more bills.... The kids screamed about who was the real winner of the Chinese Checkers. Robin picked up the Chinese Checkers and its colored marbles, carried everything to the large garbage pail and dropped the whole kit and caboodle into the trash. “Goodbye Mr. Game,” she said. The children stared at her. Robin kept her voice level and low. “Children, we are going to initiate some rules -” She was serious. She said: “we can't go on this way.” “What does instigate mean?” asked Dale. “It means if you don't do what I say, then heads will roll.” The three kids exchanged glances as if to say: what happened to good old fun loving Mom? Who's this monster? “I am very upset,” said Robin. “This is a family and people in a family help each other. They are kind to each other. Sister Wilson is a part of this family and you three have made life miserable for her. Now I want you to apologize this instant.” “I'm sorry,” said Kimmy. “Me too,” said Dale. “Ditto,” said his brother.“That's better,” said Robin. “Sister Wilson went to a great deal of trouble to take you kids with her.” “I don't like going to K-Mart, Mom. Dad would never take us there.”

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“That's too bad,” said Robin. “Until you get a job and make some money–we have to get by on what we have. And now, my dear children, put on your rain clothes and bring in the groceries. Clear?” “I got a question,” said Kimmy. “It better be good,” said Robin. “You and me and Daddy and the twins went to the temple and we were all sealed together, right?' “Right,” said Robin and wondered what had triggered that. “So even though I'm adopted and the twins are real children, I'm still as much a part of this family as anyone, huh?” “Of course. And you are a real child. A real daughter. A real part of this family.” Robin felt her anger soften. The kid knew how to push her buttons. “So that means,” said Kimmy, “I'll get a cake on my birthday like the twins do?' “Haven't I always made you a cake?” asked Robin. She helped her daughter slip on her boots. “You know what I think, I think you're a little soft-con artist–” The child giggled. “Just checking. Because it's my birthday the day after, the day after tomorrow.” “Is it? You sure it wasn't yesterday?” Robin tied the hood straps under Kimmy's chin. The child looked adorable.“I think it was last week,” said Dale. “Or last month,” piped up his brother. “Make them stop, Mummy,” pleaded Kimmy. “You can all march out there and bring in those groceries. Here's some plastic to put over the bags so they won't get wet,” said Robin.

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Dale, annoyed but not annoyed enough to back-talk, reached for the door and pulled it open. The wind and rain screamed into the house. Wet leaves flew through the air. A man staggered into the doorway. Jerry teetered there, rain whirling around him. His face was white. And his shirt crimson. Robin thought Jerry was playing some kind of a joke. And when she realized–she dashed forward as her brother crashed to the floor. There was blood everywhere. The kids started to scream.

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Chapter 18 “Call 911,” shouted Robin to Sister Wilson. “Children get to your rooms. Now!” The kids retreated, then huddled in the hallway, staring at something they'd never seen: a man dying. Worse: a man they loved, a man they cherished. It was their first confrontation with death. Real death, not the sanitized version on tv. Robin was at her brother's side. She could feel his life ebbing away. He looked up at her, tried to speak. “Car --” he said. “Watch ... Car.” “Don't talk,” she said. “It's going to be all right.” But she knew it was not going to be all right–her brother felt lighter in her arms. Because he had lost so much blood? That notion was crazy. Didn't make any sense at all. “C-Car --” he started to say once more and then a web of blood appeared at the corner of this mouth, his head slumped forward and he was still. Even as she felt for his pulse, Robin realized that there was nothing she could do. Nothing. Within fifteen minutes there were half-a-dozen emergency vehicles in front of Robin's home. The rain became drizzle as men in white coveralls carried Jerry's body from the house. They had wrapped the body in a silver body bag. The county guy who was carrying the front of the body bag stumbled and Jerry's body sagged and bounced against the linoleum floor. “Be careful!” yelled Robin. And then realized that it didn't much matter anymore. Her brother's body was simply extra cargo. Still, she thought she could feel his pain when Jerry's hip brushed against the floor.

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She did not hear the county guy refer to her dead brother as a “ten-seven”–police jargon for an out-of-commission vehicle. For Robin it was a blur of faces in uniforms–none of it made any sense. She looked up and recognized her new bishop; he was wearing a gold badge that flopped out of his jacket pocket. Robin remembered Jerry had said Bishop Searle was a police officer. Bishop Searle moved quickly to her and said: “If you want, Sister Wilson can take the kids over to my place.” “It's OK,” said Robin. “They can stay here.” “This is an awful thing for you to have to go through, Robin. You don't mind if I call you Robin, do you?” asked Searle. “No, not at all. Thank you for coming.” “I heard your name over the police radio. I thought I better come.” He guided her toward the patio door where they could be away from the technicians and county specialists. They all had POLICE stenciled on the outside of their coveralls and wore surgical gloves. Robin turned away from the police activity and looked outside at the soggy ground. A faint shaft of sun had broken through the clouds and spotlighted a patch of dirty grass. She folded her arms and held them against her gut. “He can't be dead. My brother can't be dead. Does Sally know?” “Yes. Some of the sisters from the Relief Society will be at her place by now. The Relief Society was the major woman's organization in the L.D.S. Church. Its major purpose was to be available in any kind of crisis. The sisters looked after the sick,

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visited the elderly, helped with baby sitting, cleaned houses–the organization was the largest extended family in the world. “I know it's difficult for you, Robin, but let's go over what happened, all right?” “It's better I talk now, isn't it?” “The more you can help us now, the better chance we have of finding out what happened.” She nodded. This, Robin thought, was the worst day of her life. Worse than when her parents died. “When your brother arrived, did you see anyone else?” “No. He just stumbled in–thought it was some kind of a joke, he was always surprising the kids -“Is there anyone that wanted to harm Jerry?” “No. No one. At least I don't think so.” “Did he say anything?” asked the bishop. He ran thick fingers through his damp hair, the fingers looked like they belonged to a tradesman. Robin noticed two of his nails were black and blue. She stared at the larger one. The bishop gently repeated his question. “Did Jerry say anything.” She nodded. But the words did not seem ready to come out. The bishop took off his coat and put it over her shoulders. It was heavy and she was surprised that the metal shield hanging from the handkerchief pocket weighed so much. The bishop opened the cupboard. “Do you have any brandy?” “There's some I use for cooking.” He poured a few ounces into a glass and gave it to her.

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She was surprised that a Mormon bishop would do this. She hadn't had a drink since she had been in college. But apparently the bishop knew best. She lifted the glass to her lips. Her hands were trembling. She swallowed the amber liquid and it made her throat burn. A little more sun came out and illuminated the mud in the back yard. Now she could talk. “`Car'. He said `Car' --” “Like someone from a car shot him?” “I don't know–he tried to tell me more but he couldn't. He just died.” “More?” “He came here to bring a gift to Kimmy. He was very happy, he'd just made some kind of a deal with a friend of my husband's, Cardston.” Robin stopped when she realized what she had just said. “He wasn't trying to tell me about a car, he was trying to say Cardston.” Bishop Searle took out a small black spiral book and jotted down several notes. “Cardston. That's where one of our temples is in Alberta.” “The name Cardston. Cardston just moved out here from New York. My husband knew him. Cardston and Jerry met at a party at our house. Christmas eve.” “Why do you think Jerry was trying to tell you his name?” “They just had a meeting this morning about some commercial property that Jerry had found for one of Cardston's business associates.” “What's his last name?” “Degere, I think.” “We better find him.”

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“Ben would know. Cardston was staying out at Malibu ... said he was going to get a place in this area.” “And what does he look like?” asked the bishop. “He's slight. About 35. Dresses kind of dapper. He was at our ward on Sunday.” “Mmm, I think I remember–he was with you and your brother after services, huh?” “Yes, he took the kids and me to lunch.” “I'll talk with him soon. Now what I want you to do is write down everything you remember, can you do that for me?” She nodded. “Good, we'll get thing cleared up here. Write it all down. Anything you remember Cardston saying about Jerry, Jerry saying about Cardston. When you last saw them. Your impressions of their relationship. OK?” “Yes.” Bishop Searle was good about expediting things. Within two hours all of the police personnel had left. Pictures had been taken. Physical evidence had been gathered. Several of the neighbors interviewed. No one had seen anything because of the rain, besides most of the people were at work or away from home. No one had seen Jerry arrive or leave. Three women from the Relief Society brought some baked goods and one started to work on some ironing that was half finished. Another answered the phone which was beginning to ring. Word was spreading quickly through the ward of Robin's tragedy and the members were volunteering to help.

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When Bishop Searle left, Robin took the kids to her bedroom and closed the door. The twins were playing with their dinosaur transformers and Kimmy hugged her favorite doll to her chest. None of the children said anything–they simply watched their mother. “This is very sad for everyone,” said Robin. “Is Uncle Jerry really dead, Mom?” asked Kimmy. “Yes, I'm afraid he is.” “So he's with Father-in-Heaven now?” asked the little girl. “Yes, he's with Father-in-Heaven,” said Robin. All of Robin's life she believed when you died you went to heaven to be with God. She also believed that God was just and answered prayers. The question in her mind, the question she had no answer for, was–if God was just, why had he allowed Jerry to die? She could understand–although it took a long time–why her parents died. They had lived a full life. But Jerry .... it didn't make sense. It was simply not right–she and the kids needed him. His wife and their kids needed him. It was all so terrible, so senseless. “I know. I can feel it in my heart,” said Robin. What sense would it make if she told them that she thought their uncle was in heaven, that she thought things would be all right, that she thought Father-in-Heaven was good? No, it was better for their sake to give them something sound to hang onto. Doubt would come later when they were older and could handle it. Now they needed stability. Besides, her doubt was temporary, most of the time she wholly believed in the concepts of Mormonism. Why take an isolated moment of her own self doubt and make that a part of the children's lives?

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“So what are we going to do now?” asked Daryl. “Pray?” There was a touch of annoyance in his tone. It was as though he sensed that a prayer was not going to do much good. “Would you like to have family prayer?” asked Robin. “No.” “Then we won't.” She wondered if she had said the wrong thing. Robin saw Jerry's dying moments in her mind. She tried to replace it with some of the positive memories she had of him: of skiing when they were teenagers, of him fixing the family car after she accidentally dented it–but none of these images worked. She kept seeing his face, the tiny trickle of blood at the edge of his mouth. And she could hear his voice–whispering “car.” And she could still feel his pulse. His skin, cold, with no energy. Like it didn't belong to a person. “You're going to miss him a lot, aren't you, Mom?” asked Kimmy. “We'll all miss Jerry a lot–but we'll get through this. And someday we'll see him again. At times like this it's very easy to feel sorry for ourselves but it's his wife and children we have to worry about. This is going to be terribly difficult for them.” “Yeah,” said Dale. “Because even though you and Dad got divorced, we at least still got a dad.” “Maybe,” said his brother, “we should ask Aunt Sally and the kids to come over here for dinner.” “That's a nice thought,” said Robin, “but the Relief Society is taking care of that.” “Who's going to bury Uncle Jerry?” asked Daryl.

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“I don't know,” said Robin. “Is he going to be embalmed?” asked Kimmy. “I suppose so.” “How do they embalm children?” asked the little girl. “You don't have to worry about anything like that,” said Robin. “Someone killed Uncle Jerry. Maybe we're next,” said Kimmy. “No one is going to harm you, Kimmy,” said Robin and even as she said it she wondered if there was someone out there, someone who wanted to harm them. Cardston. Was her brother trying to warn her about him? Or was Jerry trying to tell her something else. Maybe he was trying to say car-diact, tell her he was having a heart attack. No, made no sense. “I thought I saw a wildman in the rain with a gun,” said Dale. “Stop it,” said Robin. “You'll frighten your sister.” “She's been talking about the wildman too. Didn't you hear?” demanded Dale. “But what if there is someone out there–to get us?” And he made a hissing noise at Kimmy who jumped back and screamed. “Mummy, Mummy!” “Stop it. Or I'll clobber you, young man.” said Robin. “The Relief Society sister have made a wonderful dinner for us–so let's go eat and try to be nice to each other.” Robin herded the kids back to where a huge meal of pot roast, with all the trimmings, waited. She thanked the sisters from the church. They left and the family sat down at the table. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the damp carpet (cleaned thoroughly by the sisters) where Jerry fell. She averted her eyes but in her mind she could hear her dead

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brother's voice as clearly as if he were talking to her. She could hear him say “Cardston” but all he had said was “car.” She wondered where Cardston was at this moment. “Can I say the blessing?” asked Kimmy. “Please, honey. Go ahead and don't forget to thank Father-in -Heaven for sending the sisters to make this lovely meal for us.” Kimmy started to say the blessing and she asked her Father-in-Heaven to look after her uncle. The horrible series of images of Jerry dying replayed themselves in Robin's mind again. Didn't make sense. Why? Nothing made sense. She felt so alone....

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Chapter 19 The storm which had pummeled Southern California was still dumping rain over West LA. However, inside Ben's luxury condo, a warm fire licked at chubby logs in the marble fireplace and spread an even heat through the living room. Cardston, soaked, opened the front door and staggered in. He was drenched and appeared slightly drunk or perhaps drugged. His usual blow dried hair was plastered to his wet scalp. He looked like someone had painted his hair on his head. “Home from the hills?” asked Ben. He wore a multi-colored robe made for him in Bangkok during one of his many excursions to the Far East. He sipped a hot toddy and sorted through a sheaf of expenses accumulated from his recent business trip. Cardston pulled off his drenched jacket and shirt, then slipped out of his pants. “Yeah, I'm home. Have you eaten?” “No. I thought I might send you for some Chinese take-out.” “Yeah, sure–whatever–” At the far end of the front room, in what the designer called an entertainment center, a 50-inch color television showed the faces of the ten o'clock news team. There was no volume–instead, a piano Concerto wafted across the spacious living room. Ben peeled a twenty-dollar bill from his wallet and slid it across the marble table. “Why don't you get that Chinese food before you get too comfortable, Snookums?” “Did it ever occur to you, you treat me like shit?” asked Cardston.

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“If I were treating you like shit I would have eaten by myself. Now, I've had a hell of day and I'd really appreciate a little consideration on your part.” “I know you've had a hard day, I know your time is more important than anyone else's but the fact is–I've been doing some things for you.” “What, Snookums?” “Never mind.” “I hope it's not going to cost me money,” said Ben. “Why should it?” “I worry your tiny brain might cost me money. Now slip your clothes back on and get me some Won Ton, OK?” Cardston was close to screaming but he nodded, scooped up the money and headed back to his wet clothes. Someday Ben would appreciate him .... Ben was the kind of person that had to be shown, not told. And Cardston knew he could show him. Cardston picked up his soggy pants and fumbled them on. “Hey,” said Ben. “Look!” He grabbed the remote zapper and turned up the volume. The piano concerto continued–Ben grabbed another zapper and killed the stereo. The image of Robin's home in Westlake, the coarse-grained shots of Jerry in a body bag, the cops in plastic rain gear moving around–these all spun by on the screen. And in less than 15 seconds everything of what had happened at Robin's melted into Ben's brain. The female anchor droned on in a monotone voice about Jerry's death–as though she were talking about a flower show at UCLA. Her voice was whitewash on a chalk cliff. And as quickly as the images intruded they were gone. Bill Cosby entered the living room with an endorsement for Jello.

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Ben hit the mute button and Cosby's voice disappeared as he continued to munch Jello. “What's going on?” asked Cardston. He did not understand how Jerry could have been found at Robin's home. Made no sense. “Robin's brother was killed. Some kind of drive-by shooting or something. God, I can't believe it.” Ben reached for the phone, and dialed a number -“Who are you calling?” “Robin.” “Why?” “You just heard the news, fer Christ Sake! Her brother was killed and it looked like in her house. My kids ... imagine the trauma they're ...?” going through?” He listened on the phone. “Line's busy. I'm going to call Sally --” “There is an up side to this,” said Cardston. “Up side?!! What have you been stuffing up your nose?” “Nothing.” “Then what the hell are you babbling about?” asked Ben. “Where's Sally and Jerry's phone number?” He thumbed through his blue leather address book. “I told my secretary to update this thing. Only way to get anything done is to do it yourself.” “Take it easy, Ben.” Ben yanked open a drawer and pulled out another phone book. “Here it is –818 555 2313. You going to tell me what the hell the up side in all this is or are you just going to stand there like a soaked badger and drip water all over the marble tile?” “The upside is that if something happened to Robin, we'd get the kids.”

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“First off, she's not dead. Second off, if she were dead I'd get the kids. Not we. And third–what the hell difference does it make if Jerry is alive or dead?” Too soon for Ben to realize what I've done for him, thought Cardston. But given time and understanding and love, Ben would buy into the dream. It was something they both needed. A family. A unit to stand against the slings of outrageous fortune and all of that. “Have it your way,” said Cardston, “but if something happened to your future ex, there would be no one else the courts could award your children to but you.” “You're sounding more and more like a space cadet every second, Snookums. Do you know something about what happened to Jerry that you'd like to share with me or are you going to get dinner for us?” “There are a few things you should know,” said Cardston. “I'm waiting, I'm waiting,” said Ben. He reached for the phone again, dialed Sally's place and got a busy signal. Then he dialed Robin's and got another busy signal. “Those two bitches must be yammering on the line to each other–be a pity if they ended up friends as a result of this.” Ben hung up the phone so hard it was surprising the receiver did not shatter. He glowered at Cardston. “Will you either tell me what's on your mind or go for food? Don't you have better things to do than act like you're melting in a puddle of water?”“I didn't want to interrupt your phone call,” said Cardston. There was a deliberate sarcastic edge to his voice. “Talk to me, Dear Boy. Tell me what the hell is going on?” “All right, I saw Jerry this morning.” “What?” “I drove out to Westlake for a business meeting with your brother-in-law.”

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“Why?” “Real estate. I determined it would be better for you if Jerry stopped interfering in Robin's life --” The buzzer rang, interrupting. Ben had just picked up the telephone and switched on the intercom. “Yes?” “There's a police officer to see you, Sir.” “What does he want?” “No idea.” “Send him up.” Ben flicked off the intercom. “Now you were telling me something–” “Maybe I shouldn't be here.” “Why not?” “It just might be better. Why don't I go in the other room?” “Are you frightened of something? You're scampering around like a paranoid field mouse.” Cardston scooped up his wet clothing and shoes and scurried across the carpet and ducked down the corridor. Ben put away the hot toddy. He grabbed a mint and chewed it.There was a sharp knock at his door. He smoothed out his robe and opened the door and there stood Searle. He was soaked and his clothing was rumpled–his cuffs were frayed but despite the rain, clean. Ben was frightened–it was irrational–but he was frightened of this middle-aged man who wore rumpled clothing and soggy footwear. Searle flipped open his badge and showed Ben his ID. “I'm with the Westlake Sheriff's Department and I wonder if I might have a few minutes of your time.”

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“Sure,” said Ben. He did not invite the older man inside. Ben slipped his hand into his robe and pulled the silk tighter and then reknotted the belt. “I'm sure you've heard the very sad news about your brother-in-law.” “Yes, it was on the news. I've been trying to reach my Ben and the kids. Robin must be talking to Sally, that's Jerry's wife.” “Yes, I know. She's in our ward.” “You LDS?” asked Ben. “Yes, I'm the bishop out there. You called and made arrangement for your children to be baptized. We talked about your family a good deal.” “I'm sorry,” said Ben. “I didn't realize you were Bishop Searle. Please come in.” “I don't want to track water on your rug.” “No, no, Bishop–don't worry, please come in,” said Ben. If he were going to get Robin to “toe the mark” then he would need the bishop's full cooperation. Ben cursed himself for not realizing that the bishop and the detective were the same person. But he'd just caught a glimpse of the cop's ID. Ben wondered if there were any way the bishop might be able to tell he had been drinking and if–God forbid– the bishop had found out, could find out that Cardston and he were living together. The next step would be excommunication. “You have a lovely home here, Brother Bailey,” said the bishop. “Not really mine, just a client's,” said Ben. “Would you like something? Maybe some hot chocolate.” “No, that's all right. May I ask you a few questions?” “Certainly. Have you seen Robin and my children?”

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“Yes. They're all right.” “What happened?” “About an hour after Jerry dropped off a present for Kimmy he came back. He had been shot several times in the back and he died at their place.” “The kids saw it?” “Apparently they did, Brother Bailey. They're all right. The Relief Society is helping. And I'm investigating the murder.” “Any leads?” asked Ben. He was thinking about what Cardston had said. Cardston knew something. Worse, he may have done something. “Jerry tried to tell Robin something,” said the bishop. “We think he was trying to warn her. Just before he died he said–`car'.” “Car,” repeated Ben. “Like a car hit him? Or someone shot him from a car and he was shot in his car? What?” Shit, Ben thought, Cardston was out there. Shit!!! The bishop sat down in an overstuffed chair and laced his fingers behind his head and looked out at the city. He said nothing for a full minute. “That's why I'm here. A car didn't hit him. A number of bullets did at close range. The impact of those shots knocked him down in the mud, and somehow he managed to get up, and drive to your wife's home.” “I would have gone to a hospital. Was it a one of those drive by shootings?” “Doubtful. The close relationship your husband and Jerry had might explain why he went there, especially if he was trying to warn her about something.” “Why wouldn't he use a phone?”

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“We don't know how far he was away from your wife's when he was shot. We're trying to determine that now. He may have only been a block or two.” “All he said was 'car'?” “Maybe he was trying to say Cardston. I understand Cardston spent the morning with Jerry and apparently put together some kind of multi-million dollar leasing deal.” “I see.” “Brother Bailey, have you seen Cardston lately?” “No.” “I understand the two of you had a serious disagreement about business.” “We had some differences.” “Would he have any reason to do something to your family?” “No,” said Ben. “What kind of relationship do you have with him now, if you don't mind my asking?” “We're both in publishing.” “I've read many of the books you're brought out for the church. That's your total involvement with Cardston Degere?” “More or less. I originally hired Cardston to work for me when I bought his company back east. It was a company his family started and it wasn't doing very well.” “Do you trust him?” “Yes.” “May I ask you what else you know about him?”

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“Not a lot. He's from New York–worked in music publishing there. I met him at a convention, he said he wanted to sell his interest in his company. Then he said he wanted to re-establish himself on the West Coast. I invited him to spend some time at our home around Christmas.” “And why did you and he have a falling out?” “Should I call my lawyer? I mean am I getting into any kind of legal problem here?” “You certainly can call an attorney but I don't think it's necessary. I'm sure you have nothing to hide.” “Yes, you're right. Guess I've been watching Columbo too much. Anyway, it turned out Cardston's interest in the company I bought was not that substantial. He didn't get much money. His partners did.” “Do you know anything about his background? What he did other than publishing? Military service? Problems with the police?” “I think he went to Duke or one of the other Ivy League schools. He never mentioned the military and I doubt if he was ever in trouble with the police.” “Why do you trust him?” “Well, he's a member of the church, he went on a mission. He seemed active in the Elders Quorum.” “He's been in and out of the church. He's been ex-communicated twice. He's not a member in good standing at this point. This is confidential between you and me, OK?” “Certainly.” “The fact is, Brother Bailey, I don't think he's what he seems to be. I'll have more information by tomorrow but I wouldn't trust him if I were you.”

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“But so far he's done nothing to indicate he can't be trusted.” “Do you have an address on him?” asked the bishop. “No.” “If he calls you, get his address and phone. Tell him to call me–we have an all points bulletin out on him.” “Do you think he's dangerous, I mean that he'll try to harm me or anything?” “I don't know, Brother Bailey. Sister Bailey thought he was trying to warn her. And I can't imagine Jerry was telling her anything about an automobile. I find it curious this Cardston seems to live out of a motor home, no fixed address. Strange way to live.” “But there's nothing illegal about that?” “Not unless he parks on the street and sleeps in the vehicle. It's against the law to do that in most places.” “I'm going to drive out to Westlake,” said Ben.“The kids would be glad to see you,” said the bishop. “On the other hand,” said Ben, raising his voice slightly, “if Cardston is involved in what happened, I'd just as soon meet him in daylight. I take it you have men watching Robin's place.” “Yes, a 24-hour armed guard in front of your wife's house. Also Jerry's home. Cardston turns up there, we'll get him.” The bishop got up and brushed some rain from his shirt. “And if you think of anything else, you'll call me won't you?” He gave Ben his card. “Right. And either way, I'll see you on Sunday when I baptize the boys.” “Right.”

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The bishop headed for the door. “Is there any chance,” he asked, “that you and Sister Bailey will be able to patch things up?” “I'm willing to, Bishop. I don't think she is.” “It's tough to keep a marriage together, Brother Bailey. If there's anything I can do to help, let me know.” “I will.” “I'm very happy that you're spending time with your children. That's a very good thing,” said Lt. Searle. “That's what Creed Blueth told me.” “The General Authority?” asked the bishop. “Right,” said Ben, knowing that the bishop would be impressed. After all, General Authorities could sky rocket a favorite to the top spots in the LDS church. In the L.D.S. church, a General Authority was the equivalent of a Catholic cardinal. The Church had about 100 General Authorities, 12 of them served as Apostles, under the direction of the President of the church. These 12 were the modern day equivalent of the apostles of Jesus Christ. Ben shook hands with the bishop. “Creed is coming to LA in about a month, I'm helping him with some financial matters–I'll bring him out to your ward.” “That would be incredible,” said Lt. Searle. He shook hands warmly with Ben and left. Ben bolted the door, then turned and walked to the bedroom. “Cardston,” he said in a soft voice, “let's have some fucking answers right now!”

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Chapter 20 The front room and kitchen lights were ablaze in Robin's house when Bishop Searle drove up. It was twenty minutes past midnight. Across the street a black-and-white police car huddled in shadows. The driver waved to the lieutenant returned the salutation. Even that was an effort for the bishop, he was tired. Before he got out of the car he called the dispatcher and asked her to ring Robin and tell her that he was outside and coming in. The inside of his car reeked of perspiration and chocolate bar wrappers. After Bishop Searle was certain she had answered the phone, he got out and walked to her front door–which she was already opening. “Thank you for having the dispatcher call me,” she said. “I would have been frightened if I heard someone knocking at this time.” “I don't blame you, Sister Wendell. But as I told you earlier, we've got a couple of the boys on surveillance.” She looked out into the street past the bishop where the black and white was parked against the far curb. “Please come in.” “OK,” he said. As soon as he stepped into her living room he could sense the love that existed in Robin's home: ragged toys, the neat kitchen, the homespun pictures on the wall of Mormon pioneers and the sketch of Jesus by the mirror. He let down his guard, tried to move from being a cop to a bishop. It was hard to make the transition. Tough to keep his cynicism at bay.

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Robin offered him some hot chamomile tea and while she fixed it, he sat at the kitchen table and jotted notes. Each of his ragged black notebooks had highlights of several cases. At home he had five large shoe boxes crammed with the books. The legacy of a lifetime–five tattered shoe boxes filled with every despicable thing known to the darker side of man and woman and beast. The radio was playing an old tune by Nat King Cole. He was singing about stars being bright and a garden wall. “He's was a marvelous singer, wasn't he?” said the bishop closing his black book and pushing it back into his pocket. “Yes.” She set tea before him. The cups were Wedgewood and seemed out of place, too good for this wooden kitchen table. “Children asleep?” “I think so.” The bishop helped himself to several thick spoons of honey. “Thank you for having the ladies from the Relief Society come over. They've been wonderful.” “It's times like this that you appreciate what the church can do for you. This has been very difficult for you, hasn't it?” “It's about as difficult as it gets,” she said. “The kids and I had family prayer and I just wish I had the kind of faith my little girl does. She really believes her Father-inHeaven hears everything she says.” “I expect he can,” said Bishop Searle. “But sometimes it's hard to imagine how he keeps track of all the incoming calls. Times likes this. It sounds trite but these are the things that try our faith.”

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“I'm afraid my faith is kind of wobbly,” said Robin. “Jerry's family needs him more than anything. And I need him and my kids do to --” “I know,” said the bishop. “And while it's going to be hard to fill in for Jerry, the Elders Quorum will be there for you and the kids. And you're going to find we have some terrific members who you will learn to count on.” “Yes,” she said. “Did your husband call you tonight?” “Several times. He was very annoyed with me–he thinks it was selfish of me to submit the children to such a terrible thing. I think Ben actually figures I planned this just to upset the kids.” “Marriage is difficult. But divorce is not always the answer.” The bishop finished his tea and picked up the pot. “Mind if I have some more?” “Fine. Would you like something to eat?” “No thanks, I have to get home in a few minutes. “I saw your husband tonight.” “You did?” asked Robin, she seemed surprised. “Yes, I drove into Los Angeles and went to his condo, he lives in a rather lovely place.” “I suppose he told you that it belonged to one of his clients.” “He did,” said Bishop Searle. “Did tell you anything about Cardston?” “Some background. Talked a little about you too.” “You probably just think I'm a bitter. And a lot of our marriage was my fault.”

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“If a marriage works it's because both partners make it work. If it fails, both partners take the blame. But I don't think you're bitter. Traumatized by what's happened, possibly. Between you and me, if your husband told me one thing and you told me the opposite, I'd be inclined to believe you.” “Did he tell you that he was close friends with the General Authorities in Salt Lake?” “Oh, he worked that in, even offered to set up a meeting with Creed Blueth.” “The Ben we all know and love. Next thing he'll have you involved in a business deal and know something, you'll make a ton of money.” “That won't happen. I'm on your side, Robin.” “Can I tell you something, just between you and me?” “I can't make that promise, I am investigating a murder.” “This is personal. Between a bishop and a member.” “OK.” “Ben is bisexual. That's why I'm divorcing him.” “You sure?” “Positive. And if it ever got out, it would ruin his life. Then he would have a reason to harm me.” “Between you and me, I don't trust your husband any further than I could throw him - and I have a hernia. I do not know what is going on but I'm certain your husband is not a good member of the church and furthermore–and you must tell this to no one–I came within a heartbeat of arresting him tonight for criminal conspiracy.” “Why?” “When I asked him about this Cardston fellow, he repeatedly lied to me.”

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“He did?” “Yes. Cardston was in the condo with your husband tonight. I found that out from the doorman.” “Did you talk to Cardston?” asked Robin. “No, but I did a little checking on your husband. Apparently he almost killed your attorney during your divorce proceedings.” “That's true. Then he bought off my attorney with a job in Asia. Phil is probably learning Japanese in Tokyo right now, thanks to Ben.” “Your husband is in serious trouble.” “Yeah, well no matter how things are, Ben always seems to twist things around so he comes out looking like a hero.” “I've known people like that–they always end up losing.” “If Cardston is involved in what happened to Jerry, what about Ben?” “If he was involved, we'll nail him. What do you know about Cardston?” asked the bishop. “Anything that comes to mind.” “He wanted to be friends with me. Said he was worried what Ben might do to me. Wanted to warn me. I told him fine. But I never trusted him. Then he started this business deal with Jerry. And now --” She started to cry. The bishop reached out and put his hand on her back. “If Ben and Cardston are in any way responsible for what happened to Jerry, I'll nail them.” “People don't win with Ben. He is friends with powerful people, and they're fanatically loyal to him. They're frightened of what he'd do if they crossed him.” She

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thought about what she had just said. “I make him out as rather a Gothic character, don't I?” “Maybe you do and maybe you don't,” said Bishop Searle. “When I was in that place of his I could feel something nasty. It was as though Lucifer were there. There was just no spirit of our Father-in-Heaven there.” “Tell me about it,” said Robin. “But I really don't think you can beat him. Even being a Bishop is not going to help much.” “I can sense a lot of things, Robin. I sense that your faith has been thoroughly shaken by what has happened. I see a wonderful mother. You're going to be OK, what you're going through will only strengthen your testimony.” “I think you're being charitable when you say shaken. I don't know if I have any faith left.” She folded her arms across her stomach and shivered. “When I think what happened to Jerry today... I can still see him, there, on the floor. I guess I'll always see him. I can still hear his voice–but none of it makes sense–I mean how could Father-inHeaven let something like that happen, Bishop? How could He?” “The only thing I really know is that God lives and he has a wonderful plan for us. And I would bet my life on that any day of the week.” Robin walked to the patio window and looked out into the darkness. There was a partial moon out and it silhouetted the old swing and teeter-tooter she had rigged up for the kids with Jerry's help. “I wish I could be as strong as you are, Bishop. I wish it for myself and I wish it for my children. And I suppose after a few weeks, maybe .... But everything that has happened has been so wrong.”

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“It's all right to doubt your faith from time to time. Even the President of our church and the General Authorities have their doubts, I'm sure. I know, I have.” She brushed away a tear. “When I was married I did everything I could to make our marriage as good as possible. At least I think I did. And for all that effort my husband turned on our family and on Christmas Eve he burned our home to the ground to teach me some kind of a lesson.” “What?” “He got some matches and built a fire in our kitchen. At first I thought he was just trying to frighten me, well, he succeeded beyond his wildest dreams, he burned the house to the ground. His friends in the media made it look like he was a hero. I said I was divorcing him because he was bisexual. If I were honest, I might admit I would have stayed, we might have been able to work it out. I left him because I was terrified he was harm me and the kids. “I think it might be an idea to alert some arson investigators.” “He covers his tracks.” “It's difficult to fool arson experts. No criminal is as smart as he thinks he is.” “I'm going to tell you something else. Ben has had numerous affairs with young men he picked up on the streets, and I was terrified he had brought AIDS home and infected me. I just got an AIDS test. I'm really worried.” “I'm sorry.” “I cried myself to sleep a lot of times,” said Robin. “I tried to get Ben into therapy– but the idea made him so angry he wouldn't talk for days.”

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“If he likes the gay life, I don't know why he seems so keen on staying in the church,” said Bishop Searle. “He says he loves the church, loves the people and believes in its teachings,” said Robin. “He may say that, but we both know that the church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints does not condone homosexual activity. It's nearly always grounds for immediate excommunication.” “When I was young, the thing I liked about our Church was that everything was black and white. You knew where you stood. Maybe now that I'm older the very thing that attracted me is what I find difficult to accept.” “I guess when you get older, everything including your hair gets grayer.” “That's funny,” she said. “Robin, I realize you've been through a great deal of pain and trauma. And I know how difficult it is to accept what has happened and still keep your testimony, but this is not the time to question the basic concepts of our church.” “Right. This is the time when I need my faith the most–but explain why a loving God would create children who are gay and then condemn them for being the way they are?” “I don't think Father-in-Heaven creates gay people.” “We have three million males in our church–so statistically there are several hundred thousand men in our church who are gay. Probably as many women are lesbians–how can we ignore --”

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“We all have sexual drives–we all have feelings about the opposite sex. The same sex. There is nothing wrong with these feelings. But as members of the church we believe people should wait until they are married before they have sex. Some people don't wait. And they suffer the consequences. It is like that with all of our Father's commandments. If we break the commandments we suffer the consequences. Our church leaders have told us homosexuality is a grave sin.” “But these people can't help what their feelings are --” “They can learn to.” “How?” “By following the teachings of our Father-in-Heaven.” “And where does that get you? I did all the things a good LDS girl is supposed to do, and I ended up marrying a man who is a sex deviant by our rules and he almost incinerated our children. And the only person–besides you–that I could have counted on is dead. And here we sit in the middle of the night arguing over what God really wants.” “It's dark now. But the sun will come up tomorrow.”

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Chapter 21 Los Angeles was a naughty little angel. With far too many temptations. In the morning, the bright-eyed and seemingly oh-so-innocent angel would begin her day. She would be whistling and full of good intentions. But by night, her once scrubbed face would be covered with too much rouge and trouble. And her excuse was always the same: “Not my fault. Too many temptations.” A new day. The city reborn. Almost childlike–yes, a naughty little angel, scrubbed up and clean, facing a spanking new day. After the all-night storm, the concrete streets glistened in the morning sunlight as wave upon wave of cars moved down Wilshire Boulevard, past the Million Dollar Condo Corridor. A dazzling clean city and endless blue skies. Ben looked down at the city. He had an excruciating headache. He had taken too many pills and he suspected that Cardston had spiked the champagne. After Searle had left the condo, Ben had demanded to know what Cardston had done in Westlake. Cardston claimed nothing. And then they had started to drink and argue and then Cardston was doing things to Ben's body. And by then the drugs Ben had swallowed took their effect. Now, reeling under an mega-headache, Ben tried to sort out the events of the last hours. During the night he had been willing to postpone the discussion. No point in having a row at two a.m. and missing a delicious opportunity to get laid. But that had been night, this was day.

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Ben sensed Cardston knew far more than he was letting on, worse still, he might have precipitated in Jerry's death. If this were true, they would both be in a dangerous situation. Ben was not sorry Jerry was dead. Cardston had been right about Jerry, he was a key element–probably the essential element–in Robin's stability. And anything or anyone that inflicted pain on his ex-wife, was just fine with Ben. Cardston was eating breakfast in the kitchen. “Cardston. Westlake?” asked Ben. Cardston used the edge of his spoon to clip off the top of his soft-boiled egg. Yellow yolk spilled out. Cardston dabbed butter and then sprinkled salt on what was left of the egg. “I'm talking to you,” said Ben. He found some aspirins with codeine and gulped three of them. He washed down the white pills with orange juice that he gulped from the carton. Cardston scooped up some of the yellow yolk and chewed. “Don't eat like that,” said Ben. “It offends you? Well, it offends me you don't use a glass.” “I want to know what the hell you were doing out at Westlake yesterday.” “Twinkle Buns, I was out there for you, being your eyes and your ears.” “Last night before Searle showed up, you were going to tell me something. What?” “I told you. After I saw Jerry, we talked about some real estate and I left. That's all.”

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“Jerry's dead. He whispered your name to Robin before he died. What the fuck was that all about?” Ben's headache throbbed like someone had driven a fire hydrant through one of his ears. “Robin is alone now. She's going to come apart.” “You're going to come apart if you don't tell me what happened. You came in here like a drowned beaver and ten minutes later Bishop Searle shows up to question you. If he'd found you here, I could have ended up being some kind of an accomplice. For all I know I might be harboring some kind of fugitive from justice.” “Don't do me any favors, Twinkle Buns. I can take care of myself.” Ben reached across the table and slapped Cardston hard on his mouth. Cardston said nothing, just lifted a linen napkin and brushed it across his mouth and fought back tears. “Now tell me what happened, you little cocksucker.” “The less you know, the safer you'll be.” Cardston picked up a cup of coffee and brought it to his lips. His hands were trembling and some of the coffee spilled on his white robe. Ben got up and started clearing the dishes. “Our cleaning lady is coming today–I don't want any coffee around here. And I want you dressed–” “Are you that ashamed of me?” “Tell me what happened!” Before Cardston could say another word, the buzzer sounded. Ben, assuming it was the cleaning woman, flipped on the intercom. “Yes.” “This is Lt. Searle. May I come up and see you and Cardston Degere?”

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Ben flipped off the switch so the bishop could not hear him. He glowered at Cardston. “How the hell does he know you're up here?” “I have no idea.” “The night watchman must have told him. Unless he was spying on us with binoculars. My God, if he has --” “There's no way he could see into here with binoculars. The night watchman had to have told him,” said Cardston. “Besides even if he had a telescope he wouldn't have been able to see us do anything. I had my head under the covers during the entire procedure.” “Shit! This is turning on us. Get in the bedroom and stay there. Don't come out.” “But then he'll realize we spent the night together,” said Cardston. “Not the master bedroom. The guest bedrooms. Now move.” He flicked on the intercom. “Bishop, come on up. But Cardston isn't here.” Three minutes later, Bishop Searle walked into Ben's condo. Ben was superb at dealing with high pressure situations–stress often gave him an added edge. He offered his guest some breakfast, Searle declined. “Now let's see, Bishop–is this a social call or are you representing LA's finest? I guess not being a member of the LAPD, you really couldn't be representing them, could you?” “Most of the police departments in Southern California work closely together.” “That's good to hear,” said Ben. Searle was most certainly there on police business. “Where's your friend, Cardston?” asked Searle. “I have no idea, and the truth is we're really just business associates.”

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“He's not here?” “No.” “But he does spend time here?” asked the bishop. On several occasions when I've been out of town, Cardston has stayed here and house-sat. He's looking for a place himself. I know he uses the swimming pool and steam room from time to time. And he's made friends with several other residents in this complex.” “Oh,” said Searle. “I'm looking forward to baptizing my twin boys,” said Ben. “I may bring one of the General Authorities with me.” Searle walked to the cathedral ceiling picture window and looked down at the confusion of traffic on Wilshire. “Must be nice to live up here. You get to see all that chaos but you don't have to hear it and you don't have to deal with it.” “I deal with chaos in my own way,” said Ben. Ben was a good judge of people, and although Searle seemed to be half asleep and rather dull, he was going to be trouble. A lot of trouble. Normally Ben would have steam-rolled Searle with the threat of a serious law suit or Ben might have used his considerable influence in Salt Lake City to get this sleepy-eyed man to see things his way. But Searle was going to be a tough cookie. Besides, Searle was in charge of his children's ward and he needed to have the man on his side. Ben fully intended to take the kids away from Robin, and to do that would require all the friendly witnesses possible. The last thing Ben needed was to polarize himself and Searle. (“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury you have just heard testimony from Robin Bailey's bishop in which he details her ex-husband's terrifying obsession with destroying

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her life. I ask you, is this a fit father to bring up these three innocent children? Is he even fit to continue with visiting privileges?”) “You describe a relationship with Cardston which seems to be totally at arm's length.” “He's simply a business partner.” “Do you usually invite business partners as house guests at your home?” “He was moving out here. We had a lot of room at the Hancock house. I talked it over with Robin–it was her idea as much as mine. You know, Bishop, I have certain faults. One is that I didn't spend nearly as much time with my children or my wife as I should have. I think Robin looked forward to some company around the house. She gets very lonely with me traveling so much.” “And how did her loneliness result in you and Cardston locking yourselves in your steam room?” “My wife has a vivid imagination. The door wasn't locked. The steam room was also part of an exercise room and a gym–what are you leading to?” I took all of Ben's effort to remain calm. “The Winnebago. Isn't it curious that Cardston won it with Jerry?” “I have no idea what Jerry had to do with it,” said Ben. This guy was going to keep pushing until something pushed him back hard. Real hard. In his mind Ben was flipping through his Rolodex, hunting for contacts at the state and federal level who could kick Searle's butt so hard he'd feel like he backed into a pile driver. But on the surface, Ben was calm and seemed totally in control.

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“The fact is, the one person who could explain anything is dead. I asked you before, Brother Bailey, what you knew about Cardston's personal life?” “I met him in New York through some of my publishing contacts. That's all. Why are you making more out of this than exists?” “He took your former wife and children to dinner after Church Services last Sunday.” “I wasn't aware of that,” said Ben. He wondered why Cardston had neglected to mention that fact. Below Ben's cool facade, his mind was churning with angry questions for Cardston. “I talked to Cardston's former bishop in New York earlier this morning. I also talked to a friend of mine with The New York Police Department. There are several bench warrants out for him should he ever return to that state.” “I had no idea,” said Ben. “I just assumed he wanted to move here because of the climate. What did he do?” “I'm getting a full report.” “I'm shocked.” “You'll be doubly shocked because Cardston told your former wife that you were trying to kill her.” “You've to be kidding. Or Cardston was kidding or my wife is crazier than I thought.” “I'm not kidding. Cardston promised your wife he would warn her when you were ready to strike.” “What?”

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“You heard me, Mr. Bailey.” “Brother Bailey” had quickly become a salutation of the past. “Did you happen to mention this to Cardston–maybe in a kidding manner– anything about harming your wife?” “Certainly not. I am not concerned with what happens to Robin as far as my relationship with her. However, the kids love her and need her. For that reason alone I would never harm Robin or allow anyone to.” “Well, if you come across Cardston before I do, would you have him call me?' asked the policeman as he stood and walked toward the door. “Absolutely. And would you do something for me?” “What?” asked Searle. “This investigation you're conducting–I would really appreciate your making it as discreet as possible.” “I have no reason not to be discreet.” “As one of the major publisher of Mormon-related material, I cannot afford to be associated with the slightest suggestion of impropriety. Here's a leather bound edition of the first volume of Brigham Young's Diaries. Please accept it with my compliments.” He opened a white box and removed an exquisitely bound book from blue tissue paper and handed it to the bishop. “I can't accept it,” said Searle. He opened the Moroccan leather and leafed through the Indian paper. The diary was illustrated with dozens of color sketches. “I'll be calling you from time to time concerning your brother-in-law's death. Thank you for your time.” He set the book down and headed for the door. “I guess,” said Ben, “ we'll be talking about getting the twins baptized next Sunday.”

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“Right, next Sunday,” said Searle. Then left, closing the door behind him. Hardly had the door clicked shut when Ben turned and raced to the back bedroom. “Cardston, you little son of a bitch! Searle said you were yapping your mouth off to Robin, telling her that I was going to kill her.” No answer. Ben came face to face with a thick oak door. Ben knocked on the door. “OK, I just want to talk to you–that's all. Open the door.” No answer. Ben tapped the door, but not hard enough to convey the full and complete anger boiling inside him. “C'mon, Cardston–we just need to talk.” No answer. “OK, you cocksucker, I'm getting a fire axe and I'm going to smash that door down.” No answer. Ben raced to the corridor, found the fire axe and returned to the oak door. “Last chance,” he said. Ben swung the axe in a ferocious arc and brought it down hard against the door. Splinters flew–

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Chapter 22 Robin woke to the smell of poached eggs, Danish rolls and crisp bacon. For a moment she was disoriented–she thought she was still living at home with her mother and father in Logan, Utah. Robin thought the only person in the world who could make fresh Danish rolls that smelled that good was her mother. But she was wrong. Sister Wilson and the kids had gotten up early and baked several dozen batches. And it had been fifteen years since Robin had even slept in the same home as her mother and father. And as soon as she remembered that, everything else snapped into focus. She saw her brother Jerry dying. She heard his voice. Smelt his fear. Sensed his terror and then just an instant before he died he was not afraid. Maybe all the years of being a a good Mormon paid off. Maybe Jerry, on the cusp of death, was peeking through the veil, seeing what a terrific life lay on the other side. Then again, maybe his dying body had released endomorphins, dumped them into his blood stream at the last instant and what Robin had witnessed was simply a sleight-of-hand by Mother Nature. An anesthetic to make the final step palatable. Otherwise people might die screaming. The children had prepared a lovely breakfast for her. They were standing in the doorway with Sister Wilson, waiting for her reaction. She did not disappoint them–she gave them a delighted smile. Kimmy skipped over to Robin and gave her a boa constrictor hug. “Good morning, Mummy–you sure slept in late,” said the child.

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“Yes, I guess I did.” Robin was going to add something about it being a big day yesterday but that wouldn't sound right. And it certainly wouldn't come out right. “Your mother was up very late,” said Sister Wilson. “She's probably still tired. Why don't you kids go watch cartoons while your mother and I talk?” The kids, more subdued than usual, trudged back to the living room. Robin picked up a crisp length of bacon and bit into it. “Thank you for keeping the kids quiet.” “All part of the job, Sister Bailey. How are you feeling?” “Terrible. Just awful. I kept dreaming about Jerry–” “Who was here last night?” “Bishop Searle,” said Robin. “At least we have one person on our side.” Robin knew that Sister Wilson thought highly of Ben–she was just one of the many people he had charmed in his life. And although he and their housekeeper had experienced a few clashes, she had been fanatically loyal to him, as she was to all the members of the Bailey family. Robin and Ben's divorce had deeply troubled Sister Wilson. In the older woman's eyes the Bailey family was the perfect family. The one Father-in-Heaven blessed and watched over. And Sister Bailey still believed Ben saved Kimmy's life during the fire. Robin chose her words carefully. “Sister Wilson, I think it's time we discussed a couple of things.” “Yes.” Sister Wilson's pale blue eyes blinked. The corners got a little moist, and she dabbed at them with a lace handkerchief that looked as though it had been through ten funerals of close friends. “The night our home burned down. That was not an accident.”

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“It wasn't?” “No,” said Robin. “Ben wanted me to stay married to him. I refused, so he threw gas all over the kitchen and told me then he was going to set our home on fire.” “He did?” “I'm sorry to disappoint you about Ben. I know you think he's a wonderful person and he certainly is in many ways but the fact is he has an uncontrollable temper–you've seen it–and he becomes dangerous when he doesn't get his own way.” “I realize, Sister Bailey, your husband has a temper. My land I've heard him cuss, but I don't think he'd really do anything to ever harm us. To be honest, I sort of half thought you had something to do with the fire.” Sister Wilson wore religious blinders. “My husband wants to do what is right but he could have destroyed his family. That's why I'm divorcing him.” “But things can still be worked out, Sister Bailey. After all, you were married in the temple.” Robin picked up a Danish roll. She needed time to gather her thoughts. She had to try to figure out some explanation that would help Sister Wilson–poor, wonderful, blinded-by-devotion Sister Wilson–to grasp the truth about Ben. “I know. And under the best of circumstances that should have been for time and all eternity,” said Robin. “The two of you are going through some rough times, Sister Bailey, but our Fatherin-Heaven loves both of you and I am praying the two of you get back together. I think a great deal of Brother Bailey–I really do.” Sister Wilson was childlike in her support of the church. Robin had always prayed she could be more like Sister Wilson in this way. But it is possible to possess an

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unshakable conviction and to be wrong. It was admirable that Sister Wilson believed so deeply in the eternal principles of the church. This gave her great consolation. Robin was in a quandary. The only way to convince Sister Wilson, would be to explain about Ben's darker and sinister side. Robin feared that would cause her housekeeper's faith in the church to shatter. “Do you want me to get you something else to eat?” asked Sister Wilson. Robin stared down at her empty plate. “No, I'm OK–” She tried to smile but the smile came out crooked. “I'm not OK, Sister Wilson–everything is coming apart.” “You think I can't deal with what's really on your mind,” said Sister Wilson. “But I know what's eating you, Sister Bailey.” “What?” “You're losing your testimony and you're terrified.” Robin wondered if she were that obvious. That transparent? “I am not really losing my testimony.” Maybe I've lost it. But that's not what terrifies me. The fact I can't count on Father-in-Heaven–I can handle that. What I can't handle is people. I can't count on them. I don't know a single person in this world I can count on. Not a single one.... “The reason I know you're losing your testimony–or on the verge of it–is because after you went to bed you kept calling out and when I went to your bedroom I heard you say–the church is lies.” “I was having a nightmare,” said Robin. “Then it is the influence of Lucifer.” “What?”

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“Lucifer,” said Sister Wilson. “I think we should have members of the priesthood bless this home.” “I don't think that's necessary yet.” “If this house has been visited by the Prince of Darkness, then it is no place for the children,” said Sister Wilson. Robin could not believe in any Devil. People in the church talked about the power of Lucifer but if Robin were honest with herself, she could not accept the concept of such a creature. Yes, the church had a way around it. You had to have opposition in all things. There was good and evil. Hot and cold. Love and hate. And you had to have a God and a Devil. At least if you were a good Mormon you had to believe that Lucifer was just as real as Father-in-Heaven or Jesus Christ. “Sister Wilson, please don't frighten or upset the children any more than they are–don't mention to them anything about Lucifer being in this home.” “But how will I explain to them about their Uncle's Death?” “Say someone evil shot him. Say the police are going to protect us from that person. And that someday that person will be caught and put in jail.” “But it is the Devil's influence that caused everything. The fire. The divorce. Poor Jerry's death. The other strange things.” “What other strange things?” Robin had to find out what other crazy things Sister Wilson was blaming The Devil for. “Sister Bailey, it's not my place to say. But you must admit that you are not the same person you were a month ago.”

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“Of course not. Neither are you. But I doubt if the Devil or anyone else is that powerful --” “There is a reason he is called the Prince of Darkness. I must tell you that I think you are wrong.” “Wrong?” “Yes–and if you would just get back in touch with your Father-in-Heaven you would have a testimony that Lucifer walks in this home.” “I am very tired, Sister Bailey. I don't want to discuss Lucifer any more–I just want us to be nice to each other and help the children get through this.” “I will pray for you, Sister Bailey.” “Do that.” “And I have a testimony that someday you will understand the power of the Adversary.” Robin felt she could take it no longer. Perhaps because she had such a restless night. Perhaps because of Jerry's death. Or the divorce. Or the move to Westlake. Or the way Sister Bailey kept insisting The Devil was behind all the evil that had plagued the Bailey family. Sister Bailey concluded Robin's silence was a sign the younger woman had come to understand the power of Satan. “Sister Bailey–why don't I call the Elders now and have them come over here and drive away Lucifer?” “All right,” said Robin, “But just so we won't waste their time, why don't we ask Lucifer to show himself?”

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Sister Bailey's mouth fell open. She clasped her hand to her mouth and backed away from Robin as though the younger women were herself a disciple of Lucifer. “Oh, don't say such a thing–don't tempt Him. He could destroy us.” Robin should have stopped. But she was so fed up with Sister Bailey that she said in a louder voice. “Lucifer, if you're in the house, show yourself. Cloven hooves and all.” Sister Bailey started to hyperventilate and stumbled backward, tripped and knocked the back of her head against an end table. She went out like a light. Robin had gone too far. She hurried to Sister Wilson and shook her. Sister Wilson's eyes fluttered open. Kimmy ran into the room. “What's wrong with Sister Wilson?” asked the child. “I said something to upset her,” said Robin. “Why?” “I guess the Devil made me do it,” said Robin.

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Chapter 23 Ben had whacked his way through the condo door and ax-in-hand, stood over a terrified Cardston. “I want some answers and I want them now.” By the tone of Ben's voice Cardston would come up with one of two things: answers or his own blood. “Have you gone nuts? Put that axe down,” pleaded Cardston, holding up a fluffy pillow to shield him. Whack! Ben smacked a hole in the wall the size of a watermelon. “Talk or I'll chop you into hamburger.” Ben advanced on a cowering Cardston. “I want answers. I want them now, you little bastard. Why'd you tell my wife I was trying to kill her?” “I didn't.” “Liar, one minute you're my lover, the next you take off like you did at the Christmas party. I can't trust you.” “I needed space.” “I'll give you some space between you neck and your chest.” Ben swung the axe, Cardston leaped back, stumbled and fell to the floor. Ben straddled him and raised the axe. “The truth.” The axe was shaking. “All right, all right,” said Cardston. “Put down the axe.” Ben relaxed his knuckle-white grip, but didn't lower the axe.

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Cardston could not take his eyes off the glistening blade. “You said you wanted to get rid of Robin and I said I'd help you.”“I told you I didn't want your help.” “I know. I'm sorry. I went out to Westlake and I was checking up on Robin–I-I went to her ward and then afterwards she saw me and asked me if I wanted to have lunch. I said sure but only because I wanted to find out what she was doing so I could help you.” “And you thought you'd make small talk by telling Robin I was some kind of nut? That I wanted her dead?” “No. It wasn't that way. Robin thought you were going to hurt her–I pretended to take her side.” “So to get in her good graces, you said you'd warn her if I tried anything crazy. That it?” Cardston nodded reluctantly. “Did you tell her we were living together?” Ben's fingers tightened on the brown axe handle. The veins on his wrists grew taunt–piano wires stretched to the breaking point. “No.” “Searle knows we are.” “All he really knows is I visited you here–but as you pointed out I have many friends in this building. I love you.” “You don't know dick about love, you little wimp.” Cardston started to sob. “You know what money is. You know what power is. You know what a good body feels like. That's your idea of love.” But Ben's anger had dissipated. Perhaps drained by his intense physical exertion. Maybe Cardston's tears had gotten through to Ben. He

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released the grip on the axe handle and the weapon fell with a dull thump against the bright Chinese carpet. Cardston slowly stood, eyes fixed on Ben. Cardston was ready to retreat if Ben so much as took a deep breath. Ben went to the window and looked down at the city. There was no question that Cardston was dangerous to keep around. But there was little question that there was something exciting, magnetic about the smaller man. And Ben was turned. Thrilled by him. “I want to be your friend,” said Cardston. “And if you'll let me, I'll be more. A lot more.” Ben said: “Don't underestimate Searle. He acts like some country hick but he's smart, and despite what I might have said to him, he knows there's something going on between us. He knows you had something to do with Jerry's death.” “He doesn't know anything.” “It's what he senses. Now what does he sense?” “All right. I took care of Jerry. You said you wanted Robin destroyed. You said you wanted your kids. Jerry was working with her against you. I took him out.” “Took him out?” “I followed him onto the freeway, we stopped on a side road, and I shot him. I thought he was dead so I drove off.” “You know how to use a gun?” “I guess I wasn't as good a shot as I thought I was.” “Where'd you learn to use a gun?”

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“I used to go hunting with my dad. I belong to a couple of gun clubs.”“Searle will be able to find out about that.” “So?” “So he puts that together with the fact that Jerry said your name just before he died and you'll end up frying. California does have the death penalty, you know.” “Jerry said Car. Not Cardston. If Searle had anything solid, there'd be a warrant out for my arrest.” “I can't believe the kind of trouble you're in. You killed my brother-in-law. You shot him. You're a murderer.” “So you would get the kids. If you want me to leave, I will. I'll go out that door and disappear. I wanted you get your family back.” There was no question Cardston was bonkers, but Ben said one word that would forever change his life. “No.” “You want me to stay?” “Yes.” “Why?” “I don't know.” I dare not tell you to go. You are dangerous. You could easily cause me to hang with you. But I can control you. “I think it's because we understand each other. And I think you realize I care enough to kill for you.” “I hope you care enough for me and our relationship to start using your head.” “The police have nothing on me.” “Anyone see you? Think hard.”

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“No possible way. Happened in the middle of that rain storm, on a side street. You couldn't see five feet in front of you.”“You better lay low. Get yourself a room at the Wilshire Comstock. And don't call me and for God's sakes stay away from Robin and the kids–don't even go near Westlake Village.” “Do you think that's wise?” “Of course–what the hell do you think I suggested it for? To hear my echo bounce off these stupid walls? You understand, don't you, Cardston, that if Searle realizes we're lovers, it'll really tie us together? “Don't worry about that.” “Then leave.” “I'm a little short of money,” said Cardston. Ben walked back to the master bedroom, opened his lacquered desk and took out a billfold. He counted out twenty crisp hundred dollars bills and gave them to Cardston. “Here's some walking around money to keep you happy for a week or two. Now scat.” Cardston took the money, folded it in half and slipped it into his pocket. He smiled that boyish grin of his. Ben could not help but smile back. How could Cardston possible kill anyone, he wondered? One of the reasons Ben had become rich and powerful was because he understood what made his friends and enemies tick. He understood that if you knew what a person really wanted, you could deal effectively with that person. You could manipulate that man. Or that woman. But Ben was uncertain as to what Cardston wanted. On the surface Cardston wanted Ben as a lover. But there was more. He kept talking about family. And the younger man was willing to risk everything. But as far as Ben was

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concerned, Cardston had taken a terrible gamble. And Cardston did not have the slightest guarantee he was going to win anything in return. Ben could have turned Cardston over to the police. But considering their relationship that would have been unthinkable. “I know what you're thinking,” said Cardston. “Yeah. What?” “You're thinking how much you'd like to spend the night with me.” “Maybe. But as long as Searle is out there–we have to be careful.” “I understand.” “You're going to stay away from Westlake?” “I will do whatever is necessary.” Cardston turned and walked down the corridor and headed for the front door. “Should I call Searle?” “No. Get out of here,” said Ben. “Don't even take the motor home. Get a cab to Venice. Rent a place with cash. Call me from a pay phone when you do. But don't talk to the cops.” Cardston nodded, opened the front door and almost collided with Lt. Searle.

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Chapter 24 “Are you Cardston Degere?” asked Lt. Searle. The police officer, in his rumpled jacket and sepia polyester slacks, seemed out of place–almost out of time–in the elegant corridor. “Yes. Bishop Searle?” asked Cardston. “It's Lt. Searle–I'm not here as a bishop.” The bishop could sense sexual energy between the other two men. It made him feel uncomfortable but he warned himself to keep his personal feelings to himself. He was dealing with a murder investigation. His personal and religious attitudes should have nothing to do with doing this job. Easy to say, hard to do. On the street Searle looked more or less presentable but in Ben's luxury condo, the policeman's brown slacks and over-laundered shirt seemed particularly shabby. “Bishop Searle,” said Ben, with a hint of indignation in his voice, just the right hint of indignation–”I realize you've been up most of the last 24 hours. I know you've been talking to Robin and I realize she might have said some things about --” Lt. Searle considered the Brigham Young leather diary on an ivory table. Searle knew Ben was going to start getting nasty. Ben was going to do his best to make things politically choppy for him. But this was no time to back down. “Mr. Bailey. Why did you tell me Mr. Degere was not here?” “Come on, stop acting like we're living in a police state. I said Cardston was not here when you called earlier. After you left, he dropped by. I object to your tedious insinuation.”

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Cardston's eyes swiveled toward Ben. The bishop caught the young man's fear. Yes, thought Searle, something's going on, these two are covering up. I don't understand why or even how men would enjoy sex with each other. Immediately he chided himself. “I'd be happy to answer any questions,” said Cardston. “Perhaps we should have an attorney present,” said Ben. “No one has been accused of anything,” said Lt. Searle. “I'm conducting a preliminary investigation to attempt to figure out what happened.” “I don't mind answering any questions,” repeated Cardston. “I really don't.” “Maybe we ought to go out for breakfast,” said Ben. “I'm not hungry,” said Lt. Searle. “And since Mr. Degere has agreed to answer a few questions, maybe we should get started.” “He may not be familiar with the laws of California.” “It's OK,” said Cardston. “I have nothing to hide.” Searle fished a dog-eared black leather book out of his pocket and thumbed through it. “Let's see, your father was a druggist?' “I can see I have no secrets,” said Cardston. “He just wants to make sure he checked the right person out on the police computer, right, Lieutenant?” asked Ben. “That's correct,” said Lt. Searle. Cardston said, with a slight smirk to Ben: “I suppose there are so many names in the data base it's easy to come up with the wrong information. Nice to see we have a careful man trying to destroy me.”

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“I'm not trying to destroy anyone,” said Searle, quietly. He knew the two felt superior to him. That was all right–they might let their guard down. And even if they were smarter than him–he had bested a lot of men brighter than he was. “Good,” continued Cardston, enjoying his own wit. “I'm the criminal from Ogden with the father who's the druggist. What exactly do you wish to ask me?” “Back east, you had a Bishop named Hornell?” “That was in some crime index?” asked Cardston. “No. That was in the church records. Hornell was your bishop about five years ago?” “Yes. But I fail to see how that has anything to do with your investigation. Exactly what are you getting at, Lt. Searle?” “I talked to Hornell a little while ago on the phone.” “And how is the old fart?” asked Cardston. “He's fine. He told me you were ex-communicated on moral grounds. Shortly after you were re-baptized.” “The moral ground stuff was all rumors. I was living in a boarding house and I screwed two of the other roomers.” “He said that you refused to appear before The Elder's Quorum.” “Bishop Hornell certainly has a good memory. I suppose he told you what the charge was?” “Yes, you and some other young men were engaged in homosexual activity.” “That was never proven,” said Cardston. “Are you a homosexual?” asked Searle.

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“You asking me as a Mormon bishop or a police officer?” “A police officer.” “What I do in my private life is my business.” “OK, I'm asking you as a Mormon bishop,” said Lt. Searle. “And I've got the same answer for you,” said Cardston. “And since we're talking from a theological point of view, and for the record, that Quorum was a kangaroo court. I was not even present when they ex-communicated me.” “Didn't you refuse to attend the court?” “What was the point in attending anything? The bishop, the stake president and all the counselors had already made up their minds. They claimed what I was doing had what they called–the appearance of evil.” Searle re-checked his notes. “Could that have been because you had been arrested on drunk and disorderly charges in a bath house? You were wanted on several warrants in reference to fraud. You apparently threatened your next-door neighbor with a handgun, and you were involved in numerous fist fights.” “And what was I supposed to do when gay-bashers decided to beat me up? Let them?” “From what I could find out,” said the policeman, “you seriously injured your attackers.” “They asked for it.” “My,” said Ben, “I had no idea this little man was so good with his dukes.” “He hit his attackers from behind with a two by four,” said Lt. Searle. “Did wonders for my self-image,” said Cardston.

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Searle, consulting his black book, said: “Now then, I have a few questions about your relationship with Robin Wendell.” “Not much I could tell you about her.” “When did you first meet her?” “Christmas Eve. I was at a party at the Bailey's.” “That was the night you won your Winnebago?” “You have been a busy fellow with that little black book,” said Cardston. He winked at Ben; Searle caught the wink. “Terrific Christmas present,” said Lt. Searle. “Terrific,” echoed Cardston. His voice was flat. “And when did you see her after that?” asked Searle. He watched the younger man's eyes. Those eyes were flat and cold. Again, Searle wondered what drove men to love, or whatever they called it, with other men. “After I moved out to Westlake, I saw her in church last Sunday,” said Cardston. “I remember,” said Searle. And in his mind he could see Cardston in the church. There was something off-kilter with that image. What? Then the bishop figured it out. “You came to church, you sat behind Jerry. I watched you while Robin bore her testimony. I remember you partook of the sacrament. You were wearing a dark blue blazer.” “You have a good memory.” Cardston turned to Ben. “Do you think he took one of those memory courses that depends on word association?” “Your memory must be pretty bad,” said Searle. “Didn't they teach you on your mission that an excommunicated person does not take the sacrament?”

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“They did but I didn't think it was that much of a sin.” “You don't seem very concerned with sin, Mr. Degere.” “Maybe you're too concerned.” Searle said nothing. Cardston had struck a nerve. Searle often became too caught up with his calling as a bishop. The problem with being a bishop was that you had to become judgmental. He never liked that part of the church, or that part of himself. A stake president had once told him that a good bishop was a cop who didn't cuss. Well, that's what he was. “Lt. Searle,” said Ben, interrupting his thoughts, “if there's nothing else, I really do have a full day and --” “I'll only be a few more minutes,” said the policeman. Searle turned his attention back to Cardston. “What I'm curious about, Mr. Degere, is why you would try to give Robin the impression you're an active member of the church?” “I never told her I was active or a good member or anything like that.” “No, but you set it up so she'd think that.” Then he turned toward Ben. “I think you knew all about Cardston but you never warned your wife, did you?” “Lt. Searle, none of this has anything to do with investigating Jerry's death --” “You may be right,” said the policeman. “Oh, I am right,” said Ben. “And I understand why you're so caught up with this investigation–why you're trying to implicate me and my associates in Jerry's death.” “Why don't you share that with us, Ben,” said Cardston as though Searle were not present. “He,” said Ben, referring to Searle, “has been talking to Robin.”

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“You think so?” asked Searle. “I know it. She's filled his head with a lot of bullshit and he's fallen for it. And it's going to get him into trouble.” “That's enough,” said Searle. “Is the sad little cop in ill-fitting clothes getting upset?” asked Cardston. “Take it easy,” said Ben. “Bishop, my wife is nuts. You'll find out. She burnt down our house. She wants a divorce so she can destroy my company and she has taken my children from me. She's using you.” “No. I think you're both very dangerous men. You have treated her in an appalling manner. And you, Cardston, would do anything you could to keep in Mr. Bailey's good graces. “Do you have a shred of evidence to substantiate such nonsense?” asked Ben. “This case has just started.” “Well, Lt. Searle,” said Ben, “if there's nothing else we can do for you, I have to go– so if you'll excuse us --” “If you have alienated your wife from the church, then you will stand before the judgment bar of God and you will be punished.” “My Goodness,” said Cardston. “You're awfully pushy, aren't you, Brother Searle?” “I'm going to put you in jail.” Ben flushed. “This is my place. You are a guest here. And frankly I'm getting annoyed with your attitude. It's more like an inquisition than an investigation. And you don't have a shred of hard evidence to substantiate anything.” “Don't you think it's a startling coincidence that just as Jerry dies, he says Car–”

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“I'm sorry he's dead. I really must ask you to leave.” “I'll go,” said Searle. “But if either one of you does anything further to harm Robin, I'll forget all the rules.” Ben said: “And if you continue with this line of absurd questioning, close personal friends of mine with the state will make certain you kiss your pension goodbye. And I'll call the Brethren in Salt Lake City and I can promise you, your days as a bishop in the church will be numbered.” “Don't threaten me.” “Don't you get it? Get the fuck out!” snapped Cardston. Searle glanced at Cardston. “I'll want to speak to you again. I'm sure you won't try to do anything dumb like leaving town.” Searle left. As he walked along the carpeted hallway toward the gilded elevator, he knew he had just gotten himself into a great deal of trouble. He knew that Ben would do his utmost to get him fired. He knew that Ben would use all the juice he had with the Brethren in Salt Lake City, to have him kicked out of the bishopric. Well, so be it–Lt. Searle was absolutely certain that both Ben and Cardston belonged behind bars. And neither one of them should ever be allowed to have anything to do with the Mormon Church again. Things were going to get a lot rougher before they got better. In the meantime, Robin was going to be at risk. And probably so were her kids. Jerry had been a great asset to his family, to his ward and to the community. And now he was dead. It didn't make sense. Was not fair. But then so few things seemed fair. Searle stepped into the marble lobby. He could not stop thinking about Robin and what she had gone through.

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As he walked out of the lobby and into the bright sunlight Searle, noticed a middleaged man in a Brooks Brothers' suit. “Lt. Searle, what're you doing here?” asked the suit. Searle blinked and held his palm over his eyebrow. It was a guy from the governor's office, Lt. Black. Searle had forgotten the man's first name. He had met Black in Sacramento where he was in charge of investigating corrupt police departments. Searle had heard Black was pretty good at his job since he had worked for a number of police departments as an internal affairs specialist. The word on the street was Black had destroyed the lives of several dozen bad cops and in the process burned five or six good cops. Searle had no illusions that all cops were good and wonderful. Every barrel of apples had one or two rotten ones. Internal Affairs was a necessary part of the system, but that did not mean Searle had to like men like Black. Men who preyed on the weakest points of the chain. Black looked coldly at Searle and said: “You're a little out of your jurisdiction, aren't you?” “Not really.” Searle turned away and continued walking in the bright sunshine toward his four-door sedan waiting for him in a No Parking zone. Lt. Black tagged after him. “It's not a great career move to hassle individuals like Mr. Bailey.” Searle slipped his key in the sedan's door. “Mr. Bailey, is it?” Searle got in his car and pulled the door shut. Black stood by the car. “The governor has been on the phone since before breakfast with Bailey–don't come around here anymore.” “I'm investigating a murder. I'll talk to who I want and I'll go where I want.” “You're pushing into areas that will get you into a lot of trouble.”

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“You better tell the governor to find some new business associates–because I'm going to tar Bailey even if I have to paint the governor with the same brush.” “Talk to your watch commander when you get back to Westlake.” Lt. Searle switched on the ignition, and drove west toward the San Diego Freeway. He realized he had just bitten off more than he could handle. He was not looking forward to the heat.

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Chapter 25 Two days later (a day before her brother's funeral) Robin was in the midst of preparing dinner when there was a knock at the door. The sound reminded Robin of the last seconds she had seen her brother alive. That image was indelibly etched in her mind. She supposed someday that the memory of her brother's face, the way his hair was matted against his brow, the way his jaw barely shook, the haunting expression of his eyes, would fade. Robin placed the bowl of salad she was mixing on the table and hurried to the door. Sister Wilson and the kids were at a movie and would not be back for another half hour. The Church Relief Society had sent over dozens of food dishes, micro-wave ready.

Robin hurried past a huge arrangement of flowers. She looked through the peep hole and saw Bishop Searle. She opened the door. “You're in time for supper, will you stay?” “Thank you but my wife and kids are expecting me in about an hour. I just stopped by to make certain you're all right.” “I guess so.” “I'm going to keep a police car on 24-hour surveillance for as long as possible.” “The kids actually think it's a blast there's a squad car in front of our place all the time. They made some Kool Aid yesterday and took it out to the officers.” “Good for them. How are they dealing with everything?”

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“They don't really understand. I don't think I really understand either. The kids were talking about Jerry coming back somehow. Please sit down.” Robin sliced some carrots and dropped them into boiling water. “But this is no time to share my misgivings with the kids. Or for that matter, with Sister Wilson.” “If I'd gone through with Ben what you did, I don't know–” “You probably thought I was being a bit hysterical when I told you my side of the story.” “No, not really. Everyone thinks that a cop figures out crimes by checking facts and clues. Maybe some cops do. I've always operated on gut feelings. Maybe being a bishop helps, I dunno. After we talked the other morning, I went to see your husband.” “He's pretty smooth, isn't he?” “No. After talking with him I am more convinced than ever everything you said was is true.” “He threaten you?” asked Robin as she took the plastic covers off some chili and emptied it into a pan. “Yes, he also called some hot shot from the governor's office to lay down the law to me.” “He's going to get you in trouble,” said Robin. “I've seen him ruin careers– especially when he's backed into a corner. Be careful.” “That's what they pay me for.” “To be careful?” “I wish,” he said. “No, they pay me to stick out my neck.” “He's rich and powerful --”

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“That doesn't give him the right to get away with murder.” “Do you have any evidence?” she asked. “You know you'd make a good prosecuting attorney, Robin. The answer is no, I don't have any hard evidence but I'm certain Ben and that friend of his had something to do with Jerry's death.” “You could tell they were more than friends?” “Oh, yes.” “Proof?” “Not so far.” “So what's next?” “I'm not certain. I've talked to half a dozen investigating officers who have interviewed people about your husband's behavior over the last three years. Do you know he's been in trouble in West Hollywood with male hookers about five times and every single time, the charges were dismissed?” “How'd he do that?” “Three of the male prostitutes that had beefs against just disappeared. The other one was thrown out of court.” “Ben had something to do with that?” “No one can prove anything. But those three vanished quite conveniently. And there's another thing to consider–the only information I've been able to trace concerns cases that have been reported. Heaven knows what else you husband has done?” “I don't know how he fooled me so long?”

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“Look at his life,” said the bishop. “On the one hand he's a model citizen. A respected Mormon, a publisher of LDS books and religious material. The perfect churchgoing husband. Head of a family that was sealed in the Temple. The role model that every Mormon mother tells her sons to be like. But the dark side of Ben is his sexual nature. He cannot control his desires, his passions. It's a Jekyll and Hyde situation and eventually a person like that destroys himself.” “So he's a psychopath?” “if a person acts like a psychopath, talks like a psychopath and reacts like a psychopath, there aren't a lot of options,” said the bishop. “After what you told me about Ben trying to burn down your home, you and the kids and Sister Wilson are lucky to be alive.” “But it still does not make sense for him to harm Jerry. Jerry always did whatever Ben wanted.” “Maybe your brother discovered what Ben was really like. And if there is one thing that Ben cannot tolerate, it's a Mormon who knows what he's really like.” “I know more about him than anyone else,” said Robin. “Boy does this conversation make me feel good.” “That's why I've insisted on having a 24-hour police surveillance out there.” “Wouldn't it have made sense for Ben to kill me instead of Jerry?” “A little too obvious.” “Have you got any theories?” “Lots of them, especially after talking to a couple of shrinks. They're a a bit far out and you may be in no mood to listen.”

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“Tell me,” said Robin. “In every kind of sexual relationship that has any continuity there is a male energy and a female energy. This energy can shift, sometimes the woman could be the male energy and sometimes the man could be the female energy. But overall, each relationship has one person who is male and one who is female.” “OK,” said Robin. “The reason a gay relationship works is the same reason a heterosexual relationship works. One person is male, one person is female.” “How do you know which is which?” asked Robin. “Couple of ways,” said Lt. Searle. “The male gives, the female receives. When things go right, the person with the female energy receives the giving and gives it back. You get a nice dove-tail.” To illustrate his point the bishop interlaced his fingers. “There's also another way to define male and female energy–and again this has little to do with gender. The female side provides sensuality. The male energy provides status and power–in today's society, that's money.” “And obviously I was the female energy as is Cardston in the relationship with Ben.” “On the surface yes, but when you were protecting your children, you became the male energy–you can image how threatening that side of you was to Ben when he already had such a confused concept of his own identity. I'm starting to talk like a shrink and I'm getting into an area I really don't know much about,” said the bishop. “No, I think I understand. Whenever Cardston looked at me I felt like there was some kind of jealousy there. Almost like another woman was jealous of me.” “Maybe he wanted to be you.”

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“So why would he kill my brother instead of me?” “I'm not sure Cardston would ever kill you,” said the bishop. “OK, but why kill Jerry?” “Not sure. Maybe Jerry knew something, maybe they had to shut him up.” “But he would have told me.” “Maybe,” said the bishop, “Jerry didn't realize he knew something. I know I've mentioned that before but I just have a feeling...are you OK?” “I've never felt so alone in all my life,” she said. “You're not alone, Robin.” “Except for you, I am.” “You have friends, you have the church. And the police are on your side.” “You must not think much of me, considering how I'm starting to view the church.” “After what you've been through with that husband,” said Bishop Searle, “anyone's testimony would be shaky. Even if you left the church tomorrow, I would continue to help you any way I could.” Robin wanted to believe this but she was not at all certain. The thought went through her mind that perhaps Ben had gotten to Bishop Searle somehow. She knew Ben could help Searle with his advancement in the church. God only knew what kind of Jezebel he had described her to be to her bishop. Because of Ben's links to the governor's office, her husband could insure a promotion or demotion for the bishop. I really don't know who to trust. “Are you all right?” asked Searle. “Yes. So what's our next step?”

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“There's the funeral tomorrow. We'll get through that. I'll continue with the investigation–and we'll find out how to nail Ben or Cardston–or both of them. “But there is a chance,” she said, “that someone else killed Jerry. I mean there's drive by shootings, there's thugs out there, California is filled with crazies and most of them carry guns.” The bishop looked at her with a steady gaze. His dark gray eyes did not blink. “No chance,” he said. “I say that from two points of view–the first is a cop's. Everything points to Cardston. Everything. And I'm certain Ben had some kind of influence over Cardston–covert or overt. I don't know which. But I'll find out.” “And what's the second reason?” asked Robin. “It's from a bishop's point of view. I know it.” “Are you telling me that the Spirit is manifesting itself to you, telling you who the murderer is?” she asked. “Yes.” She realized Searle was being honest with her. And the thought went through her mind that he might be as crazy as a bedbug himself. Here he was saying he knew Ben and or Cardston were killers. God had revealed this to him? God gives you the ten commandments, He doesn't tell you who kills people. Does he? Something told her she could trust him. Was this the Spirit? She didn't know but something deep down said Searle would be there for her and the kids. Maybe it was simply intuition–it didn't really matter–she knew for the moment that he was on her side. And if she felt this way, she knew Ben might be able to pick it up. Here was a unbribable

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man. A man who her husband could not buy off. Ben would sense that. “I'm afraid for us all. I'm afraid for you.” “I can take care of myself.” “Not against Ben. If he thinks you're the only one who believes me, then he'll harm you.” “He can try.” “You baited him, didn't you? You want him to try.” ********* About half a mile away, parked on a side street was Cardston's Winnebago. (It had stolen plates on it that he had taken from a dusty Winnebago in Ben's condo. That would throw the cops off the scent. No use alerting the cops he was in the area. Ben would understand.) Cardston thought about the way Ben had taken his side when Searle had showed up at the condo. Ben was coming along. Things were getting better. It was all going to work out. The motor home's drapes were pulled closed and Cardston sat at the kitchen table. He not only had heard everything, he had recorded it to play back to Ben later. Cardston picked up a Lifesaver package and pried out a peppermint. He slipped it in his mouth and rubbed his tongue against it. Cool. And hot. He heard Robin and Searle continue to talk, then Sister Wilson and the kids came in and everyone started to chatter about the movie they had just seen and then Kimmy said something about her uncle's funeral and there was a sudden pause in the conversation. Then the twins started to fight over the dinosaurs and the kids–yelling and screaming–someone carried the dinosaur transformer to the next room.

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Cardston snapped off the scanner. He had heard enough to realize how important it was for Searle to die. There was no time to talk it over with Ben. He liked the idea of Ben and he being family. Of having kids around. It all made good sense.

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Chapter 26 The Latter-day Saint chapel in Westlake Village was packed with Jerry's friends and family. Robin sat in the front pew, her three children–each dressed in Sunday best– beside her. Kimmy had been allowed to bring her favorite teddy bear and Sister Wilson made a tiny black band for the little fellow's arm. Sister Wilson sat on the other side of the children. Next to her were Sally and her kids and several other members of the family who had flown in from New York. In the background the organist played “We Thank Thee, Oh God, For A Prophet.” The usual rustle of hymn books and people shifting in the chapel. The air had a light fruit scent from the floral arrangements, heaped on the closed coffin. Robin glances around the chapel. A unique characteristic of Mormon chapels was that they contained no crosses. The leaders of the L.D.S church had decreed the cross was a pagan symbol adopted by the Catholic Church in the Dark Ages. For this reason none of the 500 chapels completed annually by the L.D.S. church displayed a single cross or for that matter a candle–which also considered a pagan symbol. Robin glanced at Sally. She was sitting upright, principled, statuesque, absolutely certain and accepting of the events unfolding around her. Robin felt exactly the opposite. The events begun at the Christmas party, had left Robin mentally beaten to a pulp, hammered, and totally uncertain. She wished she had the kind of faith and testimony her sister-in-law possessed. Sally really believed it all– believed the Mormon philosophy that when you die, your spirit simply slips into the next

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world to be with the people who went before; your loved ones. Never mind that the body decomposed and worms ate it, the spirit–the total essence of everything you were–lived on, and the terrific part was that one day your body would be resurrected and you would someday have flesh and bones again. Now that Jerry was dead, Robin felt more isolated and alone than she ever had in her life. Being married to Ben had certainly been tough, but at least he was always there for her, even if it was in a crazy, demented way that always seemed to be spiraling toward disaster. She had for the duration of her marriage the illusion of stability. Maybe that was one of the great attractions of religion. Many religions, especially Mormonism, promised an eternal continuity to life, a plateau that stretched forever into the future–endless and without fear. Staring at Jerry's coffin, Robin had to admit she felt warmer within her spirit as she contemplated the possibility of being with her brother again, of seeing him someday, of laughing with him or just hearing him sing in that wacky off-key manner he had. They were kids again and he was teaching her Three Blind Mice and since he could not carry a tune, he taught it to her incorrectly and it was a year before her parents realized she was not tone deaf–she was simply mimicking her brother. Bishop Searle talked about Jerry and his life and what a fine husband and father Robin's brother had been. The rest of the service was taken up by friends, explaining what a terrific member of The Church he had been and how–even though it was difficult to understand–Jerry's death was all part of the plan of salvation of Father-in-heaven. And the collective opinion was that he had simply stepped “through the veil” and into the next world. Robin tried to imagine this heavenly plateau. About the closest she could get was

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a Celestial one-way mirror that allowed Jerry to look at his mortal existence, but prevented mortals from glimpsing what he was up to. And then the six pall bearers started out of the chapel toward a white hearse. Robin watched the coffin moving out into the sunshine–she had the impression that the coffin had twelve legs, a huge black bug ambling away. And then Robin gasped. Ben was one of the pall bearers. How could that be? But there he was holding onto one of the handles of the coffin, his head bowed, walking out the door. She had not seen him come into the chapel, she glanced around, looking for Cardston. She spotted him at the end of one of the rear pews. The ushers were signaling for people to stand, to follow the coffin out of the chapel. Robin got the kids to their feet and headed them toward the exit. Robin brushed against Sally. “How are you doing?” Robin asked her sister-in-law. “I'm blasted on Valium.” Robin blinked. Sally must be kidding. “You're what?” asked Robin. “Valium. You want one?” she asked and dug into her pocket for a handful of pills. George, 18, the older boy, put his arm around his mother, catching her just an instant before she stumbled. “She's going to be OK,” said George, “she'll be all right.” “Hey, Mummy,” piped up Kimmy, “what's wrong with Auntie Sally?” “There's nothing wrong with her,” said Robin. “Not much,” said Sally, “there's not anything wrong with me. It's just that Uncle Jerry is dead. He was visiting your place and he's dead.”

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Sally's voice was flat and distant and as she talked to the child she kept looking at Robin. Robin felt the burning anger, the resentment, the accusation in her sister-in-law's voice. “Come on, Mother,” said George to Sally. “We have to get going.” Sally jerked her arm away. “I can walk on my own, thank you very much.” By this time Bishop Searle was beside Sally. “Sister Wendell,” he said, “would you like me to ride with you out to the internment site?” “You mean the hole in the ground, don't you?” asked Sally. “Mother,” said George, “please --” “Don't lecture me,” said Sally. “What we're doing is putting your father in a black hole in the ground because he couldn't stay at home and be a father and a husband.” George was confused. Sally kept on: “–he had to do his church work, had to look after everyone but us. And where did it get him? It got him a black hole in the ground.” A moment later, Robin and the bishop were together. “She blames me,” said Robin. “What?” “She resented me for moving out here.” “What happened to your brother is not your fault.” “Really? If I had kept my mouth closed I'd still be living in Hancock Park, the good little wife.” “Don't do that by yourself,” said the bishop.

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Robin could feel her gut churning, sharp needles slashed her insides. She wished she had brought some antacid tablets with her. Maybe Sally had the right idea, gulp tranquilizers. Robin was thinking about the obituary notice the family had placed in the local paper for Jerry. When they were kids in school, Jerry had dreamed up the wording. The notice said: “...no tears, no sadness–I will meet you in Row One beside the Evening Star.” It had touched Robin when she had been a teenager and she realized, posssibly for the first time, that neither she nor her brother would live forever. She had not expected to see the words printed in a paper for many more decades. But now Jerrry's obituary had been printed in the Westlake News Chronicle and tomorrow someone would wrap fish in the newspaper. The bishop took Robin and guided her and her children toward the rear of the chapel. Sister Wilson paused to talk with the president of the Relief Society and thank her for sending so many fine meals. “Hey, Mom,” said Dale. “Dad's here. Did you know he was here?” “I just saw him,” said Robin. “I never knew he was here,” said Bishop Searle. “He's one of the pall bearers,” said Robin. “See?” They left the chapel and moved toward the waiting hearse and black cars. Ben and the other pall bearers slid Jerry's casket into the white hearse. Robin watched him. There must have been a piece of debris in the channeling which the casket rode on because, halfway in, the casket stopped. The pall bearers tried to push it in further but the casket was lodged, stuck solid.

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“He never was very easy to push around when he was alive, I guess things haven't changed that much,” said Ben. The other pall bearers tried not to smile. But there was a certain humor in what Ben said, that was one of his strengths–he could find something funny to say in almost any situation. Even Robin had to smile. “Hello, Robin,” said Cardston. Robin flinched when she heard the voice. “I'm very sorry about your brother,” said Cardston. This was the first time Robin had seen or talked with Cardston since Jerry's death. “I sent you flowers, I hope you got them.” She watched the funeral director slip a wrecking bar under Jerry's coffin and attempt to dislodge it. By now–if things had proceeded according to plan–everyone attending the funeral would have been on their way to the cemetery. “This must be very difficult for you, Robin,” said Cardston. Robin noted with relief that her kids were sitting on a bench, being very quiet, talking softly to Sister Wilson. It was the funeral, of course. A tough lesson for the kids. Robin hoped that the image of their dying uncle would not permanently scar them. “I guess it's pretty hard to know what to tell the kids,” said Cardston. “What would you tell them?” she asked. “I'd tell them that it's part of Father-in-Heaven's plan.” “But you don't believe that, do you?” “I guess I don't. Do you? He flashed her a soggy smile.

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“You have no idea what my feelings toward the church are,” she said, keeping her voice low. She was incensed. “Same as mine,” he said. “We're a lot alike.” “No. You hope the church is wrong and you're happy about it. I think the church is wrong and I'm sad about it.” “A philosopher,” said Cardston. “Any more warnings about Ben?” “What are you talking about?” She looked from her children, still sitting quietly, to Ben, by the hearse. The funeral director had used the crow bar to free Jerry's coffin and the other pall bearers pushed it in. “Don't you remember? You said Ben might try to kill me, you said you were going to warn me.” “I think you're upset by the funeral. All alone now, huh?” “But you're not alone are you?” Before Robin could answer, Ben was standing next to Robin. She felt for that instant as though there had been no break-up, as though they were still living together as though Ben were still the head of the household with his jokes and quick wit and generosity. “Will you ride with me to the cemetery, Robin?” asked Ben. “I don't think so,” she said. “No.” “Please. The kids can go with Sister Wilson. I need to talk to you. It's important,” said Ben. “What do you want to talk about?” she asked. “I'll tell you on the way.”

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“All right.” Robin wondered if she were taking too great a risk. Ben might have threatened to kill her, but she doubted if he'd do her in while she rode to a funeral. On the other hand ....

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Chapter 27 Ben and Robin rode together in his white limo. “We had a pretty happy family at moments, didn't we?” he asked but it was more of a statement than a question. There were many things about her he missed. It was pitiful, he thought, that his kids no longer had a mother and father under the same roof. Robin had destroyed the family. Ben felt sad that the family he had devoted so much time had turned to–what? Cold ashes. He looked at Robin–if she had just been a trifle more understanding, their family would still be intact. Simple as that. “I said, we had a happy family at moments, didn't we?” “We had some good moments.” Ben settled back in the soft leather of the limo. He had always thought the scent of leather far more appealing than any kind of perfume. But then a bottle of Obsession was a hundred bucks. The cost of leather seats for the limo was ten grand. Yes, leather had more appeal. More status. When you had status, doors opened. Waiters gave you the best table. Ticket agents tried a little harder to get you on the flight of your choice, even if it meant bumping some peon. Robin was better than leather seats. Better than a gold card. Hell, better than a platinum card. Robin knew how to dress, how to smile, how to disarm the most aggressive business associate. And she certainly knew how to put a dinner party together. No one could organize a buffet like Robin. No one could design a sit-down dinner like she could. Ben's world hinged on status and he realized the most important aspect of that mix was the right mate. Robin gave him credibility. After all, a man who had a successful marriage–a loving wife and happy children–would obviously

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be successful in business and enterprise. Ben discovered that when Robin was around, his financial deals were sweeter, almost effortless. Robin had the knack of making Ben feel good about himself and when he felt that way, he could tear the world apart. Ben had to admit it–he missed having a family around him. “You want to try it again?” “No. Never.” Ben realized as soon as he'd asked that Robin would say no, and he was annoyed with himself. The limo turned and entered the cemetery, crunching over the flat gravel. “We are a family,” said Ben. And again he was annoyed with himself for being weak in front of Robin. Vulnerable. The driver got out and opened the door for Ben and Robin. Well, thought Ben, if she doesn't want to talk about it, she doesn't want to talk about it. Besides, I was stupid to even have suggested it. Ben and Robin walked over to the gravesite. The kids and Sister Wilson were already there–they skipped over to their parents and grabbed their hands. “Settle down,” said Robin. “Funerals ain't as bad as I hear,” said Dale. “Are not. Not ain't,” said Ben. “Yeah, sure,” said Dale. “How come you and Mom are together–you guys going to patch things up?” “That's up to your Mom,” said Ben. The kids exchanged optimistic glances. Ben knelt down by Kimmy and looked into her eyes. “What do you think, Honey, would you like us to be a family again?”

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The child nodded her head and threw her arms around Ben and he hugged her back. She smelt fresh and sweet and he realized how much he missed his kids. He was annoyed with Robin for leaving him; she had destroyed their family. What had happened to trust? He had never mistrusted Robin, he had never demanded she account for every Goddam second of her time when he was not around–yes, he had trusted her, given her the right to be her own person but when he wanted, when he needed a little extra slack, where was it? She had shown no trust for him and because of her own insecurities, Robin had precipitated a divorce. That divorce had resulted in the death of her brother. If Robin had been a good wife, if only she had been supportive they would still be married, still be living in Hancock Park and all would be well. There would be no fresh grave at their feet. And Jerry would be up to his ass in sweet real estate deals instead of plowed under a hunk of real estate less than eight feet long. Robin's fault. The cunt. Robin turned to Ben and asked, very softly: “How did this all happen?” What a question? He wanted to scream at the cunt how it happened, that it was all her fault their family had been decimated. That the children were without a father. That he had to take a new lover. That Jerry's kids no longer had him. All her fault. Their three children looked at Ben, waiting for a reply. Sister Wilson watched too. Ben said nothing. Robin's eyes moved from the kids to the hearse and then back again to the kids. “We going to be a family again?” asked Kimmy. “Everyone should get a second chance,” said Ben. “He's right, Mom,” said Daryl.

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Ben had given Robin some wonderful moments, more material things than she had ever dreamed possible, and he doubted if there was another man who could make her laugh like he could. “This is not the time or the place to talk about this,” said Robin. “We came here to say goodbye to Uncle Jerry.” “Robin,” said Ben, “I want you to know that I love you and the kids. If you need time to think about what you want our family to become, I can wait. After all, this family was sealed together in the temple for time and all eternity. I miss having all of us together, and the longer you wait the more pain the children will have to go through.” “That's a cheap shot,” said Robin and her voice faltered. “I don't mean for it to be,” he said, then moved toward the hearse to help the other pall bearers carry Jerry's coffin to the open grave. Fortunately the glitch in the casket slider seemed to have rectified itself because Ben and the other pall bearers were able to extract Jerry's coffin smoothly. The pall bearers positioned Jerry's coffin over the open grave and then Ben returned to Robin's side. The children were quiet. They were both frightened and curious. The funeral director's assistant positioned a lectern at the head of the grave. When Sally and her children arrived, he waited for them to take their seats.Bishop Searle stood behind the lectern and coughed softly. The wind bent the grass. Bishop Searle's thick fingers tightened on the edge of the lectern. In the background several more cars stopped and the sound of doors opening and closing seemed awfully loud. Bishop Searle waited until the stragglers took their place around the grave. Then he started to speak: “I would like to say a few words about death and the manner in which

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we, as Mormons, view it. Death is a sad time for all of us–but we believe that it is only one door closing and another opening.” These words filled Ben with warmth. It was good to be a part of the Mormon Church. Reassuring to be part of the plan of salvation. Ben realized that when it came to standing before God at the Final Judgment, he might fall short of the mark. Unless he were very lucky he was not going to be part of any plan of salvation. He was bisexual. And that alone could get him excommunicated. And then he could say good bye to his eternal family. He may not have killed Jerry, but he was partially responsible. However, maybe he could make amends. And perhaps there was a way to sidetrack Searle before the dumb son-of-a-bitch screwed up everything royally. Bishop Searle's voice droned on, fading in and out of Ben's thoughts. Searle was sharing his testimony with Mormon and non-Mormon alike. “My brother and sisters, I bear testimony to you that each of us here will have the opportunity to see Jerry again. And that if we live the gospel of Jesus Christ as we know it, to the best of our abilities, each of us will have an opportunity some day to return to the kingdom of our Father -in-Heaven. I say these things in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.” Most of the people standing around the grave murmured “Amen” and then Bishop Searle nodded at the assistant funeral director. The assistant–who was tall and lean with a complexion the color of dirty vanilla–released a ratchet on the stainless steel support holding the coffin suspended. The casket sunk slowly into the grave and the assistant looked toward the director, both seemed pleased with the fluidity of the operation. A job well done. To the funeral workers, or “bereavement counselors” as they billed

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themselves, Jerry Wendell was an entry in a ledger, six hours of embalming and displaying and transportation. To his family, he was a father, husband, protector, prankster, spiritual leader, enabler, disabler, race car driver, cat rescuer, omelette maker, home work helper, lover, sometime-poet and about five hundred other things. Ben watched Sally toss an armful of roses into the grave. Ben did not feel like part of Jerry's family, he felt like one of the funeral directors. Oh, yes, there was some feeling toward Jerry–they had shared a few laughs together, done a little business, but Ben felt no remorse, no sorrow over the death. Ben's primary feeling was the opposite. He was not quite certain what the opposite of sorrow was, maybe hope. Sure, that's how he felt, filled with hope. Probably, it was a good thing Cardston had taken care of Jerry. With Jerry gone, Robin might became a more tolerable. And if she became more tolerable and a bit more reasonable, then there might be a chance for their marriage. As the mourners returned to their waiting cars, Ben noticed Cardston talking to another man. The second man was nattily dressed and, even from twenty feet, Ben could see he was wearing some kind of makeup, a blush. The instant Ben saw Cardston talking to the man, Ben felt anger boil inside. Even though there were a lot of people to witness his behavior, Ben was on the verge of yelling at Cardston to stop hustling queers and get in his car. Ben, thought instead, he would walk to Cardston and tell him to get home, but just as he started toward his lover, Robin picked up Kimmy and started to carry her back to a waiting limo. “Robin,” said Ben, torn between two choices, “you will think about us being a family again, won't you?'

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“Sure,” she said but he could tell by her eyes that there was no hope. She had made a break and there was no way she was going to change her mind. Ben watched Kimmy as she wiggled out of her mother's arms (as Ben knew she would) and dashed toward him. He hugged her. “I love you, Honey,” he said. “I got a question, Daddy.” “Shoot.” He looked past his daughter at Robin. She waited none too-patiently. But what could she do? Forbid a father from hugging his kid, comforting her at the graveside of a departed uncle? An uncle the child idolized. Kimmy kept her arms around her father's neck and leaned back and looked into his eyes. “Aunt Sally and Uncle Jerry got married in the Temple for time and all eternity, huh?” “Yes.” “So that means that when Aunt Sally dies, Uncle Jerry will be waiting for her. That right?” “Absolutely,” said Ben. He was always amazed at the kind of questions his children came up with.“What about you and Mummy?” asked the child. “If I die first, then I'll be waiting for Mummy. And when you die someday–and that will be a long, long time–I'll be waiting for you.” “And will you wait for Dale and Daryl too?” asked the child. “Sure–we're all family. We'll all be together. At least we will be if your Mummy comes to her senses.” “What do you mean?”

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“Mummy has decided she doesn't want us to be a family any more,” said Ben. “And that means that after we die, Mummy won't be with us.” “She won't?” Tears welled up in a corner of the little girl's eyes. “No, Honey,” said Ben, “Mummy doesn't want us to be a family on this earth or in the next. That's why she's divorcing me.” “But why would she do that?” “I don't know, Honey, please ask her. Remember, she loves you and is trying in her own way to do the best she can, but sometimes even Mummies make mistakes.” Having said that Ben felt good. There was nothing like a child as a weapon. “And pray to Father-in-Heaven that Mummy will come to her sense.” Ben felt only slightly guilty for manipulating Robin that way; the cunt deserved everything she got. He doubted if he could ever forgive Robin. Earlier he might have had some regrets about Jerry's death. But now as he thought about the way Robin behaved, he realized it was a fine thing her brother was dead. Cardston had probably done the right thing. But he worried what Cardston could do now. The young man could hang them both if he made the wrong move. Cardston had power over Ben and it made Ben apprehensive.“Kimmy,” called Robin, “time to go.” For a second the child hung unto Ben. “I don't want to leave you, Daddy.” “I don't want you to either. But I bet you can talk your mother into some sense.” He set his daughter on the ground and she scampered to Robin. Kimmy immediately started to cross-examine her mother and, although he was too far away to hear what Kimmy was saying, Ben knew the child was upsetting Robin. All is fair in love and war.

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Sister Wilson herded the twins into a car and smiled at Ben. Ben smiled back and walked to her, avoiding departing cars as they crunched past on the gravel. “Sister Wilson,” he said, “I want to thank you for taking such great care of the children.” “I care for them, Brother Bailey. I'm sorry things are not working out for you and Sister Bailey.” “When you say your prayers, say one for me,” he said. “I always do.” “Is there anything I can do for you?” asked Ben. Sister Bailey loaded the children into the car and closed the door. “There is one thing,” she said. “And this is none of my business. But Sister Bailey doesn't have enough money for household expenses.” “I know,” said Ben. “I've tried to give her more money, however, she refused it.” “What?” “She wouldn't take any more money --” He leaned closer to Sister Wilson and continued in a soft, confidential tone: “Sister, Wilson, I don't know what's wrong with Robin–I think she enjoys acting like a martyr. Her mother was the same way.” “I don't understand.” “I don't either. But I've sent Robin several checks and she's returned them, she says she wants to make it on her own.” “She hasn't been herself,” said Sister Wilson. “I guess she wants a career, she's talked about it a lot. I just think that her place is with the kids at home, crazy huh?”

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“No, you're right,” said Sister Wilson. “I wish the two of you could get back together. Everything could be worked out.” “With your prayers and help,” said Ben, “maybe we can be a family again.” Ben took out his billfold and withdrew five one hundred dollar bills. “I want you to take this money and make sure the kids get plenty of vegetables and meat. Will you do that for me, Sister Wilson?” She nodded her head. “And this will be just between you and me --” “I don't quite understand,” said Sister Wilson. “For some reason Robin wants to make it look like she can survive alone. Without my help. Maybe it's got something to do with some legal suit she and her lawyers cooked up. You know how attorneys are. I don't care what she does to me, but while this craziness is going on, the kids must eat balanced diets.” “I'll make certain the kids eat well, Brother Bailey.” “Thank you.” He replayed the conversation in his mind and almost gagged. Was Sister Wilson that stupid, that naive? Apparently so. The silly bitch. Just a withered old widow who clung to a concept of a perfect church, a perfect family. Ben felt sorry for her. He shook hands with Sister Wilson and helped her into the car. “Just keep our family in your prayers,” he said. Robin brought Kimmy to the car and loaded her in. She gave Ben an icy look. Ben smiled back, Kimmy must already be grinding on Robin. And it made Ben feel warm to

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think that Sister Wilson believed Ben was as near to a perfect human being as one could find on the planet. Robin drove off–Ben waved to the kids. Ben's limo slowed and stopped, the rear door opened. Sitting alone in the rear compartment was Cardston. Ben got in and told the driver to take them back to Los Angeles. Cardston touched a button and a smoked glass petition slid into place. “You're glad Jerry's dead, aren't you?” asked Cardston. “All things considered. Yes.” Searle gave me some very strange looks,” said the younger man. “I noticed,” said Ben. “I also noticed you giving some bitch your own set of strange looks.” “Jealous?” asked Cardston. “No, should I be?” “Of course not.” “Good,” said Cardston. “Didn't take Searle long to replace Jerry. Wouldn't be surprised if he's got a hard on for Robin.” “Let him alone. I can handle him politically.” “Anything you say. Aren't you glad I'm on your side?' “Sometimes it terrifies me,” said Ben. Shit, he thought, Cardston is a lunatic. He's crazier than I am. Chapter 28 The next morning, Sister Wilson intended to use some of the money Ben had given to her to buy several baskets of fresh fruit and produce from a roadside stand a few miles

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away. Sister Wilson took the keys from their peg by the door but as she left she noticed the wilting bouquets of flowers from Jerry's funeral. She gathered up several armfuls of flowers and stuffed them in a plastic bag and twisted a metal tie around the top and set the bag by the back door for the twins to take out to the garbage. Robin and probably the children were still asleep. Sister Wilson filled an iron kettle with ice cold water and set it on a gas burner on the stove, then went to the front door and opened it to retrieve The Los Angeles Times. It was her habit to read the front page and the “view” section. On Thursdays she clipped recipes and coupons. She thought she might find some grocery sale items to add to the produce she was planning on buying. When Sister Wilson opened the front door she saw several hundred red roses. Kimmy had heard Sister Wilson get up and soon the little girl was padding around in fluffy kitten slippers. Kimmy's first stop was the fridge. She poured herself a large glass of orange juice. With OJ in hand she went to find Sister Wilson and inquire what was for breakfast. Thursdays were usually French toast and the child enjoyed it with maple syrup, except lately there had been no syrup. Kimmy had heard her mother and Sister Wilson talking about how little money there was for expenses and how they would have to watch the pennies, but the child had given their conversation little regard. Kimmy just couldn't feel too sorry for grown-ups, after all, her mother and Sister Wilson were forever reminding her to clean up her room. And the child had other problems on her mind. There was school: Kimmy was in the second grade in Westlake Elementary but she missed her friends in Los Angeles. True, they were only 50 miles away but they might as

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well have been in Australia. Kimmy was not allowed to call her friends because her mother had said the toll charges would bankrupt the family. Kimmy noted the plastic bag of dead flowers by the back door. The flowers brought back the images of the funeral. She remembered her Uncle Jerry in her mother's arms. The memory frightened her. She knew it would probably be a long time before she died but still she did not like to think about it. The notion of being planted in a hole and have dirt thrown over you was awful. She was sad that her Uncle Jerry would never again visit her–he always brought her little presents. She remembered the preemie doll her uncle had brought her and found it on the sofa. She hugged it against herself. Kimmy heard Sister Wilson say something from outside the front door. Kimmy headed toward the sound of Sister Wilson's voice. As she walked toward the front door, the child caught an image of her face in the hallway mirror. Lately, every time she saw her reflection she asked herself the same question: how come I don't look the same as the other kids? She had asked her mother many times about this and each timer her mother explained Kimmy was a special child, with the best of qualities of both Asians and Caucasians. At first Kimmy had believed this but at school, some of the kids had called her slant-eyes. And the Asian kids called her round eyes. She really didn't fit in. All kids got teased, she knew but the kids in Westlake were a lot worse than the kids in Los Angeles. Kimmy was sad about her mother and father getting a divorce. They were the only ones who seemed to make everything all right and now they were angry with each other. They had turned against each other and she was frightened they might turn against her.

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She wondered if maybe the reason they fought was because of her. Maybe she caused the family embarrassment. Kimmy knew she was adopted, and lately she kept wondering where her real parents were. She asked this question more often. Kimmy also wondered why her real parents had given her up–they must not have wanted her. When her brothers wanted to upset her, they described in graphic detail how dirty-moustached thugs had stolen her from her cradle and left her on the doorstep of their parents' home. The twins claimed to have witnessed the arrival of Kimmy–they said that their father had gone to the door to get the newspaper one morning and she was there on the lawn. Kimmy knew the twins were lying rat. She knew she had been adopted when she was a tiny baby. That would mean the twins had only been in cribs. What did they know then? The rats! She told this to Dale and Daryl and shortly afterwards they revised their “story”–they said they had not actually witnessed Ben finding Kimmy, but they had heard their parents talking about it. Kimmy, upon learning of the revised story, asked Robin about it who grounded the boys in their room for a week. But Kimmy still thought of the bandit-kidnap story each time someone went to the door to get the morning paper–and this morning was no different. She would not have been surprised to find a new child on the lawn. Or several kids on the lawn. What she saw was Sister Wilson staring at zillions of red flowers. That made Kimmy think someone else had died because there had been so many flowers for her Uncle Jerry's funeral.

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A man was standing at the rear door of a van which was parked in the driveway. On the side of the van were the words “Westlake Florists” and there was a painting of a bouquet of brightly colored flowers. As Kimmy watched, the man continued to unload armfuls of flowers. He brought these to doorstep and set them down beside her. Sister Wilson walked to the rear of the truck and looked into it. “Did someone pass away?” Kimmy asked the truck driver. “Pass away?” “You know, toes up,” said the child. “You use some pretty grown-up terms.” “I heard a lot of people talking at the funeral,” said Kimmy. The van driver smiled. “Sweetheart, you don't have to worry about anyone being toes up–” He glanced at the card on one of the flower arrangements. “To Robin–with love Ben,” he read. Kimmy was happy. This was a sign that her parents were maybe going to be friends again. “Oh, Daddy gave them to Mummy. Things are looking up.” “Looks to me like your Daddy must really love your Mummy or he just bought controlling interest in a florist shop,” said the man. The twins and Robin came to the door. The twins wore their pajamas, stenciled with bright yellow and red circus animals. Robin, who was wearing the silk dressing gown Ben had given her for their anniversary the previous year, picked up a bouquet and read the name tag.

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“From Daddy,” Kimmy explained to her brothers. She did not really think they were rats all the time. Occasionally they could be more or less human. “There's a lot of flowers,” said Robin. “I think Daddy wants you back, Mom. He always gives you red roses when you argue. Remember?” Daddy really loves Mummy and we are maybe going to be a family again. The child felt warm throughout her small body and the fears she had about being adopted and being kidnapped by bandits started to dissolve. “You going to go back to Dad?” asked Daryl. “We'll talk about it later,” said Robin. “Can we vote on it?” asked Kimmy. Robin knelt down by the child and gathered her into her arms and stood with her. She gave Kimmy a quick kiss on the nose. “Let's vote now,” said Kimmy. “I'm for it,” said Dale. “Me too,” said his brother. The twins both lifted their hands to indicate an affirmative vote. Kimmy shot her right hand up. “Me too. Let's take Daddy back and be a family again, OK, Mom?” Robin smoothed Kimmy's long black hair against the child's oval face. It made Kimmy feel secure. “I know it's important for you children to have a family and I want us to have a Daddy too. I feel really sad that things didn't work out between Daddy and me. I want you to know that your Daddy is a wonderful man and he loves you. But things are never as easy as they seem.”

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Sister Wilson was carrying the flowers into the house, several bouquets at a time. “Have you and Brother Bailey thought of going back to that counselor, Sister Bailey?” “I really don't want to talk about it,” said Robin. “Now let's go have breakfast.” The truth was, Robin had gone to a therapist and Ben had refused. “I've set out most of the stuff but I have to go pick up some produce from that Latino roadside stand, OK if I go now?” asked Sister Wilson. “Sure,” said Robin. “I can handle things fine. Do you have money?” “Yes.” Sister Wilson went to the garage and opened the door and backed the car out around the florist's van. A few minutes later the kids were seated around the breakfast table, the blessing had been said and everyone spooned up cereal. The twins kept the toaster churning out toast. Kimmy buttered hers. Red roses were everywhere. Kimmy stirred her corn flakes. She poured more sugar on her cereal and stirred it some more. Then she added some pepper. “Kimmy,” said her mother. “I don't think you need to pepper your cornflakes.” “And I don't think I need to have cereal every morning.” “What would you like?” asked Robin. “I'd like Daddy back in our family.” She stuck her spoon in the cereal and left it there. She glared at her mother. “And I think it's wrong that you wouldn't let us vote– you said we were all equal in this family.” “Good news,” said Robin. “Tomorrow we're going to have rose juice for breakfast.” “You always make a joke when you don't know how to act like a mother,” said Dale.

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But before Robin could say anything, there was a knock at the front door and Ben walked in. His arms were filled with packages. “Hi, Dad,” said Dale. “Great flowers. Want breakfast?” “I'll have a piece of toast, that is, if your mother doesn't mind.” Ben picked up a piece of toast, took a bite out of it and distributed his armful of packages to the children. “This is for you, Kimmy and you, Dale and you, Daryl. You may open them, with your mother's approval.” Kimmy didn't wait. The seven-year-old was afraid her mother might say no so she tore away the wrapping and quickly discovered a complete set of clothes for her favorite doll. “Daddy, this is great.” “Why don't you open your other present, Kimmy?” suggested her father. This was all the encouragement Kimmy needed as she started to undo the other gift. The twins had each opened their presents. Ben had brought them oversized water pistols that looked like something Captain Kirk could use to put down a Klingon Invasion. “Hey, Mom, isn't this great?” asked Dale, brandishing the weapon over his head. “Can I fill it up?” “No,” said Robin. By this time the other twin was heading toward the kitchen sink with his water gun. “Hold it right there, Daryl,” said Robin. Daryl froze. “Now sit down and finish your breakfast,” said Robin. Kimmy finished opening her second present–a beautiful cardigan. “Oh, Daddy–this is just wonderful, how did you ever know I was praying for this?”

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“A little bird told me,” said Ben. “I appreciate your bringing the children gifts,” said Robin, “but next time, it would really help if you called first --” “Lighten up, Mom,” said Dale, opening his next present, “don't be so tough on Dad– he sent you all those flowers.” “Thank you for the flowers,” said Robin. “I thought maybe it might help to persuade you to give our little family another chance,” he said. “I'll think about it,” said Robin. “Hey, Dad,” asked Dale, “how come you brought us all these presents?” “Birthday presents. How about we skip school today and all go to Magic Mountain?” “There is no school today,” said Dale. “It's break.” “I guess you want me to play the heavy,” said Robin. “First, this is not your day for the kids. And second, the children and I promised to see Sally. And third, although I appreciate the flowers and I'm sure the children love your presents, this is really throwing a monkey wrench in our schedule.” “Right. I understand but I really think it's important we spend the day together. There are some things I want to talk to you about.” Kimmy watched her mother's face. But Kimmy saw a resolve and determination in her mother's face that she had never seen before. So the child was not surprised (although she was disappointed) when her mother explained to Ben again that her visit with Aunt Sally was not going to be changed.

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“You always have stray cats and sick people you have to see. I think it's time you realized this family is more important --” “Sally is not a stray cat. She was married to my brother. And I do not want to get into this in front of the children.” “But it's OK to discuss our family with total strangers.” “I don't know what you're talking about,” said Robin. “I'm talking about the way you and Cardston have been figuring things out behind my back. The minute I go out of town, you and he get together and hatch nutty stories about me.” “Stop it,” pleaded Kimmy. “Please, just stop it.” Robin looked at her daughter and brushed away a tear. “I'm sorry, Honey,” she said. “We shouldn't discuss this in front of you kids. You're right.” “Just let me take the kids while you visit with Sally,” said Ben. “I don't know,” said Robin. “They've dealt with death enough. They're only kids–lighten up, like your son told you to,” said Ben. The twins clamored to go with Ben and Robin gave in. “Come on too, Honey,” said Ben, “let me take you and the kids to Magic Mountain– we need to discuss some things.” “If you want to take the kids, you can. But I want them back early in this afternoon.” “Good news, kids. Your mother is letting me borrow you for the afternoon. They got a new roller coaster there that'll squeeze your eyeballs to mush.”

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“I want you kids to be careful,” said Robin. “You might have problems doing your homework if your eyeballs are squished.” “Won't you come?” asked Ben. “No,” said Robin, “I can't.” She turned to the kids. “Go get dressed and I'll pack a lunch for you.” The three kids raced off to their room but as soon as Kimmy turned the corner, she stopped. She knew she shouldn't but she wanted to listen to what her mother and father were going to say. “Ben,” Kimmy heard her mother say, “Don't put the children through this kind of trauma.” Then she heard her father's voice. It was cold. Icy. “It'll never be over between us. We are married for time and all eternity. We vowed on our knees before Father that we would be together for all time.” “I've thought about that,” said Robin. “It's one thing to screw things up on earth. I don't want it to be that way in the next world. We have to get back together.” “It's over.” Robin's voice was soft and Kimmy could tell it was filled with fear. This was a new side to her parents for Kimmy. Her father so hard, her mother so afraid. What was going on? They had disagreed before but never like this. “Don't mock me,” warned Ben. Kimmy held her breath. “I'm not mocking you.” “Then you would respect my priesthood, you bitch.”

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“You start acting like that, you can leave without the kids. There's a police car outside,” said Robin and her voice was firm. “You're upset about your brother,” said Ben. “I'm upset about a lot of things. About you. About Cardston. About what you've done to this family.” “You're implying I'm responsible for Jerry's death or something?” “You terrify me,” said Robin. “Careful,” said Ben, “you'll get yourself all upset and have a coronary and then where will the kids be. Be rough on them without a mother.” “You'd be happy.” Ben said nothing. And his silence terrified Kimmy. She scuttled off to her room to get dressed. She wondered if she would ever be able to understand grown-ups.

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Chapter 29 Robin watched the kids drive away with Ben. They were so excited they didn't look back. Sister Wilson had left the garage door open and Robin walked over to shut it. The door, as most things in the house, was poorly made. She had to use all of her weight and when the door finally moved it crashed down at her like a giant mousetrap. She leapt to one side and the door thudded past her and clanged against the ground. The door reminded her of the way her brother's casket had stuck in the hearse. She went into the house and saw all the roses Ben had given her. They reminded her of Jerry's coffin. She wondered if Ben had sent her the flowers to dredge up the terrible memories of Jerry's death. Red roses. Red for blood. The empty house reminded her of how alone she was without Jerry in her life. She felt like crying but she made herself stop. She turned on the radio and heard someone singing “Four Strong Winds” and Robin told herself that she would be all right. She would survive. She had people who she could rely on. Bishop Searle. And when she thought of him she felt reassured because she knew he would be there for her (even if her testimony was a bit shaky). She shook some corn flakes into a bowl and poured milk over them, then went to the window and looked out, expecting to see the black and white Bishop Searle had promised would be there. There was no black and white police car parked across the street. Strange, Robin thought, perhaps it was the shift change. She tried to recall if she had seen a police car earlier when Ben had been there. She thought not.

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Something was wrong. She was afraid Ben might have gotten to Searle. Then she told herself, no, impossible. Yet... A sharp rap at the door interrupted her thoughts. She checked the window and saw Bishop Searle's car, but just to make certain she peered through the peep hole. There he was. She opened the door and asked him to come in. “I was driving by and I thought I'd stop and check on you,” said the bishop. “Where'd all these flowers come from?” “Ben sent them.” Robin cleared the dishes and as she was loading them into the dishwasher she offered him some peppermint tea. “I don't hear the kids.” “Ben picked them up, he said a day at Magic Mountain would do them good. I guess he's right.” “Is this his day to see them?” asked Searle. “I'm trying to be as flexible as I can. And the children have had enough down time to last them for the rest of the year. By the way, that was a lovely service for Jerry.” “We had a hard time with that hearse.” “He would have been the first to laugh.” Robin opened a bouquet of flowers and arranged them in a vase, one of the few things she had managed to salvage from the Hancock Park fire. “Ben wants us to get back together. I think it's a terrible idea. You?” “Speaking as a police officer or your bishop?”

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“Both,” said Robin. She did not like the way the flowers looked in the vase. “I've only been your bishop for a short time. And you know how The Church feels about divorce. Avoid it if at all possible. But having said that I would tell you as your bishop to end it with him.” “And as a police officer?” “Same.” “That bad, huh?” “That bad,” said the bishop. “Can I trust him with the children?” “I hope so.” “Me too,” she said. “I'm sorry we don't have a police car out front–there was a scheduling mix-up–it'll be straightened out by noon. Your husband is one hell of an adversary.” “He's made life hard for you?” asked Robin. “Understatement of the year. I've had five calls from Sacramento, two warnings from the mayor's office in Los Angeles and if the chief of police of Westlake and I were not army buddies I bet I'd be wondering where my pension went.” “I don't want you to have to suffer too --” “He can't rattle me, but my was kind of upset when the brethren called our place last night from Salt Lake City.” “Ben can be so vicious–I've seen him do this with other Church members.” “I've got a few friends myself at 42 East South Temple. And while your husband might have a lot of clout with the brethren, Cardston Degere is in deep trouble. The

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brethren were upset to hear that Cardston and Ben are living together. We're going to convene an Elders Court on Ben.” “What about Cardston?” “He's already been excommunicated.” “Really?” “Oh yes. The brethren are human. They are swayed by a glib and charming person like Ben. But the brethren have the Spirit of our Father-in-Heaven. And if a man has the spirit, you can't charm him. He can see right through you.” “Tell me what else you know about Cardston.” “He's a very sick and very misguided young man. He's a felon. He's been arrested in several bath houses on the east coast, very violent young man. Very violent.” “He gave me a funny feeling when we first met, but I didn't think he was violent.” “I'm almost positive he's behind the death of your brother. If he turns up here, don't talk to him, just call us.” “What can you do?” “You don't want to know, Robin. But I promise you that I'm going to take care of him.” A clap of thunder rattled the skies. Robin jumped. “I thought we were supposed to be in a drought.” “We were. It's that weather front moving in from Hawaii. Going to be a lot more rain I guess.” He checked his watch. “I better get going–I've got a horrendous day and twenty things to do. There will be another black and white across the street by noon. I don't want you to open the door to anyone until then, all right?”

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“You think I'm in danger?” “I don't want to alarm you unduly but yes. Where's Sister Wilson?” “She went to get some vegetables from some roadside stand.” “When she gets back have her stay here.” “Bishop Searle, there's something else you've found out about Ben, isn't there?” “I've spent the last two hours in prayer, Robin. The Spirit bore witness to me that Ben Bailey is under the influence of Lucifer.” Robin felt fear–fear that the bishop could be right and even greater fear that he was depending far too much on knee work and not nearly enough on foot work. “But besides the actual circumstantial evidence, is there anything concrete that you have which could put Ben or Cardston in jail?” “Not yet.” Damn it, thought Robin, he means well. And he's probably right but if he's going to try and lock up Ben or Cardston on the whispering of the spirit, it's the bishop who'll end up behind bars. Or in a padded cell. “Robin, I sense you're a bit uncomfortable with my approach to criminal justice.” “You can't lock Ben up because you have a feeling that the Spirit told you he was dangerous.” “You're right. But if the Spirit tells me something, I can guarantee I'll find the evidence that will put Ben and Cardston in the slammer.” Robin nodded, grateful that Bishop Searle was on her side. But she was still troubled over the reason he believed her. His reason didn't seem have much to do with logic or forensics. Bishop Searle was placing his pension and probably his life on the line–and

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not because of any empirical evidence. Only because he thought the Spirit guided him. Robin had no doubt Bishop Searle really believed the power of the Lord was behind everything he did. She was envious that he could tap into a spiritual guidance which had seemed to elude her. “I'm going to leave now,” said Bishop Searle, “I've arranged for some of the Relief Society sisters to drop by around lunch and we'll have that police car on the other side of the street. You won't open the door for anyone you don't know, will you?” “No.” “And you'll be especially careful of letting Cardston or Ben back here, won't you?” “Yes,” she said. “Would you like to have a word of prayer with me?” he asked. “That would be nice,” she said, but she really did not want him to pray for her. What she wanted was for Bishop Searle to focus on nailing Ben and Cardston, rather than talking to their Father-in-Heaven about it. “We won't kneel, we'll just stand if that's all right,” he said. “That's all right.” They both bowed their heads and closed their eyes. “Father-in-Heaven,” prayed Bishop Searle, “we come before The–two of Thy children–and we ask Thee, Father-in-Heaven, to watch over Robin in her hour of need and we ask a special blessing on her children, that no harm or accident might befall them.”Robin listened to Bishop Searle continue–she wanted to believe that her Father-inHeaven was listening and that He would answer the bishop's prayers. She desperately wanted to believe that her brother was with God now. She opened one eye to see if some

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mad killer might, at this minute, be staring through the window at them, waiting to pounce. Be a good chance for any psycho to whack them while they had their eyes closed. She saw no killer but she saw that Bishop Searle's eyes were both open and they were looking at her, assessing her. She snapped her eyes shut so hard she was certain they must have made a pinging sound. Searle's voice did not change or falter as he concluded the prayer: “...and we Thy Servants, say these things humbly in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.” Robin kept her eyes shut tightly for a full ten seconds. “It's all right,” he said. “Everything is going to be all right. It's just a matter of trusting in our Father-in-Heaven.” He picked up a dinosaur transformer and looked at it. “Boy they sure make some great gadgets for kids, don't they?” “Cardston brought it for the twins.” “Really?” he said. “What is it, a walkie-talkie too?” “Yes.” “Do you mind if I take this along with me, I'd like the lab to take a look at this.” “You think it's some kind of weapon?” “No, I think it's a radio device and there's a chance Cardston was using it to bug you.”“You can't be serious.” “I'm very serious,” said Bishop Searle. “I got some more background material on Brother Degere. Seems he was quite an expert in martial arts and electronics.” “That child's walkie-talkie could be used to pick up all the conversation in this house?”

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“More or less,” said Bishop Searle. Of course, Degere would have to have a receiving station close by.” “I remember when we went to church, we were in his motor home and the kids were playing with some kind of CB-ham radio gadget he had. I think that gadget could pick up police broadcasts.” “Well, what he'd have to use would be a scanner–and with just a cheap one, you could pick up any kind of cellular phone broadcasts or signals between a cordless phone and its home base. Do you have a cordless phone here?” “One just came. I haven't even opened it.” “Really?” “We won it. I thought it was some kind of gimmick. But about the second day we were here, a messenger delivered it, said something about a special welcome wagon gift and we being the 1000th family to move into the area.” “I bet it does, can I see it?” “Sure,” said Robin, “it's right here in the kitchen.” She picked up the yellow Sony cordless phone. Bishop Searle carefully turned and examined it. “This cost someone about three hundred bucks. I think this kind can broadcast up to a thousand yards. This is state of the art, top quality electronics.” “So everything I've said on that phone, everything any of us have said could have been heard by Ben or Cardston?” “It's possible. Be interesting to know how long Cardston has had that scanner in his motor home.”

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“No idea.” The she remembered. “Cardston and I were talking about those kind of phones, he told me how they worked. He asked me if I wanted him to get me one. I thought he was just kidding around.” “This guy does not joke.” “Well, it's lucky I never used it. He can't bug this place while the phone is still in the box, can he?” “I'll take it with me, we'll check everything out.” She got the phone for him. Searle shook hands with Robin and opened the door. Thunder announced the beginning of another shower and rain was already splattering on the dusty ground. Fat droplets exploded against the concrete and created little diamond puddles. Robin stood at the door and watched the bishop, carrying the strange transformer, dash to his car. He backed out of her driveway as the black and white moved into position across the road. The squad car's presence made Robin feel a little better. But something was still troubling her as she waved goodbye to Bishop Searle. The rain fell with greater intensity, pinging off the asphalt shingles. As he sped away, Robin got a final glimpse of Bishop Searle. She would have no idea how final that glimpse was until a few hours later. But by then it would be too late. The phone range. It was Dr. Weintraub. He said he had good news. He AIDS tests had all come out positive. Nothing to worry about. She thanked him and he asked her if she liked the red roses.

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“How did you know I got them?” she asked. “Ben said he was going to send some, said you two might get together. And you know, Robin, that's not such a bad idea.” “I can't talk now,” she said. She hung up. She was certain the doctor had told Ben about her AIDS tests. Robin realized she couldn't trust anyone.

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Chapter 30 As Bishop Searle drove through the rain, he kept glancing at the twin's transformer. The bishop knew how Jerry felt about gays. Jerry had plenty of jokes about them and the bishop had long ago learned that the things a man makes jokes about often are the things he fears most. Jerry both depended on and feared Ben. Without Ben's help, Jerry would never have achieved such success as a real estate agent. But Searle also felt Jerry resented Ben and the way the powerful publisher had treated Robin. Lt. Searle's mind started to play with the combination and permutations of what had happened. There were some givens. First, Ben Bailey was a ruthless businessman who was so successful he could give away thousand dollar party gifts. Second, Ben Bailey had a killer instinct in business and in his personal life. He would stop at nothing. Third, Ben Bailey placed style and packaging above substance. He was living a terrible lie, a lie that ate at him and would someday destroy him. And then there were some other “circumstantial” facts. Ben Bailey was gay and so was Cardston and the two men were living together. Both men were psychopaths or something very close to that. The bishop was certain the two had been behind Jerry's death. The bishop also knew that being certain and proving a thing were extremely difficult. All his suppositions depended on hunches. Or the promoting of The Spirit and that didn't carry much weight. Not even in a Utah court. No clue. No evidence. It was all just feelings. And if he were to go into a court of law and talk about his feelings, he would be the laughing stock of the California Police

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Association. As it was, the bishop put up with a lot of good-natured and some bitter ribbing (Hey, look who's here. The God Squad. Bishop, why carry a piece when you can stop criminals with a bolt of lightening? And on and on....) But Searle had endured the teasing and ribbing because he realized he was, well, peculiar. He was ordained of God to save the souls of men and at the same time he was appointed by the state to–if necessary–blow large holes in thugs. The two were difficult to reconcile. Because of his divergent view of human beings there was seldom a criminal–no matter how ruthless–that the bishop did not recognize a spark of the Divine in. And on the reverse side, as Lt. Searle, he could not help but spot the ember of evil glowing oh-sofaintly in the most divine of Mormons. For many years this dichotomy had been difficult for Searle. But his life had given him a balance and insight that few others were afforded. He picked up the mike on his car phone, clicked it to get the attention of the dispatcher and said: “Have you got any more stuff on Degere?” “I haven't checked with communications but I will, anything in particular? Is it raining as bad where you are?” “Coming down like cats and dogs.” “And they say it never rains in Southern California. What a joke. We got flash flood warnings all over the place. What do you want on Degere?” “His background in electronics.” “I'll keep looking, Lt. Searle. Oh, a guy who called himself President Benson called from New York. What's he president of?”“Of the stake where Degere used to be a Mormon.”

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“Gosh, Lt. Searle, don't tell me that one of your flock has fallen off the straight and narrow?” “I'm afraid even Mormons find shortcuts to hell, Gladis,” said the bishop. “Ten four.” And he hung up. The rain smashed down on the roof of the car and made it sound like the interior of a washing machine so when a voice said, “I have a gun pointed at your back --” the bishop was not certain if he had left the radio on low. “I want you to get on the freeway, we're going for a little ride out to Kaanan Road– over to Malibu–I need to show you something,” continued the voice and then the bishop felt the cold pressure of what could only be a gun barrel against his neck. “Hello, Brother Degere,” said Bishop Searle, his eyes meeting the other's in the rear view mirror. “Hello, Bishop.” Bishop Searle had been in tight situations before. They were all simply rehearsals for this moment. He uttered a very silent but non-the-less loud prayer in his mind. “You must be going through a lot of pain,” said Searle. “Only from people like you who can't understand the beauty of loving a person for what he is.” Cardston was leading up to some kind of angry confession. Once that confession was out in the open, Searle would probably end up with a slug between his ears. And although he was not frightened of dying, he had little intention of rushing it any more than absolutely necessary.“When is the church going to wake up to the fact that love is a beautiful thing? In all its contexts?”

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“I don't think there's much point in discussing theology,” said Searle. Cardston began his story: “There was a guy a couple of years older than me. I liked him a lot. He ended up screwing me. Afterwards this guy went on a mission.” “I know you're upset,” said Bishop Searle, “but things can be worked out, they can be resolved–” “Just shut up and keep driving, Bishop,” said Cardston. “And don't say `worked out' to me. That's what my stake president said. President Greenwalk. You ever meet him?” The rain started to hammer down harder in rolling sheets. The tires sluiced up walls of water. “I never knew your stake president.” “So my friend goes on a mission and then when my turn came up I told President Greenwalk I'd had a homosexual relationship. That got me ex-communicated. Three months later my dad shot himself–he couldn't stand the way people in church looked at him. My mother spent most of her time gulping tranquilizers and when I call her up, even now, she talks just long enough to realize it's me, then she hangs up. I don't exist in her mind thanks to the love and understanding of the Mormon Church. So don't talk to me about working things out. Get on the freeway.” A few minutes later they were traveling through slashing rain. The usual heavy traffic on the Ventura Freeway was lighter, probably because of the incoming storm. “I want you to take Kaanan Road, and turn on the heater, I'm cold,” said Cardston. “We going to Malibu?” “For now,” said Cardston. He picked up the toy transformer. “How'd you figure out I was listening with this?”

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“I checked your work history. You edited a magazine for awhile–what was it called?” “Scanning Fun,” said Cardston. “All the ways you could eavesdrop on your neighbors–once you figure out what signal they're transmitting on.” “And how would you find that out?” asked Searle. “Well,” said Cardston, “suppose your neighbor has one of those gadgets that fits in the crib. You know a baby monitor. Picks up all the sounds the kids makes and transmits it to another area of the house. All you have to do is tune into their frequency. Those baby monitors are like huge bugging devices.” “And how do you know which frequency they're on?” “I'd set my scanner to what I thought was the right frequency, and hook a tape recorder to it, then I'd drive past their house and honk my horn. Might take a couple of times but when I heard my horn honking on the tape recorder I knew I'd found the correct frequency.” “You weren't concerned about the legality --” (Searle realized Cardston didn't give a rat's ass about any legality, he was a killer. Searle was just trying to keep Cardston talking.) “You don't know as much about the law as you should, Lt. Searle. Federal law says its OK to bug almost everything that's transmitted except for cellular phones. Eavesdropping on Cordless phones is totally legal in all fifty states.” Searle glanced at the toy dinosaur walkie-talkie. “And of course you knew what the frequency of those toys were before you gave them to the twins?” “Hang a right turn --”

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“I can't–what kind of a turn?” asked the bishop. “Slow down,” said the younger man. He held his weapon easily in his hand. Again their eyes met in the rear view mirror. “Why did you kill Jerry?” asked the bishop. “I'm not saying I did. I'm not saying I didn't.” “Did Bailey put you up to it? If he did–and I think he did–and you turn state's evidence --” “The only turning that's going on is to the right, turn now.” Cardston prodded the bishop with the weapon. Searle slowed to a crawl, saw the turn-off which was little more than a narrow dirt road and started down it. He drove about fifty yards when Cardston told him to stop near some scraggly bushes. “I don't know what you're think you're doing,” said Lt. Searle. “But I've assembled an extensive dossier on you. Anything happens to me, there will be a lot of cops looking for you.” “I want you to open the door, then I want you to slowly walk away from the car.” “And what are you going to do?” asked Searle. “I'm going to watch and when you disappear in the rain I'm going to start the car and drive away.” Searle knew Cardston was going to shoot him in the back. “You mean to say,” asked the bishop, “you're just going to let me walk away into the rain?” “Right.” “You know I'm wearing a gun?”

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“I figured as much.” “And you're going to let me get out of the car, let me walk away and then you're going to drive off?” “Right.” “What's to stop me from pulling my gun and shooting you when you drive off?” asked Searle. “Too much rain. Now you got a choice, Bishop, either start walking now or I put a bullet through the back of your head.” Searle watched Cardston's eyes. He felt the gun against his neck. No point in staying in the car and taking a slug, thought the bishop. He opened the door. At the same instant, Cardston opened his door and got out. He kept his weapon trained on Searle. The rain pounded down and made the two men look like water colors that had started to run. Cardston squeezed the trigger of his weapon and felt the gun shudder in his hand as the muzzle blast spat white sparks. The slug caught Searle in his back and severed his spine. A second slug thudded into his body and he fell forward, his weapon still in its holster. Searle landed face down in the mud. Cardston walked to him and shot him through the back of the skull.

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Chapter 31 Later that afternoon, Sister Wilson drove back to Robin's house. The storm, which had been sweeping in from The Pacific, had not diminished so by the time Sister Wilson arrived, there were at least three inches of water on the cracked concrete driveway. The water had seeped under the garage door, trickled across the floor and was lapping at the door. Robin tried unsuccessfully to reach the landlord but he was away on holidays so she had spent an anxious hour trying to keep the water from flowing under the door. She built a makeshift dam of rolled newspapers and rags across the doorway. She was afraid to turn on the one light in the garage as the wires–which ran along the floor– looked like they could short out. Sister Wilson hefted open the massive door and immediately saw Robin standing in the middle of the concrete in her bare feet. “Are you all right?” asked Sister Wilson. “Not really,” said Robin, “I'm trying to keep the rain out of the house and if those papers get much soggier we're all going to be sleeping on water beds tonight.” Sister Wilson drove Robin's old Honda into the garage and then opened the trunk. She found more rags which she used to shore up the makeshift dam Robin had constructed. Then the two women found some cinder blocks and dragged them in front of the rag dam. “I don't know what I would do without you, Sister Wilson,” said Robin.

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“I'm happy to be of some damn use,” said the older woman.Robin smiled. “I think that's the closest I've ever heard you come to cussing. Let me help you with the groceries.” Sister Wilson opened all the doors of the car and they started to carry bags of groceries and parcels into the house. They waded through water three or four inches deep. When they finished Sister Wilson went back out to the garage, found a shovel and dug a drain from the edge of their property line to a storm drain. Robin put on some old rubber gloves and managed to clear packed debris from the mouth of the storm drain. A policeman arrived in a patrol car, got out, pulled on a slicker and sloshed over to where Robin was elbow deep in mud. The officer took the shovel from Sister Wilson and pried away some crumbled bushes that had impacted into the storm grate. There was a wild gurgling sound and the water that had been standing in the garage swirled down the drain. “Thank you,” said Robin. “Can I make you something hot to drink?” “No, it's all right,” said the police man. “You two better get out of this weather.” The two women–both barefooted–ran back into the house. Robin drew a bath and filled it with bubbles and insisted that Sister Wilson get in immediately. “No, you go first,” said Sister Wilson. “No. You're already starting to sneeze and you know how susceptible you are to colds and the flu,” said Robin, “now I insist.” She started to unbutton Sister Wilson's blouse and the older lady finally gave in and hurried into the bathroom. Robin toweled

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herself off and put some water on the stove to boil. She went to the connecting door to the garage and cautiously opened it. Robin was relieved to see that her paper dam was no longer necessary. The channel she and Sister Wilson had constructed was performing magnificently. The garage floor was still puddled with water but with luck that would dry off quickly. Robin hurried across the damp concrete to the overhead garage door. She pulled it shut and it crashed down with a definitive thud. If she had not been ready it would have probably chopped off her toes but she nimbly stepped back. She went to her car and picked up several more packages from the back seat and took them into the house. The kettle started to boil and she made some hot chocolate for Sister Wilson, then spotted a couple of drips from the ceiling. Great, she thought, the roof is leaking. Robin positioned tin pie plates under the drips and slipped some bread in the toaster for Sister Wilson. While she was waiting for the toast, Robin unwrapped her parcels. They contained designer sweatsuits for the kids and the price tag was $172.00. Robin buttered the toast and took that along with the hot chocolate into the bathroom and set it on the stool beside the tub. Sister Wilson, up to her neck in bubbles, reached for the hot chocolate and smiled. “You're going to spoil me, Robin.” “Never as much as you spoil us. I saw those sweatsuits–the receipt said you paid for them in cash. That means you didn't use my charge card–it's wonderful of you to buy the kids stuff but that's too much money for you to spend.” Sister Wilson sipped her hot chocolate. “Actually, Brother Bailey gave me some money to get some things for the kids.”

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“He did?” “Yes, five hundred dollars.” “That was nice of him.” Robin picked up a towel and dried her hair. “Do you know why he gave you that money?” “Why?” “He's trying to bribe you.” Robin was sorry as soon as the words left her mouth. “What do you mean?” asked Sister Wilson, stopping in mid-sip. “I don't want to place you in a position where you have to “choose between Ben and me,” said Robin. “But for your own safety, I have to tell you some things that are very difficult to explain.” “Try me,” said the nanny. “As you know Ben and I have had serious problems in our marriage. I'm not saying he's to blame. Things simply did not work out.” “Because he's a homosexual, isn't that so?” “Where did you come up with that?” asked Robin. She was amazed and, she had to admit, relieved. “I did his washing and I took messages for him. It is my opinion that your husband and that Cardston person are lovers.” “How do you know?” “Robin, I was raised in England, I worked at a boy's school. A lot of lads go through little stages over there. And I have not always been a member of the church and I know a great deal about men. Why do you suppose I never bothered to marry again? More trouble than pleasure.”

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“I hadn't thought of it,” said Robin.“One of the reasons was that the right man never asked. And the other reason was that unless you're going to get a good man, it's not worth the time or the trouble to get married.” “You told me that you thought Ben and I should give our marriage another try --” “I said I thought the two of you should get back into therapy. And not so much for each other. But for the sake of the children–where are they, by the way?” “Ben took them to Magic Mountain,” said Robin. She glanced at her watch. “Boy, it's almost four o'clock. I hope this weather didn't give them any problems.” “I'm sure the kids are all right. There's something I have to tell you, Robin,” said Sister Wilson. “Until last night I was on Ben's side. After all, he holds the priesthood but last night The Spirit revealed to me Brother Bailey is possessed.” “What?” asked Robin and the thought occurred to her that Sister Wilson and Bishop Searle must have been talking to Father-in-Heaven on the same channel. “I know you don't believe in the Spirit in the same way I do but as I was praying a feeling came over me, a very powerful feeling that you were in jeopardy, something evil was moving against you. And that evilness came from Ben.” “Sister Wilson, I admit my testimony has been a bit shaky but I don't think Ben is an evil spirit or he's even controlled by one. I think he simply can't deal with the hypocrisy he's caught up in. And I think this Cardston may be doing things that Ben is not even aware of.”“At one time,” said Sister Wilson, “your husband had the guidance of the Spirit. Brother Bailey is a priesthood holder and Our Father-in-Heaven bore witness to him of the truth of the church. Your husband rejected the Spirit and at that point your husband became easy prey for the spirits of Lucifer.”

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“You don't think Ben is possessed, do you?” asked Robin and she felt a chill that did not come from the dampness of the room–but rather a strange visceral fear from her body. “I am afraid he is,” said Sister Wilson. “Well, I don't know where Ben's evilness is coming from,” said Robin, “but I'm glad you're aware of it.” Robin finished drying her hair, then tossed the towel into the hamper. A few minutes later Robin was in her bedroom closet. She sorted through several flannel wool slacks and chose the warmest. As she finished dressing she heard a car slosh to a stop in the driveway. Although it was not yet five, the car's lights were on, etching silver blobs on her wall. Robin pulled on a sweater and headed for the front door. The kids came thundering into the living room, soaked to the skin. Sister Wilson must have heard them because she was out of the tub and dashing toward them. She wore an old blue housecoat. Sister Wilson picked up Kimmy and said: “My land, Child, you're soaking wet.” Then their nanny turned her attention to Ben. “Do you realize this child is cold and shivering?” Sister Wilson was a different person. Her voice was icy and she had lost her respect for Ben. “She'll be fine,” said Ben. “Are you upset with me, Sister Wilson?” “We have nothing to say to each other. And you should be ashamed,” said the older woman. She hurried off with Kimmy. “Hey, Mummy,” said Kimmy, “Daddy was really mean to us and said all the bad words.”

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The door behind Ben was still open and the cold rain spit in. Robin got the door closed, checked the twins and found them soaked. “You kids go put on some dry clothes and make sure you towel off before you put on your underwear. It's in the bottom drawer–now scoot.” Dale headed for his bedroom. “Mum, Kimmy's right. Dad is in a really bad mood. He hit Daryl.” Daryl followed his brother but said nothing. Robin caught up to Daryl and turned his head so she could see him in the light. There was a a smudge of black and blue under the child's eye. Robin softly touched her finger to her tongue and dabbed at her son's eye. The child winced in pain. “I'm sorry, Honey,” she said. “It'll be better soon–now get those dry clothes on.” “I didn't hurt him,” said Ben. “You been badmouthing me to Sister Wilson, haven't you?” “No, someone higher on the food chain that me has been talking to her.” “You talk in riddles. And there's nothing wrong with that twin.” I'm sure you didn't mean to hurt him, said Robin. “I think you'd better go.” “Maybe I should stay until the storm lets up.” “I don't think so.” “Well, I'm staying for a few minutes,” said Ben. And he sat down on a wooden chair by the door. “You like the flowers?”“I don't want to talk about the flowers. I don't want to talk about us. I don't want to hear why you think I'm a bad mother. I don't want you here,” said Robin.

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A police car drove up and parked behind Ben's. Robin saw a man in a yellow slicker get out and hurry toward her front door. Ben had his back to that door. “What would you do if the police removed you by force?” she asked, smiling slightly. She wanted to see him squirm. She figured it might take some of the bluster out of his attitude; he had really bulldozed his way into taking the children away from her that day. The policeman knocked at the door. Ben turned around, then looked at Robin as if to ask what was going on; she said, as straight-faced as she could: “I called the police–I won't have you coming here and making demands --” “I'm not making demands. I wanted to spend some time with my kids. I know you'd just like me to pay the bills.” “Right, nice stunt with Sister Wilson.” “I will not see my kids dress shabbily while you squander the money I give you on clothing for yourself. And for the record I am not happy that Bishop Searle has postponed the baptism of the twins.” “Good for him.” Robin opened the door, she smiled at the police officer. “Good evening, Mrs. Wendell. I'm Captain Barclay. How are you tonight?” “I'm fine officer. Please come in.” She held the door open for him. “This is my estranged husband, he was just leaving, right Ben?”“Captain, you'll find this is a totally strange family. Good night.” “Good night, Sir.” Ben glanced from the police officer to Robin and then back. “Tell the kids I'll call them from New York,” said Ben. “I'm taking the red eye there tonight.”

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“How long will you be gone, Sir?” asked the cop. “Back in two days. Not that it's any of your business, officer.” Robin held the door open. Ben hunched down against the rain, stepped outside, and started for his car. “Mrs. Wendell, the reason I stopped by–have you talked with Lt. Searle over the last hour or so?” “No. I saw him earlier, this morning. Why?” “We thought he might have called you.” Robin sensed there was much more going on and she reached out and took the policeman's arm. She looked into the man's eyes. “What? What is it?” Captain Barclay seemed uncomfortable for such a big guy. “The fact is, Ma'am–the fact is we found the lieutenant's car off the freeway. No sign of him.” The policeman looked down at the floor, he was hiding something else, and not doing a very good job of it. “His wife said he may have come over here. You're sure he hasn't been here since this morning?” “I'm positive. You've had a police car stationed across the street. They would have seen him, wouldn't they?” “I'm sure they would have,” said the man. “Unless Lt. Searle came in through the back door.”“He didn't.” The captain simply looked at her. The cop wore a walkie-talkie and the mike was pinned to his collar. It squawked and he turned it on. “Yes, this is Barclay. What?”

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“We found Lt. Searle's body,” said a voice thick with static. “It was twenty or thirty yards from his car. Behind some logs.” “Good God.” said Barclay. The static voice continued: “He's dead. Out on Kaanan Road. They got him in the back. Never had a chance. Never took his gun out of his holster.” “I'll be there,” said Barclay. He snapped off the sound. “My brother was killed in the rain,” she whispered to the policeman. “Do you have any knowledge of where Lt. Searle was going?” “They're trying to kill me, to harm my family,” she said. “First Jerry. Then the rain. Then more rain. Now Bishop Searle. He can't really be dead.” She was near hysteria. “They?” “It's my husband, he's behind it, I'm sure–but he's so clever.” “Do you have anything solid?” Barclay was talking notes now. She shook her head. “I'm going to have some people come by in a while and talk to you,” said the police officer. “Someone is out there, someone is --” She realized she was starting to sound like a broken record. “You can't leave us.” “Nothing is going to happen to you,” said the cop.“But don't you see?” She grabbed his sleeve. “Easy, easy. Don't let anyone in but a police officer who can identify himself. I'll be back.” Captain Barclay opened the door and the icy rain slashed in at Robin.

Summers / Blood Atonement She was not even aware of it. The cold did not register on her face. She was numb. Another police car moved behind the one stationed across the street. What was the point? They couldn't protect her.

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Chapter 32 The same dark rains that covered Westlake extended to most of Los Angeles. Ben slid his key in the lock of his penthouse and pushed the door open. A cozy fire blazed in the hearth. Cardston was curled up on the overstuffed sofa and he was watching home movies of Robin and the kids and Ben from a few years earlier, taken on a trip to England. Cardston had made himself a huge bucket of popcorn and wrapped his legs around it. He glanced up at Ben who was sopping wet. “Hi,” said Cardston, “you look like you've spent the last half hour in a dishwasher. But then you get around, don't you?” He grinned. Ben did not. He shut the door with a thud, walked to the liquor cabinet, took out some brandy, poured himself a double and slugged it down, keeping his back to the fireplace. “So I guess the theme for Magic Mountain was Wet and Wild huh?” asked Cardston. “Oh, you want some popcorn, Old Shoe?” He held out the bucket. “You go on the mind bender? Heard it could snap your neck.” “I don't like you watching tapes of my family without my permission.” “What's got you upset, Ducky?” asked Cardston. “Didn't our children respond to their father in the right way?” “Bishop Searle is missing, I heard it on the car radio. They found his car abandoned.” “That's sad.”

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“You said something about him being Robin's only support. What did you mean by that?” “Nothing.” “So how the hell did you know I was out at Magic Mountain?” “Maybe Robin told me.” “Did she?” “No.” “Then you must have been out there, you must have been following us around. What do you think you are some Goddam Sherlock Holmes clone?” “Holmes did not have a scanner.” Ben drained the brandy and poured himself another one. “You kill Searle?” “Yeah.” “Shit. Goddam you to hell.” “Be happy to, Old Shoe, and pour me a brandy, all right?” Ben's hand trembled as he reached for another brandy snifter. Things had gone over the edge. Way over. “Maybe,” he said, trying to keep his voice even, “you could tell me why it was necessary to kill Searle?” “He found out about the transformer.” Ben handed Cardston a slug of the amber liquid. “The transformer?” “Right. Walkie-talkies that transform into dinosaurs. I gave a set to the twins. And since I knew the frequency, I could tell exactly what was going on with Robin.” “I'm almost afraid to ask. What was going on?”

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“Unfortunately, Bishop Searle spotted one of the transformers and he was going to start checking on us.” “Us?” “Yes, we're in this together.” “We are, aren't we?” “You wanted Jerry dead. You said you did.” “Maybe I did,” agreed Ben. I better humor this crazy son of a bitch or he's liable to murder me in my sleep. “But sometimes I say things on the spur of the moment --” “I went out to check on Robin.” “Why? Who told you to do that?” “Sweat Pea, the florist called here. Seems you had ordered 15 dozen red roses for your wife. I could ask you why?” “I wanted to be with the kids.” “Not trying to get back together with her?” “So let me get this straight, you went out there to check up on me. Not Robin.” “You got to admit, if the florist told you that I sent someone 15 dozen roses, wouldn't you have gotten upset?” “I don't want to get into that now,” said Ben. “So you drove out there to check up on me. And then what?” “What with that bad storm and everything, I figured no one would pay much attention to me. Unless I drove the motor home to the front of her house and parked there. So I drove to an alley a couple of blocks away and made myself a hot toddy and turned on my scanner.”

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“And the police never saw you?” “No way. Besides, I have different tags on the motor home. So I'm sipping my hot toddy and doing a crossword puzzle–with ball point ink, you know how that pisses you off–and I hear Lt. Searle talking about the toy dinosaur. So I put on my slicker and walk over there and guess what? I get there just in time to see the 24-hour police guard leaving. Maybe they're slitting for donuts or to the crapper or to see some girls. Who cares? I got my scanner with me and when I hear what Searle is saying to your wife I figure it's time for the good bishop and me to have a little chat. He's left his car open, I get in the back seat, lie down on the floor and wait.” “And no one saw you?” “If they had seen me, you think I'd be here now? I'd be in the slammer.” “Jesus save us.” “Freshen my brandy will you, Old Shoe?” asked Cardston and he passed the snifter he had emptied back to Ben. The rain washed down the picture window turning the lights of the city into a flat kaleidoscope of soft pastels.

Chapter 33 After Sister Wilson finished bathing Kimmy and wrapping her in a huge, fluffy towel, she emptied the tub and refilled it for the twins. Robin poured hot soup into the kids and made cinnamon toast for them. “So tell me, Daryl,” she said. “How did you get that mouse under your eye?” She could not bring

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herself to tell either the children or Sister Wilson that she had just found out Lt. Searle was dead. In a moment she would but first Robin wanted to get the kids in bed. “It's not a mouse. It's a black and blue spot,” said the twin. “People call that a mouse,” said Robin. “How'd it happen?” “Dad said that you were a bitch. I said he shouldn't talk that way, he slapped me.” “You're a brave boy, but next time don't talk back to Daddy, OK?” asked Robin. “He doesn't love you, Mom,” said Dale. “And we don't love him much.” Robin was thinking about Bishop Searle. She was positive Ben and Cardston were behind Jerry's death. And Searle's. Ben had gotten away with everything so far. He had made a joke of their marriage. He had defiled his priesthood in the church. He had nearly incinerated his children and destroyed a multi-million dollar house. He had cheated on his taxes. He had cheated on his friends. He had cheated on the kids. He had cheated on Robin. He had bought off her attorney and her doctor. What more could he do? I'm supposed to live with a man and obey and honor him and all he's ever done is try to destroy me? The Church says we have the truth. The Church supports and reveres my husband. The Church is wrong. And if the church is wrong–my testimony can't be based on much substance. Jerry, her brother. Dead. He too had been a priesthood holder. And in spite of all his belief and his attempt to live the commandments of the church, he ended up dead. “Mom,” said Dale, “I see now why you divorced Dad. He's a pig.” This jarred Robin back into the moment. “Let's not talk about it now. And don't call him a pig. He's your father. Time for bed.”

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Sister Wilson came into the kitchen and saw that Kimmy was sleepy and picked her up and took her into her bedroom. Robin was thinking about how she would tell Sister Wilson about Bishop Searle. Be a kindness to wait until the following day, give her a good night's sleep. No, thought Robin, I must tell her. But not with the children there. Robin dreaded having to explain to the kids about another death in such a short time. Because of Jerry's death, Robin had postponed the birthday party for the twins–now, with Searle's death–she wondered if she'd ever have the party. It was getting out of hand, far too much death for the kids. Maybe, she thought, she should send them away, maybe to Utah– She heard a car drive up and there was Captain Barclay. He was still wearing his yellow slicker but now it was stained with mud. His eyes were flat and cold. “Ms. Wendell, I said there was going to be someone from the police department here to talk to you, they asked me to come. May I speak to you for a few minutes?”“Of course, please come in.” Robin told Sister Wilson to put the kids to bed and stay with them. She needed to be alone with Captain Barclay. Robin made some coffee for the police captain and asked him if he was hungry. She made some peppermint tea for herself. Capt. Barclay still seemed uncomfortable as though he knew a secret about her and did not want to talk about it. “Lt. Searle is dead, for sure?” she asked. “Yes, I'm afraid he is.” “He was only trying to help me. If I --”

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“Don't do that to yourself. Lt. Searle was doing his job. Now, is there anything he might have said that would help us determine what happened to him?” She took a sip of tea. “My husband is a powerful and dangerous man. After we divorced I moved here to be near my brother, Jerry. He was murdered. Lt. Searle was investigating that.” “Yes.” “Lt. Searle felt that my husband and a man he's living with, Cardston Degere, may have been responsible for the death of Jerry.” “I've read the files. Yes, I know all about that.” “I'm sure they killed Lt. Searle.” The captain sipped his coffee. He looked around the room. He noted the rain drops dripping through the ceiling and falling into the sauce pans. “I'm going to speak confidentially with you. Searle and I did not always see eye to eye on everything. In my opinion he was a bigot. And for my money, he was just a little bit too straight an arrow for my tastes and you'd have to be a cop to understand where that comes from.”“Where does it come from?” “He had no tolerance for gays. And so he didn't understand them nearly as well as he thought. And that could have been the reason he got killed.” “Well, it's tough to be a minister and cop, I guess,” said Robin. “It's also tough to be a cop and be gay. And if I can pull that one off, then your bishop could have handled his shit.” “You're gay?” asked Robin.

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“I don't make a big deal about it. But my supervisors know I am, that's why I've got this case.” “I don't know what to say.” “I can assure you a lot of people have already said anything about me you could possible come up with. You said that you and Lt. Searle thought your husband and this Cardston Degere had something to do with the death of your brother.” “Yes.” “And why did you come to that conclusion?” asked the policeman. She knew what the answer was. The Spirit had told the bishop. And either the Spirit or woman's intuition had told her. “We just thought that way,” she said. She wondered how Barclay would take the spirit thing? Especially if Sister Wilson started in on her revelations. “There must be something concrete that makes you think that,” said the police man. Her mind went blank. What was there? What single concrete item could she come up with that would convince this man she was not a religious fanatic? She had it. “Lt. Searle thought Cardston Degere had planted a bug in this house. He thought Degere and Ben may have been listening to everything we said. Shortly after my brother said something very negative about Cardston, he was killed.” “Tell me about the bug.” “Degere brought my kids a set of walkie-talkies. They were transformer toys. You could change them into dinosaurs. There's one left.” She got up and brought it back to the captain. “I took the batteries out of it.”

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The captain turned it over in his hand, and found the sliding level that changed it from dinosaur to walkie-talkie. “You see,” said Robin, and she realized how feeble her explanation sounded, “Lt. Searle knew Cardston had a scanner in his motor home. He was probably listening to everything we said. I took the batteries out of that so it wouldn't work. Just in case anyone's listening.” “I've looked at the lieutenant's notes,” said the captain, “they are pretty sketchy and the feeling in the department is that he may have gone on a bit of a witch hunt as far as Degere and your husband are concerned. Internal affairs was going to investigate your bishop.” “Why would he?” asked Robin. “Some of the guys think it's because Searle was a Mormon Bishop. It sure looks like your husband and Degere are lovers, and as I understand it, that's considered a mortal sin by your religion, isn't it?” “We don't classify things as mortal and venal but yes, the LDS church thinks homosexuality is wrong.”“And also evil?” asked the police man. “Yes, I guess so. I've never really agreed with that but then our Church doesn't consult me about theology.” “They don't consult any women, really, do they?” asked the police captain. “It's fairly patriarchal.” “So you and the lieutenant had this theory about this walkie-talkie, then what?” “Well, earlier today Bishop, I mean Lt. Searle took the walkie-talkie with him.” “In his car?”

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“Yes,” she said, “he was going to have the lab do some tests on it, find out how powerful it was as a transmitter.” “There was no mention of anything like this in Lt. Searle's car or near his body,” said Captain Barclay. “If Cardston Degere killed him, he must have taken it.” “But it does not follow that Degere or your husband took it. Anyone could have.” “I suppose,” she said. “Your husband's been talking to the governor and the governor has been talking to a lot of local officials and unless we come up with something of tremendous significance, The Westlake City Police Department is going to be served with a harassment notice that'll drop us to our knees.” She felt cold and the needles of ice clawed at her guts. She needed a bottle, hell, a case of antacid medicine. Now. “No one has won or lost. But the fact is, our department has to be very sensitive about annoying people such as your husband unless we have substantial grounds to do so.” “Especially if the accusation comes from a Mormon bishop on a witch hunt and a hysterical wife?” She was angry and wished she had masked the sarcasm in her voice. “And we don't want to upset the gay community, do we?” “The gay community has got nothing to do with this. You may be right about your husband and his friend but there is a chance that someone else is responsible for the death of your brother and/or Lt. Searle. “Who?”

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“Your brother was involved in a lot of real estate deals that were right on the edge. He had enemies. On top of that from time to time he borrowed money and he got into trouble.” “I know he was not very good at finances. I helped him sometimes, but no one was going to kill him.” “It's an old cliche. But where there's smoke there's fire. He owed people money. There are people out there who play very rough when you owe them money. Maybe things got out of hand. If they did, then maybe that's why he was killed. Lt. Searle was investigating Jerry's death, maybe he got close to the killer and the killer felt trapped. For all we know, Searle could have had the man in custody in his car when the perp got the upper hand. We're looking into all these things.” “So maybe no one is after me?” “I didn't say that. But it could be someone other than your husband and his friend. Let us suppose that someone out there, some nut, some character who your husband and Cardston have never heard of, decides you're his mark.” “I'm his mark?” “Right. You're an attractive woman. You have style. You dress beautifully. The new lady in town. You may have met this person. He may have only seen you.” “It sounds like a fantasy.” “Anyway, this person. Let's call him Mr. X. He's a nut. So he starts following you. Starts asking people about you. He asks your brother, your brother gets suspicious and a gun is drawn, there's a struggle and your brother is killed.” “And Mr. X did this?”

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“We have about 25 thousand unsolved murders each year. Mr. X does a lot of them.” “Great, now we've got a killer out there, who I don't know who has murdered my brother. And of course Lt. Searle finds Mr. X and Mr. X, well he x's Lt. Searle.” “It's an angle.” “Except,” said Robin, “Lt. Searle never told me about this.” “Well, that was one of his major theories. That's how he managed to get the department to place a 24-hour watch on this place. You see, no matter what Searle told you, we didn't think there was enough evidence to justify protecting you from your husband.” “I have an idea. I say Cardston killed Lt. Searle. I say he probably took the walkietalkie. So why don't we go to my husband's place and see if we can find it?” “Because that is the stuff of ten million dollar law suits and the chief of police has indicated that we don't make a move unless our derriere is covered. He did not use those words.” “So my husband has won?” “No. He has not. If he wants to harm you, he has failed.” “But he has destroyed anyone who believed me. He has destroyed anyone who helped me.” “I can see why you left him then, Ms. Wendell, and while you sound very convincing to me, don't you see how difficult it would be for me to persuade the chief to even let me attempt to find a judge to issue a search warrant for your husband's place?”

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“Sure, as long as I'm alive, my husband isn't trying to harm me. The fact that the only people in my life who can help me are dead is totally irrelevant. Makes sense to me.” “Has anyone tried to harm you?” “No.” “OK. We're going to maintain a round the clock surveillance of your place.” He took out a card and wrote a phone number on it. “This is my cellular phone number. You can reach me anytime. It will take me seconds to respond. If anyone tries anything, call me.” “Great.” She was numb. “I think, after reading Lt. Searle's notes, you have gone through more anguish and stress in a week than most people do in five years. I certainly think you're handling this situation as well as anyone. It's not only logical but also natural that you would perceive your husband and this Cardston as being behind many of your problems.” “But you're not that concerned about gays?” “Some gays are saints others are pukes. Just like in the straight world.” “I'm sorry. If we checked my husband's place we'd find Cardston and we'd find some evidence. Can't that be done?” “We'll work on it. In the meantime, we'll watch you. And I'm only a phone call away. I'll take this transformer with me to the lab, OK?” She nodded and few minutes later saw him to the door and locked it behind him. She watched him talk to the two cops who were in the surveillance vehicle. She could see that they were laughing about something. Probably hysterical women.

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Robin hated being a prisoner in her own home. Hated what Ben had done to her. Hated that she had allowed it. She picked up the phone and called his number. There was no answer. Curious. Robin listened to the rain smash down. She went to the window and drew the curtains and looked out. The police car was nestled in dark shadows. She could see a light barely glimmering in the front seat. Maybe the two cops were playing cards. Or eating ham sandwiches. She didn't know, didn't care. What she cared about was survival. Think, she told herself, think. She thought about Searle dying. About the killer taking the transformer. She pictured the transformer in her mind–there was a dent on the right leg of the dinosaur part of it. That would identify it. There would be fingerprints. And then it came to her. It was a crazy idea but if it worked, she could prove to the authorities Cardston had been near Searle when he was killed. The plan was so simple. Check Ben's condo, see if Cardston had hidden the transformer there. It might have his fingerprints and Searle's. Then if the transformer were not at the condo she would search the motor home. That would be harder. But the transformer would be the link that would nail Ben and Cardston.

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Chapter 34 Robin had to figure out a way to get to Ben's place in Los Angeles. Under normal conditions she would have taken her Honda. Problem: the police car parked across the street with two officers watching the house. If she tried to leave so late at night in the middle of the storm they would stop her. Their job was to protect her. Robin redialled Ben's condo, again, no answer. She went to her room, found a scarlet slicker and hurried to Sister Wilson's room with it. Sister Wilson was on her knees, praying silently. Robin stood in the doorway, not wanting to interrupt. Sister Wilson finished praying and looked up at Robin. “It's all right,” said the older woman. “I had a long talk with the police captain. There're some things I have to do and I need your help.” No point in upsetting Sister Wilson with the Bishop's death. The could wait for morning. “What do you want me to do?” Robin handed her the slicker and said: “I have to leave the house for a few hours. But the policemen who are watching me probably wouldn't let me, or they might follow me. I want you to put on that slicker, go to their car and tell them your sister is sick and you have to leave, then come back here and I'll put on the slicker and with all this rain the police will think you're leaving.” “You're going to go to Brother Bailey's place, aren't you?” “How did you know?”

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“I have many sins I'll have to answer for on judgment day. One of them is eavesdropping. I heard everything you and the police captain said.” “You know about Bishop Searle?” “Yes, I was praying for him.” “Will you help me?” “Brother Bailey will hurt you. Or that man he lives with will.” “They aren't home. I just called.” “By the time you get there, they could be back.” “Then I won't go in but if they're gone, I'm sure I can find something to connect them with the deaths.” “It sounds too dangerous.” “I need your help.” “If you'll do one thing for me.” “What?” asked Robin. “I want you to kneel and pray to our Father-in-Heaven. I want you to ask him to help you get your testimony back.” “I don't feel comfortable doing that,” “And I don't feel comfortable about deceiving the police,” said Sister Wilson. “All right, if that's what you want,” said Robin. The words have barely left her mouth when Sister Wilson sank to the floor, interlaced her fingers, closed her eyes and rested her head on clasped hands. Robin knelt. She slowly brought her hands together and then closed her eyes. “Father-in-Heaven,” she said, “I know I have not always done the right thing. I am truly

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grateful for the blessings I have. My children. My friends. Sister Wilson. But it seem, Father, that somewhere along the way, I've stopped believing.” She stopped speaking. What else was there to say? She was not going to be a hypocrite. After a full minute, Sister Wilson started to pray. “Father-in-Heaven,” she said, “please help Robin tonight. Help me tonight. And give Robin a sign that she knows you are there. We say this humbly in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.” “Amen,” said Robin. And she opened her eyes. Sister Wilson was looking at her. “You can feel the Spirit now, can't you?” “I feel something warm and good and reassuring,” said Robin. “That is the Spirit.” Robin nodded. But she did not really know it was the Spirit. It was the warmth and comfort that comes when good friends care about each other. Robin had felt like this before. Many times when she had been in Church. And not just the Mormon Church. She and Ben had gone to Rome once and she sat in a great Catholic cathedral and she felt so insignificant, yet so much a part of the universe. She was not certain what the Spirit was. Sure, it could be the manifestation of Father-in-Heaven. On the other hand, it could be just a good feeling. She was leery of taking the position that Mormons alone had the inside track, the truth. It was a comforting thought to think you had the direct pipeline to God. But it was dangerous. “I can tell,” said Sister Wilson, “that you are still troubled by what you have gone through, but Father-in-Heaven answers prayers.” “Yes, I know,” said Robin, but she was not sure. Perhaps there really was a God, perhaps he really answered prayers. But then why had Jerry died? And why had she gone

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through all the pain with Ben? And now Bishop Searle–who was only trying to help–was dead. What was wrong with God. Sister Wilson pulled on the red slicker and went out the front door of the house and walked through the rain and across the street and talked to the policeman sitting in the front of the patrol car. Robin watched them through the front room curtains. Soon Sister Wilson came back. She took off the red slicker and gave it to Robin. “They said they appreciated me telling them I was going,” said Sister Wilson. Ten minutes later, Robin was hurling through the near torrential shower, on her way to West Los Angeles. The rain pummeled her, smearing the windshield with quivering pancakes of water. Then the wind would whip the pancakes of water away. She got the heat turned up and the warmth from the engine flooded around her. She did not feel as frightened as she had. Suddenly a car–slipping and sliding–overtook her, its headlights forming a crazy patchwork of cubes on the car's ceiling. Robin thought that Cardston or Ben had been following her. For the next five miles the car behind her kept roaring up to within a few feet of her rear bumper and then dropping back...then a minute later, accelerating out of the swirling rain at her. She watched as her pursuer came at her again. Ahead there was an off ramp. At the last instant, Robin made a sudden hard turn and her car squirted off the freeway. The car shot past and Robin saw it was filled with a bunch of teenagers out for a joyride in the rain. Robin returned to the freeway.

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Except for an occasional truck, she had the road pretty much to herself. She had a solid half hour to think about what she was doing. She realized it was a dumb thing. A very dumb thing. After all, Ben and Cardston had everything to lose. And would either be so stupid as to keep incriminating evidence around? Now, thought Robin, that's the downside. What's the upside? It took her several minutes of focused thinking before she came up with the possible upside. Robin had during the course of her life made lists, lists of things to do, lists of what to pack, lists of where to travel, lists of good restaurants, lists of spices, and lists of the ten best books. As she drove toward Ben's place, she tried to make a list of the things which were in her advantage. Surprise. That was on her side. Yes, surprise. She would certainly surprise Ben and Cardston by showing up around midnight at their place. Well, if she surprised them, then she would leave. Her plan hinged on them not being there. Ben had said he was going to New York. And Cardston, with luck, might have decided not to go near the place for fear the police would want to question him. Maybe the pair were on a plane right now headed for Hawaii and a cozy vacation of island hopping. What else did she have on her side? Truth. She was right and they were wrong. Big deal. A lot of people ended up dead right. The Spirit of The Lord. The jury was still out on that one. Maybe that spirit had allowed Moses to part the Red Sea and Brigham Young to colonize the West. The question was–did she have The Spirit? Maybe it was all a bunch of folklore to keep the children of Israel in check, ditto for the frontier saints. Joseph Smith, the founder of the Mormon Church, had the Spirit if anyone had.

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He had been shot like a dog in a jail cell despite that. So even if the Spirit made you feel better about accomplishing things, you could still end up dead. Robin made herself stop thinking about the Spirit. Also Sister Wilson had prayed that God would reveal the truth of his teachings to Robin. Maybe God is getting a bit weary of me, thought Robin. Maybe he's going to show me a sign–like maybe make all four wheels of this car disappear. She turned on to the San Diego Freeway. She was perhaps fifteen minutes away from Ben's condo. Think, woman, she told herself. What are you going to do? You've got surprise on your side. That's going to last for about 10 seconds, then if Ben and Cardston are home, heaven knows what they'll do. Because of the storm, the freeway traffic was much lighter than Robin anticipated and in less than ten minutes she was speeding toward Westwood. From the street level she thought she could pick out Ben's penthouse. It was mostly dark. But she was not certain it was the right penthouse. And even if it was the right one, maybe they were in bed together. Robin parked in the visitors' stalls under a canopy that looked like a giant clam shell. She switched off the engine and got out of her Honda. On the other side of a second glass barrier was a large guard with a bald head. He was reading a book of short stories written by Raymond Chandler. The guard probably noticed the dripping wet woman in the foyer, on the side of plate glass, but he did not glance up.

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Many things whirled through Robin's mind as she pressed the button to Ben's penthouse. One of two things. Either they were home or they were gone. If someone answered she would leave. If no one answered she would find a way to search the condo. No answer. Good sign. Ben was in New York or close to it be now. Didn't have to worry about him. She pressed the button a third time, and held it down. The guard looked up from his magazine. He got up from his chair and walked toward her. She kept ringing the bell. No answer. The guard opened the thick glass door. “Can I help you, lady?” he asked. “I need to see my husband, Benjamin Bailey. He's in Penthouse C.” “You been pressing on the same button the whole time?” “Yes.” “Well, it doesn't sound like he's in. Or if he is, maybe he doesn't want to be disturbed.” “Can I wait in the lobby?” asked Robin. “It's awfully chilly out here.” She flashed the big man her most vulnerable smile. “We aren't supposed to let anyone in without a previous arrangement.” “I won't be any trouble. Honest.” “Do you have some ID?” “Oh, sure --” Robin hunted in her purse for her ID and credit card. She finally found what she was looking for and passed the entire file of credit cards to the guard. That might prove she had nothing to hide.

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The guard flipped open the plastic sleeve of credit cards and ID. He glanced at one with her picture on it. “Oh, yes–your husband told me not ever let you in. Sorry.” “But --” “You can't wait out there. You better leave.” She walked back out into the rain. She was so close. Ben was not home, either was Cardston. She had to get into Ben's place. Had to. And she had to get in before he came back. Had to.... Father-in-Heaven, she said. “Please, help me get in. Please.

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Chapter 35 While the guard watched, Robin drove back onto Wilshire Boulevard. Traffic was light and crazy. But then who but a crazy person would be tooling around the city at midnight in what should have been called monsoon weather? By the next day the meteorologists would be calling the storm a heavy squall. And if it got to the marina it might be classified as a substantial or heavy downpour. LA was very careful about its public image. Robin circled the block four times and on the fifth pass in front of the condo she saw an older man in a late model Corniche drive into the underground parking. He stopped by an empty guard booth. The man zipped down his window and thrust a plastic card into a slot. The man yanked out his card and gunned his Corniche inside. By making a quick (and illegal) turn Robin was able to make it through the parking lot entrance a second before the steel mesh door crunched closed behind her. The underground parking was well lit with a marble foyer in front of the elevator. The foyer was enclosed in thick glass. The man parked near the elevator and slipped a key in the lock. The massive glass door closed quickly behind him, sealing him off from anyone else who might have followed him into the garage. Robin made a quick right, then a fast left. She zipped past cars until she came to her one of her husband's Mercedes. Its mate was gone. There were several open parking slots beside it. She took one and drove as far as she could toward the wall in case a security camera happened to scan the area.

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She turned off her ignition and the windshield wipers stopped half way down her windshield. Frozen. Frozen like she felt. She peered through her rain-streaked windows. She could see no security cameras but she was pretty certain they were there. She remembered that the guard–upstairs in the lobby–had been busy with his crossword puzzle or something. So maybe he was not bothering to check the monitors. Past two concrete pillars she saw the glass enclosed lobby in front of the elevator. She calculated the distance from her car. About twenty yards. If she hurried, she could get to the door, unlock it, and get into the elevator within 15 seconds. And if she were lucky the security camera would not tag her. And even if it did, and she were lucky again, the guard might not be looking at the monitor. And even if he saw her, maybe she would be too small on the screen for him to recognize her. She took off her red slicker to confuse him. Of course her entire plan hinged on a single factor. She had to get a key to unlock the glass door, then get into the elevator and then use a second key to get into the penthouse. Robin walked to Ben's Mercedes. It had been in for most of the night because it was not wet nor was there a puddle next to it. This would probably mean Ben had taken his other car to LAX. She smoothed her hair, bent down and fumbled for the magnetic key holder Ben hid behind his chrome bumper. Good old predictable Ben. He was so easy to figure out in some ways, so difficult in other. Her fingers closed on it. She peeled the cover off the box and shook out the key as she walked to the driver's door. She slid the key into the lock, twisted and heard the satisfying sound of tiny tumblers falling in place.

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No alarms had gone off. Good. Inside the glove compartment she found a spare set of keys. What a creature of habit Ben was. And maybe, she thought, he knows me well enough to figure I would pull some stunt like this. Her breath was coming in short jerky gasps, she forced herself to breathe slowly, deeply. And then, forcing a smile on her face, got out of the car and headed as quickly as she dared toward the glass door. The distance might have been twenty yards but it seemed like a mile. She wanted to run but if the camera was on her, any quick motion would draw the guard's attention. So she forced herself to keep her pace well under that of a jogger. There were three keys. Each key had a colored ring on it. Ben always organized his house keys. Their order was green, orange and red. Just the way a traffic light works, he explained. If you're going to make yourself remember something, do it logically he had told her. She said the logical way was by the alphabet–G,O,R. And he said that was dumb and they had gotten into one of their many arguments. She tried the green key and it worked perfectly. The glass door gave way to a gentle shove. She pushed the button on the elevator door and stepped inside the glitzy compartment. As the chrome doors slid closed behind her the glass door to the tiny marble lobby was already closed. In the corner of the elevator at ceiling level the business end of a camera lens hung like a petrified bat. She turned her head away and folded her arms. The only thing the lens would see would be the back of her head.

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She touched the penthouse floor and the elevator moved so smoothly she was unaware of its ascent. She waited for the door to open but it remained closed. Then she noted the illuminated floor display. It showed she was still in the basement. Why? Had to be a simple explanation. Then she saw the key by the floor selection panel. There was a small sign that said a key was required after hours. She thrust the orange key into the slot, gave it a twist then touched the penthouse button again. This time there was a reassuring whoosh as the cage rose. She wondered if the guard had been watching and if her uncertain actions had alerted him. Possibly. But on the other hand, surely the occasional tenant would forget small details about the afterhours operation of the elevator. Thirty seconds later the chrome doors slid open to reveal the penthouse floor. Ben had Penthouse Three. On the wall outside the elevator, an arrow pointed to the right for Penthouse Three. She stepped confidently out. She walked quickly to the only door she could see–a pair of double oak doors at the end of the carpeted and marble hallway. Even as she moved toward the double doors she could not help but be impressed by the inlaid wooden side tables and the baskets of fresh fruit on them. She noted that the brass wall lamps shone as though they had been waxed. They probably had. As she passed a basket of fruit she helped herself to a rosy apple. She took a bite. The sound snapped through the hallway. She tried not to be obvious as she scanned the hallway for another security camera. She did not see one. Probably hidden between one of the antique mirrors that adorned the rosewood paneling. Yes, she thought, there is probably a camera on me right now and if I do something dumb, they'll grab me.

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Act naturally, she told herself and took another bite of the apple as she stood before Penthouse Three. It would make the most sense to knock on the door and see if anyone was home. She did not want to walk in on Cardston and Ben again. (Of course with Ben in New York this was unlikely but maybe he had not gotten on the plane.) Bad weather could have canceled his flight. The episode at in the Hancock Park home when she caught Ben and Cardston naked been unsettling enough. But if she found them naked again, in the penthouse she was certain neither Ben nor Cardston would retreat. They would probably toss her out the window. And Ben would get more positive publicity out of her murder. She visualized the headlines now: Bereaved husband accidentally throws wife he thought was burglar out penthouse window. And then maybe someone else was in the penthouse. One of Ben's many business associates? She slipped the last key into the lock and twisted and was relieved when the door opened. She pushed it back gently, stepped inside the foyer and closed the door behind her. She was in. Was anyone else? She tried to make her eyes adjust to the dark. There was enough light from the city below, albeit diffused by the rain, to cast a soft yellow pale over the foyer and living room. Most of the light ebbed in through the main picture window in the front room. There was a little light coming from a side window, probably from the kitchen. Although she had been in the penthouse several times that was at least three years earlier and she had never gotten the knack for remembering mazes very well. Her brother had been good

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at that. She made herself stop thinking of Jerry. She felt the hardwood around the lock of the door she had just come through. There were two key slots. One for the conventional lock. Another (it felt) for a dead bolt. The dead bolt had not been on. Again, that was Ben's habit. He generally didn't use the dead bolt when he went out. The reason? He liked to be robbed. He always said he made money from the insurance company on a robbery. But when he was in the house, he locked the dead bolt. He had a horror of anyone surprising him while he slept. So, thought Robin, a good sign. A very good sign. Unless Cardston came in after him and forgot to set the dead lock. To be on the safe side she called out: “Ben, you there? The door was open.” Her voice echoed flatly against the hardwood floors and cold windows. She was surprised at the fear in her voice. So she repeated her call. The second time the fear was still in her voice, but this time her voice was louder. “What am I doing here?” she said. “This is a little crazy. No, it's a lot crazy.” This time the edge of fear was not quite as obvious in her voice. But she was still scared. She tried not to think of what Ben and Cardston might do if they caught her. It is hard not to think of something. Try not thinking of an elephant, she thought to herself. Then she smiled, all she had do not to think of elephants was try not to think of hippopotamuses. Worked every time. She concentrated on not thinking of hippopotamuses while she moved deeper into the living room. Satisfied, well almost satisfied, that the condo was deserted, Robin picked up a bronze flagon and set it against the base of the double doors which led into the living room. That way the sound of the tumbler would alert her to anyone's entrance.

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There was an ancient rolltop desk nestled in an enclave on the south side of the room. Robin spotted a cup of pencils and a penlight on the leather surface of the desk. She picked up the penlight and switched it on. A reassuring cone of light danced across the parquet floors. She squiggled the light across the east wall and saw what could have been oil paintings by ancient masters, although she knew they were simply fine copies. Her light illuminated Vincent van Gogh's Starry Night. She thought to herself that she was totally out of her mind, poking around her husband's home, looking for a possible murder clue. The beam of the light fell on a corner of the rolltop and she recognized the edge of a family album Ben and she had assembled for the children. She opened the first page. There was a photo of her and Ben at a Church dance contest. They looked so happy. Robin wondered how she could have changed so much. How Ben could have changed so much. Ten years of marriage and broken promises had done it. Once trust is gone, there's not much left in a marriage, she thought and then told herself to stop being so damn cynical and get on with her search for a clue, the clue being the dinosaur walkietalkie–which she would take to the police and which would have Cardston's finger prints all over it. She hoped. (But how could she prove what she found was in Ben's condo? Didn't even want to think of that one.)She flipped through the pages of the photo album. There she was with a fat belly, pregnant with the twins. There she and Ben were with Kimmy in their arms, the day they adopted her. There were dozens of photos and pictures, the largest one was on the second page. It showed her and Ben right after they were married in the Temple. He looked so handsome. And she looked so happy, so pure. Things were all in order just like in the Starry Night painting. Too bad people couldn't

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stay like paintings. She caught sight of a Xerox of their wedding certificate (too bad the original had burnt up in their home, she thought, yeah, a real pity.) The Xerox proclaimed she and Ben had been married for time and all eternity. Death would not separate them. She smiled. No, death wouldn't separate them, but little things like differences of opinion, homosexuality, and murder might. Stop this, she told herself, you came here for something else. You're wasting time. Focus. She played the penlight around the room, the floor plan of the condo was coming back to her slowly. She followed the light down the hallway and into the guest bathroom. It looked sterile and unused. She opened a medicine cabinet. Empty. Not even a toothbrush. She went down to the master bedroom. When she and Ben had been a guest in the condo, she had seen this section of the home but had not remembered it being so large. Maybe it just seemed large because it was the middle of the night and she was alone and frightened. She played the light across the bed and was relieved to see there was no one in it. The bed was made perfectly. The rain streaked the windows. Soft blotches of lights moved slowly back and forth against the ceiling. One of those sculptures–a long glass cylinder gadget filled with some kind of amorphous jelly–rocked slowly back and forth on the credenzas. There was a light inside the tube and it made funny patterns on the high ceiling. The door to the master bathroom was open. Robin shone her light in. A thousand tiny shards of light sparkled back at her. The bathroom was heavily mirrored. She went in and thought about closing the door and turning on the main light but decided against it. She could see well enough with the

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penlight, and if she turned on the bright lights it would take her too long to adjust to the darkness again. There were two sinks, both looked like sculptured bronze shells set in a marble counter top. There was a step-down Jacuzzi tub large enough for a small family and perhaps a camel or two. A sudden crack of lightning made Robin jump. The light bounced madly around the room, freezing everything in strobe lighting. Beside each sink there was a shaving/toilet kit. She recognized Ben's kit and when she checked the label on the other one she saw it belonged to Cardston Degere. At that instant the sound of the thunder smashed against the condo and frightened her. She dropped the penlight to the floor and had to get down on her hands and knees on the cold marble to feel around for the light. She found it, flicked on the comforting cone of light. She moved the light from one shaving kit to the other. She played the light back and forth, back and forth between the kits. Crazy, she thought. She wanted to leave the bathroom, it made her feel queasy being in the room the two men shared as man and wife. Of course, in a court of law, everything she had seen would clearly be classified as circumstantial. Breaking into the place was had been a dumb idea. But it was too late now. Gulp, she thought. She opened the medicine cabinet in front of the sink. Inside she found half a dozen prescription bottles. Each was recently labeled, so they had been filled within the month. There were four cylinders of Valium, each from a different doctor, each made out to Ben. Three of the cylinders were almost empty, the forth looked unopened. Ben had always used a lot of prescription medicine but never this quantity of Valium. He must be

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popping the tranquilizers like M-&-Ms. She checked the labels of the other pills. More tranquilizers, more sleeping pills. Again from several doctors. Two of the containers contained antibiotics–she did not want to know what kind of infection her husband had. The labels on the antibiotics were from Dr. Weintraub. On a whim Robin checked Cardston's medicine cabinet. He too had assorted bottles of tranquilizers and a bottle of antibiotics. The label was from Dr. Weintraub also. So the good doctor knew all about her husbands' lifestyle. Proved he was on Ben's payroll. But not to a court of law. She wondered who was not on her husband's pay roll. She wondered why she kept needing more proof and realized that maybe she had come to the condo not for incriminating evidence, but to find out for herself for absolutely certainly Ben and Cardston were lovers. As the lightning flashed and the thunder kicked against the high-rise, Robin moved from the bath into the bedroom and from there into the master closet. She remembered telling Captain Barclay how positive she was that Ben and Cardston might have some incriminating evidence. Suppose, he's working for Ben? Suppose they've set a trap for me? She thought she heard a noise from the other room and before she could make up her mind, the thunder shuddered against the arching in the condo and she gasped for breath. As she tried to calm herself, the cone of light from the penlight moved across a matching set of robes and came to rest on a plastic bag. The bottom of the bag was stretched out of shape. There was an eye peering out of the top of the bag. The eye was pressed across clear plastic.

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The eye seemed to be attached to a body that was in the garment bag. A burst of lightning flashed through the room, etching the distorted eye against the plastic.

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Chapter 36 The lightning was gone, but the image it illuminated was carved indelibly in Robin's mind. She was petrified. She pointed the shaking penlight at the garment bag. It was still there. Robin reached out and made herself touch the gray garment bag. The pressure of her fingertip made the bag spin, ever so slowly. The plastic envelop contained a body. And as the profile of the dead person revolved in slow motion before her, she realized the body was that of Cardston Degere. She backed away from the body. Evidence? She had come looking for evidence and, oh God, she had found it. She had to get to a phone, tried to remember where the phone was. Robin told herself she must touch nothing and above all she must get out of the condo. “Why did you leave the children alone with Sister Wilson on a night like tonight?” asked Ben. She jumped.. He switched on a bedside light. He was carrying a revolver. He was as calm as though she had interrupted him while he was reading boring poetry. “I asked you a question, Robin, why did you leave the children alone with Sister Wilson?” “I didn't exactly leave them alone,” she said. She wondered how far gone Ben was. He had seen her next to the body of Cardston. Was he not going to bring that up? Was that yet another topic they simply did not discuss because it would send him into a rage? My mind is frazzled, she thought.

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“You left them alone,” he said matter-of-factly. “No, there was a police car across the street.” “My friends in Sacramento had it pulled. That fag who spoke to you–Captain Barclay. He's been reassigned. He won't give you any more trouble.” “Fag?” “Yes, Robin, he's a homosexual. Had the same lover for the last 12 years. Never can tell about people, can you?” “No. So the children are safe?” she asked. She wondered if the terror she felt in her gut was evident in her voice. Barclay was gay? What was Ben talking about? Was Barclay in league with Ben and Cardston? Some sick kind of threesome to set her up. Ben opened a bedside drawer and took out a plastic cylinder and shook out several pills. He swallowed them. “The children are perfectly safe. They're in the motor home.” He had them. Ben had outsmarted her, her attorneys, her family, their church and the police. “And what about Cardston?” she asked. “He's dead. He is a treacherous and evil person who managed to insert himself into our lives. He is responsible for the death of two people. He was going to harm you, and now he is dead.” “Did you kill him?” “Those are matters,” said Ben, his voice seemingly far away, seemingly on a distant planet, “that I will take care of in my own time. We don't have to worry any more about him. You are safe. The children are safe. I am safe.” “Then we better call the police.”

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“We have other things to do.” “What about the children?” she asked. “That's part of what we have to do. Come.” Although Ben had not threatened her, she was convinced he would shoot her if she did not do exactly what he wanted. So when he stepped back and indicated the front door with the muzzle of his weapon she headed for the living room. He followed. They took the elevator to the basement. She waited for someone to get on the elevator. No one did. Ben slipped his weapon into his pocket and said nothing. He looked at her and shook his head and smiled as though he had caught her in some mischief, as though she were a small child and he a too-indulgent parent. Had he fired his weapon into the ceiling of the elevator he could not have frightened her more. She prayed he would fire the weapon, perhaps that would alert someone to the terrible situation. They got out in the garage on the first level and Ben took her arm and led her to a side door. It was a fire door with an iron bar across the face of it. Ben pushed the bar and the door flew open and the rain struck them broadside. Robin felt as though she were wading in a waterfall. She stumbled toward the silhouette of the motor home, parked a dozen feet from the building's exit. Ben unlocked the Winnebago, gripped Robin's arm and guided her inside. At the far end of the motor home, the three kids huddled together on a long sofa. They were all in their pajamas. Kimmy was in the middle. Robin hurried to the kids as Ben slid into the driver's seat, started the motor and headed South.

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Robin knelt by the kids. They stared at her. The twins looked as though they had seen a ghost. Kimmy tried to talk but her words jerked out between tears. “Mummy, what's wrong with Daddy?” “It's going to be all right. He's just a little upset ... we'll be fine.” “Daddy hit Dale,” said Kimmy. “And he said he was going to hit me. That's not fair to do in the middle of the night, when you're sleeping and everything.” “There, there, Honey,” said Robin, smoothing the child's hair. “No way to raise a family,” said Daryl. That was the understatement of the year, thought Robin. “It'll be over soon,” she said. “Everything will be fine.” But she knew it would not be fine, the kids would be lucky to get out of this alive. “Great,” said Dale. He did not seem convinced. “When I give you the word, we'll all jump out of here.” The kids looked at each other, then at their mother. Dale pointed to his ankle. Robin stared in horror and saw each of the twins' legs was cuffed to one of Kimmy's legs. “Daddy do this?” “Yes and it hurts every time these guys wiggle,” said Kimmy. As the motor home roared through the night, Robin got up, spun around and ran the length of the Winnebago toward Ben. Ben hit the brakes, then the accelerator. Robin tripped, slammed into the floor and caught the edge of a table in her ribs. She got to her feet and stood up. She grabbed Ben. “What have you done to those children?”

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“Sit down, Robin.” He pushed her back. He seemed to possess incredible strength. “No!” Ben hit the brakes and Robin spun against the windshield, then he accelerated again. He glared at her on the floor. She felt her arms to make certain they were not broken. “Stay sitting.” “All right. What is this all about?” “I want us to be like it's supposed to.” He ground the Winnebago into second and turned sharply to the right onto Santa Monica Boulevard. Think, Robin told herself. Think. Don't react. He's killed one person already tonight. God only knew how many others. “I know,” she said quietly, “that you're trying to do the right thing.” Ben said nothing, he kept driving. Dale yelled out: “Mom, I got to go to the bathroom.” Robin looked down at the floor, she kept her eyes lowered and the she softly said to Ben; “Would that be all right?” Ben glanced in the rear view mirror. “No tricks, all right, Son?” “No tricks, Dad,” the twin called back. Ben kept driving. “Honey,” said Robin. “Maybe it can be like it used to be. But we didn't have the kids handcuffed together by their ankles.”

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Ben thought about this for a second. “I guess you're right.” He smiled ever so slightly, reached into his pocket and took out a small key and passed it to Robin. “All right, you unfasten the kids. But, no tricks. Promise?” “Promise,” she said. Robin made her way to the rear of the motor home and was thankful Ben did not try any more tricks with the brakes and the accelerator. She knelt by the kids and undid the handcuffs that bound them together. “Mummy, your chin is bleeding,” said Kimmy. “Mummy is going to be all right,” said Robin. She opened a chest and found a blanket and draped that around Kimmy. “Tomorrow was supposed to be our birthday, you know.” “I know and I'll make it all up to you, Sweetheart,” said Robin. Dale went into the washroom and pulled the door closed. The motor home was beginning to slow. “I can get a knife,” whispered Daryl to his mother. “Honey,” said Robin, looking her son in his eye. “Promise Mummy you'll do exactly as Daddy says until I tell you it's OK to run and when I say run, you run fast. And you find a policeman or an adult and call the police.” “Sure. The old 911 deal, huh?” “Right, you call 911. And until then be very good.” “Honey,” called Ben, “come up here and keep me company. Robin made her way to the passenger seat next to Ben. Ahead of them was the Mormon Temple. It was stark white against the black sky and occasionally a flash of lightening would explode and the Temple would seem to absorb all the light. Robin had

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the impression she was sitting in a movie theater, looking at a huge screen. And on the screen was this magnificent temple and the camera was dollying in on it. She could see the black wrought iron fence around the Temple ground which seemed to encompass several acres of green grass lawns. Atop the Temple was the Angel Moroni, holding a gold trumpet. The Angel Moroni had appeared to Joseph Smith to help him find the truth. The angel was a famous L.D.S. icon. Moroni was an ancient prophet who had helped compile the Book of Mormon. I guess, thought Robin, this is the perfect time to see if God really answers prayers. Then she thought very hard in her mind: Father-in-Heaven, get the kids and me out of this. Please. Do that and I'm a believer. Just get them out of this, and you've got a convert forever. “Do you still believe in eternal marriage?” asked Ben. She said yes. Ben turned up a side street that paralleled the temple. “Will you have me?” He asked. “Yes,” she said. “We'll get married in the temple again,” he said. “But we don't even have a temple divorce, we're only separated,” she said. “We're going to start fresh. A new slate. We're going to remarry in the temple.” “We'd have to talk to a bishop, we have to get a temple recommend. I don't know about you, but my temple recommend is not up to date.” Only Mormons who passed an interview with a bishop received a temple recommend. To pass that interview you had to be living all of the principles of the

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church including tithing, The Word of Wisdom (no tobacco or drugs, not even coffee) and you had to be in full fellowship and accordance with the teachings of the church. The moral laws were strict. If you were married, you had sex only with your partner. If you were single, no sex. Period. And of course if you were a murderous maniac, thought Robin, your chances of getting a temple recommendation are mighty slim. She kept all of this to herself and God. She hoped he was listening. She wondered what he was doing. Now was the time for him to show His hand if he wanted a lifelong believer. “I knew you would marry me again,” said Ben. “But first we have to get temple recommends --” “Not necessarily.” An icy shiver ran through her guts. Ahead there was a small guardhouse on the road that led into the Temple grounds. Robin knew that there was a guard on duty 24 hours a day and for this reason she was surprised when Ben drove past without stopping. The Church had been the subject of demonstrators ranging from women's rights activists to skin heads who painted rude things on LDS property. Because of this, there was always a guard at the gate. Robin glanced out the window and saw that the guard kiosk was empty. The headlights of the Winnebago swept across the parking lot and Robin saw a man in a uniform crumbled in a puddle of water. Didn't make sense. And then she realized– Ben had been to the grounds earlier, he had taken care of the guard. Ben was totally out of his skull. Ben parked the motor home on the grass next to the entrance. While it's true that only LDS members in good standing with the church could participate in its ceremonies,

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parts of the Temple grounds were open to the general public. There was a large visitors' center. There was an area of the Temple that did a thriving business selling churchrelated books. (Many of these books had been supplied by Ben Bailey.) There were free pamphlets on different aspects of the Mormon religion. “OK, kids,” said Ben. “Everyone out. Follow your mother and me.” By then the wind and rain was hitting the temple grounds with rolling waves of water, ankle deep. Robin yelled at the kids to hold hands as Ben pulled her toward the visitors' center. The cold wet rain stung her face. Ben pulled out a key and opened the lock. The wind caught the door and would probably have blown it off its hinges if it had not been fitted with a powerful pneumatic hinge. After the kids and Robin were inside, Ben got the door shut. There were plenty of windows in front of the building and outside, the temple grounds lights threw off enough illumination so that everyone inside could see fairly well. “Honey,” said Robin, moving closer to Ben. “I don't think this is a good idea to have the kids here with us like this. It's the middle of the night.” “I know what time it is,” said Ben. “This way, kids.” He beckoned for them to follow. Robin took note of the gun in Ben's pocket. She had seen the guard in the pool of water. She could still see Cardston in the plastic bag. This was not the time or place to make a stand. A splinter of lightening hit one of the high light standards and turned the temple grounds bright white for a second. Then everything was black.

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The kids hurried to where their father was pointing. He was holding a door open for them. Beyond the door was a dark corridor. “Walked down there, kids,” he said. Robin took Kimmy's hand and headed into the corridor with her frightened child.

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Chapter 37 Ben guided the twins in after Robin and Kimmy, then he walked into the corridor and pulled the door shut. Everything was suddenly pitch dark. the sound of the thunder was barely audible. Click. Ben found a switch and turned it on. “Where are we, Daddy?” asked Kimmy. “We're going to the temple,” he said. “I didn't know you could get into the temple this way,” said Dale, glancing around the corridor. Lighted, the corridor seemed just an ordinary hallway. Robin kept her arm around Kimmy's shoulder. “This isn't necessary,” said Robin. “We don't have a temple divorce yet.” “It'll be like starting clean,” said Ben. He opened a door which led into a beautiful room, with a baptismal font that could accommodate a dozen people. “We shouldn't be in here,” said Robin. Ben pressed his finger to his lip, slipped his arm around her and steered her and the kids to a connecting room. From time to time he would switch on various lights, all of which were subdued and indirect. Despite the fact that Robin was terrified, there was something about the soft diffused light and the high ceilings and the feel of the place that took the edge off her fear. She doubted if anyone had ever been in the temple with a weapon, let alone a gun.Ben moved

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his family into a smaller room. In the center was a white altar. The walls were white as was the floor covering. “With reverence,” he said, “we'll kneel around the altar.” Kimmy glanced apprehensively at Robin, who nodded and knelt at the altar. The twins and Kimmy also knelt. Ben sunk to his knees and looked slowly at each child and then into Robin's eyes. “Give me your hand,” he said. She gave him her hand. “All right, everyone close your eyes.” They all closed their eyes. Ben started to speak. “Our Father-in-Heaven, we come before Thee as Thy Humble servants. Robin and I ask that Thou would accept us as Thy Children. We ask that Thou would accept us–Kimmy, Dale, Daryl, Robin and myself–as a family. We ask The to reseal us together as a family for time and all eternity.” He was crazy. The ceremony that he was making up had nothing to do with LDS doctrine. It was so far removed from the purpose of the temple, that it would have been laughable if he had not been mad. Robin thought about the two other times she had knelt at this altar. The first time was when she and Ben were married. She was a believer then. She knew the doctrine of the church was true. She believed that Ben–as a good Mormon male–held the priesthood, that he had the authority to act on behalf of God. As the head of their household, he would be their spiritual guide.

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The second time Robin had knelt with Ben and the kids had been almost six years ago. They had knelt at this very altar and they had all been sealed together as a family. That time Robin had done it for the children. She was already questioning the Church. And now the third time. She had few beliefs, only doubts. Her brother's death had destroyed most of the beliefs she had left. And then the death of Searle–it was all insane. Here she was participating in some mad charade. Robin silently prayed to God to help her and the children escape this madman. Robin knew Ben was only a heartbeat away from freaking out. God only knew what he would do to the kids with that gun. “Father-in-Heaven,” she thought with such power and clarity she could almost see her words carved in the air. “This is Thy house. And I have always tried to trust Thee. I have always tried to understand Thee. But if Thou are really here, if Thou can really hear my prayers, don't let this man defile Thy temple. Thou has the power to stop him. Make Ben's heart stop. Hit him with lightening. Rip his lungs out! Do something!” Ben, totally unaware of her pleas, continued to ramble on, explaining to the Lord why he had taken these unusual measures with his family. Robin could see terror in her children's eyes. Dale, transfixed, just stared at Ben. “Amen,” said Ben. He looked at the kids and they mumbled “amen” as soon as Robin said it. “How does it feel to be a family again, kids?” asked Ben. “Can we go? I don't think we're supposed to be here, Daddy,” said Kimmy. “Of course, pumpkin.”

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“Then let's go,” said Robin, moving the kids along, trying to sound cheerful. In her mind she weighed various methods of escape. If only I could come up with a method of restraining Ben while the kids ran away. Too bad I don't carry a brick in my handbag. Too bad I don't even have a handbag. They moved back down the corridor and into the visitor's gift shop. “Where are we going to go, Ben?” she asked. “A long way from here. We're going to be on the road for a long time. We're going to learn how to depend on each other.” “You mean,” said Dale, “we're taking the motor home on the road?” “You bet,” said Ben. “And if you're talking to your father, call him that. “Does that mean we can do some camping, Father?” “It may, Son.” They were half way to the main door of the visitor's center when there was a loud crash to their right. Ben drew his revolver and fired three shots with blinding speed and ferocity. A whirlwind of pamphlets about the Prophet Joseph Smith swirled around a rack. “The wind blew that rack over. That's all,” said Robin. She could smell the dull scent of gunpowder. She was convinced that if he wasn't stopped before the night was over, the family would be destroyed, maybe even killed. “It's good to be family,” said Ben. “If we died now we would be together for eternity. Think of that.” “True,” said Robin, “but first don't you think we should show the kids what Earth is really like? There are a lot of places they haven't seen.”

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“We'll see,” said Ben. “Come on,” He pushed the main door open. Robin spotted a Scotch tape dispenser on the counter by the door. She grabbed it as she walked by and hid it in the folds of her skirt. “Come on, Robin,” Ben said, “hurry up.” Then to Kimmy, “Move it, pumpkin.” As Kimmy walked out into the rain, she scrunched up her face and said, “I never saw Father-in-Heaven inside.” “I felt His presence,” Ben said, smiling at her. “I bet you could feel something, couldn't you?” He had the keys to the motor home in his hand. The little girl squinted up at her father and Robin, moving beside Ben, brought the tape dispenser down on his head with all her strength on Ben's head. He crumpled to the ground. “The motor home! Get in children. Run!” yelled Robin. Robin had once taken a self-defense course. The instructor had said, “If you hit an attacker make sure you hit him hard enough to drop him. And then hit him again when he's down, harder, because if he gets up, he'll hurt you badly. He may even kill you.” As the rain thundered down and lightening danced across the sky, Robin stood above Ben. She was clutching the weighted dispenser in her fingers. Robin looked at her fingers. They were white because she was holding onto her weapon so hard. She raised the dispenser to clobber Ben again but he groaned, tried to get up and couldn't. “Come on, Mom,” yelled Daryl, already at the motor home. He got the door of the Winnebago open and climbed in. The other two stumbled up the stairs. Robin jerked the keys from Ben's fingers. Ben got up on one knee, then fell into a pool of water. The water turned light red with his blood. Blood poured out of a gash in his head. Robin could not bring herself to

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strike him again. She dropped the dispenser and sprinted to the motor home as Ben sunk back to the ground. “You just going to leave him, Mom?” asked Dale. “We have to,” she said, out of breath, slipping into the driver's seat. “Close the door, lock everything.” The kids made certain all the doors were locked. As soon as Robin turned the key in the ignition the windshield wipers started to slap the rain away. “I was praying for you, Mom,” said Dale. “Dad has really gone bonkers!” “I'm afraid so,” said Robin. The engine caught, then died. She pumped the accelerator. The engine caught again, then ground to a stop. “I flooded it.” “Here comes Daddy,” screamed Kimmy. Out of the night, Ben staggered toward the Winnebago. He held his head, leaning into the wind, the rain tearing at his suit coat. Robin made herself turn the key gently in the ignition. The engine caught. The kids screamed.She slipped the gear shift into first and edged forward as Ben threw himself at the door and yanked. As Robin stepped on the gas, the motor home jerked forward, wrenching Ben's arm. He screamed at her and circled to the back of the motor home. Robin looked in the rear view mirror and saw him leap onto the back of the motor home. She gunned it. The RPM shot up but the Winnebago moved only a few inches. “You got us stuck in the lawn,” yelled Daryl. “Drive slower!”

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Keeping her eyes on the rear view mirror, Robin saw that Ben had a fire axe. There was a locker on the back of the motor home, he must have gotten the axe from that, she thought. Whack! Ben smashed in the rear window, sending shards of glass and water splashing through the motor home. “Mom,” said Dale. “We could heat up water on the stove, boil it and throw it at him.” “Sit! Get your seat belts on. Get 'em on!” She slammed the Winnebago into reverse and hit the accelerator. Then first. Then reverse. The gears screamed. The wheels spun in the wet grass, turning mud to black steam. The Winnebago lurched forward. Dale had found the CB mike and was screaming into it: “Mayday! Mayday! This is Dale Bailey. We are under attack, please help us. Please come in.” But only the static of the storm answered him. “It's OK, son,” said Robin. “we're going to get away.” Ben ran beside the motor home and swung the axe at Robin's side window. The blade smashed through, missing her by a few inches. A hunk of flying glass cut her cheek but she kept her foot on the accelerator. The Winnebago was now moving faster than Ben could run. She saw him slip in the muddy grass. “We're out of here!” Ahead: the guard kiosk. Robin was doing twenty five miles an hour as she sailed by it. She had to hit the brake a few second later because the road made a sharp right turn. The Winnebago fishtailed on the wet pavement. “Mom,” screamed Dale. “Dad's going to blast us!”

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“Down! Get down, kids!!!” The words were barely out of her mouth when a bullet whistled through the roof of the Winnebago, exploding one of the ceiling lights. Robin found the light switch and turned off all the illumination. The only light left was from the dials on the dashboard. She caught a glimpse of her frightened face, distorted by the curve of the glass. Another bullet screamed through a side window. “On the floor!” And she prayed for her Father-in-Heaven to help her, prayed as she had never prayed before. Promised if He would just get her and the kids out of this terrible situation, she would forever believe in Him and praise His name. “We're going to be all right, kids. We're going to be all right. We're going to get away. Father-inHeaven is on our side.” Then as she straightened out the wheel and accelerated, one of Ben's shots slammed into the front wheel of the motor home. The tire ruptured, bent sideways and the Winnebago lurched into a storm drain. Robin jammed the gear shift into reverse and stomped the accelerator. The rear wheels slipped and howled. The engine was simply not powerful enough to pull the motor home out of the storm drain and back up the hill. Robin stamped on the accelerator, tried forward, then reverse. There was a screaming noise. The gear box seized and the engine seized. “He's coming over the fence, Mom!” said Dale.

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She saw Ben climb the iron fence that surrounded the temple grounds. Although it was wet, there was enough decorative iron on the railing to afford him hand and foot holds. Robin had no doubt he would make it over. Ben could see he had them. He was only twenty feet away. “Get out!” ordered Robin. “We can lock him out,” said Kimmy. “No. We'll run for it,” said Robin. “Run for your life, children. Run!” Kimmy started to sob. “It's all right, honey,” said Robin. “We can do it. Come on.” Robin tried to open her door, but it was jammed. “Try the other door,” she said to the twins. Both boys yanked and pulled on the door handle and the button lock. It, too, was frozen. Outside, Ben was three-quarters of the way to the top of the iron fence. The driving rain had no effect on him, rather it seemed to give him renewed energy. His face had taken on an unearthly glow under the mercury vapor lamps. As the lightening flashed in the background, his head seemed to change from human to gargoyle and then back again. Robin kicked at the passenger door. No good.“Why won't it open, Mommy?” screamed Kimmy. “I don't know.” “You said Father-in-Heaven was on our side,” sobbed Kimmy. “He will, but we have to help to.” Robin raced to the back of the motor home. The large rear window was on a hinge and there was a line of white writing along the lower

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edge of it that said in case of emergency you could push it out. She pushed hard and it snapped open. The wind and rain burst in, scattering debris, a tornado in the motor home. Robin lowered Dale out, then handed Kimmy outside to her brother. Despite the ice cold rain, she managed to get the other twin outside. Across the street at the top of the iron railing, Ben screamed at them. Robin crawled out the window and fell to the ground, covered with mud and water. Despite the slippery street, she somehow managed to keep her balance. Kimmy kept falling in the mud but Dale yanked her up. Robin saw Ben astride the fence, all he had to do was throw one leg over the top and he would be on their side. He screamed again and this time the wind carried his thunderous to the kids and Robin. “Stop!” The kids froze, tiny statues. “Come on kids,” said Robin, taking Kimmy in her arms. The twins, holding onto each other and her skirt, staggered after her. “He's going to shoot us, Mom,” said Dale. Robin leaned into the wind and turned around in time to see Ben level his revolver. Although she was twenty feet away, the muzzle of the gun seemed to be the size of a manhole. It was aimed at her.“Die, bitch!” “Don't hurt the kids,” Robin pleaed. She set Kimmy down and moved away from the children. “Run kids, run,” she panted under her breath. The kids retreated into the darkness. She stared at Ben and waited for the muzzle flash. He'd won. In her mind, she felt she'd been a participant in a huge cosmic joke. Father-in-Heaven's home. The

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temple. What a joke. He husband had defiled both marriage and a religion. She would be a statistic in seconds. How could God be so cruel? All of this reeled through her mind along with a search for some plan of survival. She saw the muscles on Ben's temple tighten as he smiled and pulled the trigger. A flash of light. Not from the muzzle of Ben's weapon. The wrought iron fence suddenly turned white. Black one second and then white. It was as though Robin was looking at a snapshot and the snapshot suddenly turned into a negative. A miracle. Lightning had struck the fence and in that part of a second too small to calculate, millions of volts of electricity and crackled through every atom of the fence. The intensity of the charge blew Ben apart. His gun became a blob of molten metal and exploded in what had been, an instant before, his hand. The temple was ringed with a perimeter of white fire from every steel column of the fence. Suddenly all the power for a dozen blocks went out and the Westside of Los Angeles was thrown into darkness. Robin gathered up the kids. The rain stopped. There was mud everywhere. A few minutes later the sun started to rise.

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The first bolt of sunlight caressed the head of the Angel Moroni atop the temple. A moment later, light flooded across clouds that hung in the sky of Los Angeles. “Hey, Mom,” said one of the twins. “What a night, huh?” “What a life,” is all she could think of to reply.

Chapter 38 Several weeks later, Robin took the kids to church in Westlake on a Sunday morning. Sister Wilson was with them. Ben had knocked her out the evening of the rainstorm. The doctors had thought her concussion was going to be serious but it turned out to be just another affliction her body, her faith and her vital systems dealt with and healed. The police had sorted through the mess and proven to themselves and the media that Ben had killed Cardston in a fit of rage. Captain Barclay was especially helpful. Robin did not know how she would have survived the police forms and media questions without him. It reaffirmed her resolve to help her children understand how important it was to judge people on their merits, rather than their stereotypes. The members of the church and the new bishop had been particularly supportive to Robin. The kids still woke up with nightmares but a psychologist met with the family several times a week and gradually things were returning to normal, although Robin was afraid that her children would have permanent psychic scars due that night of the rain.

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“The night of the rain.” That's what the kids called everything that had happened. The night of the rain. Not “the night Dad was hit by lightning.” Not “the night we had to pretend to be a family.” Not “the night Dad tried to kill us.” It was all referred to as “the night of the rain.” The psychologist said this was not a bad way to describe it. Rain, after all, washed things clean.Curiously, Ben had provided several million dollars in life insurance for the kids and Robin in the event of his death. The insurance company said the check was on the way. That would ease some of the immediate problems. As Robin sat down in church with the kids and Sister Wilson, she was aware that all the saints were watching her. She had become a celebrity from the way the news media and the article People Magazine covered her famous and bizarre family. The consensus around the ward was that Father-in-Heaven had punished Ben for his evil. Almost everyone in the ward viewed Ben's electrocution as a sign from Heaven that no one should mess around with God's true church. The attendance at the temple had doubled and then tripled in the last few weeks. All around the world, people talked about the way the lightning had saved Robin and the children from death. Some of the clergy in other churches were even saying that Father-in-Heaven was behind it. An MIT scientist calculated that the chances of being electrocuted while atop a metal fence while a storm raged were about one in three. Nevertheless, when interviewed on “Good Morning America,” he admitted it was by definition an act of God. The organ music stopped playing as Robin settled the kids in the pew beside her.

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People looked at her warmly. They felt sorry for her and they knew she had been the recipient of God's will and power. After a moment, the new bishop said that since it was Fast Sunday and Fast Meeting, after the opening prayer everyone would like to hear from Sister Robin Wendell. During the prayer, Robin bowed her head and thought about what to say. She was a changed person. She knew that. Except she didn't know exactly how. Did she believe more, now? She still was not sure but when the young deacon finished praying she gamely stood and looked around at her brothers and sisters in church. She glanced at the upturned faces of her kids. Thank God they had made it through life this far. Without them, life was meaningless. Several hundred heads turned toward her. Someone coughed. Robin started to talk. “It was Christmas Eve. We were playing a game called 'Whistling in The Dark'....”