Grounds to Believe (13 page)

He settled into the chair, crossing one ankle over a knee, as he thumbed through the hymnbook someone had given him at the door. He stayed that way, seemingly absorbed in the words he was reading, until Melchizedek announced the first hymn. She needn’t have worried that he’d do something indiscreet, like kiss her hello, or that he’d try and talk in the Silence before the service. He was evidently sensitive to the behavior of others. He’d taken his cue from the people around him and acted as they did. Her respect for him went up another notch.

They rose for the hymn and her voice dropped automatically into the alto part.

Ross glanced at her and switched from melody to bass, their two voices blending, the notes crossing and overlapping to form a counterpoint to the melody sung by everyone else.

Julia felt as if more than their voices were blending. They were making music together, a music that was more than the artificial creation of notes on the page. He hit a low B-flat that resonated deep inside her with a physical intensity. She vaulted up an arpeggio of four notes and he had to take a breath in midphrase, as if he’d lost his place.

Julia sat down with a gasp and bowed her head for Melchizedek’s prayer. She struggled to make sense of his words behind closed eyelids, but the attention of her whole body, her ears, her very skin, was filled with Ross. When he shifted, her blood sped up. When his elbow touched hers, goose bumps broke out on her arm. She had never experienced this, never. He was like a roaring waterfall of sensation, and Melchizedek’s voice faded into empty vowels and consonants, signifying nothing.

After the last hymn, Melchizedek announced that there would be a young people’s meeting the following Friday. “It will be at Jim and Linda Bell’s, and the topic I’d like you all to think about—” here he glanced from Dinah to Claire to the Kowalczyk twins to Julia “—is one concrete way we can silently witness for the way of the Elect. You may bring a guest if you like.”

A guest? Melchizedek hadn’t looked at him, but Julia knew perfectly well he’d meant Ross. Once that happened, the gates would open and the invitations would start. He would have been accepted.

As Melchizedek made his dignified way to the door to shake hands with people as they filed out, Ross leaned over to whisper. His breath fanned her ear, and she shivered.

“Is he including me?”

“I think so.”

“Are you cold?”

“No. Not at all.”

“I don’t know anything about witnessing for the Elect, silent or otherwise.”

“I think he just means for you to listen.”

“What happens?” They stood up and moved down the row of chairs, joining the flow of people heading for the door. Julia tried to explain.

“Each of us—yes, even the girls, you don’t have to give me that kind of look—stands up and speaks on the topic—hello, Alma, I’m fine, thanks. Yes, this is Ross Malcolm. No, he isn’t that kind of biker, he rides for recreation. Ross, Mrs. Alma Woods. Then Melchizedek will do a wrap-up and message for about half an hour. Hi, Linda, this is Ross Malcolm.” Ross—the rat—turned that lady-killer grin on Linda in the middle of one of her breathy sentences, and she melted in a puddle on the spot. “Stop that.”

“She stopped talking, didn’t she?”

“Where was I?”

“A message for half an hour.”

“Right. Then we sing for a while and then everybody stampedes the kitchen for—hi, Mom, Dad. You remember Ross Malcolm.”

“Hello, young man,” her father said to Ross. “Nice to see you again.”

“I couldn’t stay away,” Ross said with such conviction that Mark McNeill blinked with approval.

“Really. Well. We look forward to seeing you next week too, then.”

“Hello, Mr. Malcolm,” Elizabeth said, her voice tinged with the kind of warmth Julia knew could only have been engendered by Melchizedek’s unspoken endorsement over the young people’s meeting. “I’m Elizabeth McNeill, Julia’s mother.”

“You have a lovely daughter, Mrs. McNeill.”

“Thank you. I understand you were a guest at Madeleine’s recently. Did you enjoy it?”

The blood washed into Julia’s cheeks and she turned away to greet someone she hardly knew.

“Yes. Julia was kind enough to invite me.”

“And what did you think of their home, Mr. Malcolm? Such a godly spirit. Such peace. Here she is now. Hello, darling.” Elizabeth leaned over and hugged her eldest daughter.

“Yeah. Absolutely.” Ross took Julia’s elbow. “Want to introduce me to that blonde? Didn’t I see her in your pictures?”

Julia, thankful to have somewhere else to look, waved Claire over, and her best friend clicked up on brand-new one-inch tapered heels. Julia blurted the first thing that came into her head. “Nice shoes. Did you sneak off to town without telling me?” Was everybody decked out in Ross’s honor? Was she the only one in an old dress and last summer’s pumps?

“No, I’ve had these for a while. Hello,” Claire said with an engaging smile, “you must be Mr. Malcolm.” Julia barely had time to make the introductions when Madeleine and Elizabeth maneuvered Ross into their circle.

Claire leaned over and spoke in low tones to Julia behind Ross’s broad back. “Isn’t this something? Everybody wants to meet him. He’s the hottest news since Lara and Marshall had to get married.”

Madeleine frowned at them.

“Would you keep your voice down?” Julia begged. Her sister left Ross to her mother and tapped Claire’s arm with the spine of her hymnbook.

“Claire, what kind of Spirit is that?” she chided with the smile that Julia knew disguised disapproval. Julia hoped Ross couldn’t hear her friend being bawled out like a five-year-old. “Mr. Malcolm isn’t here to be ‘news,’ he’s here for the salvation of his soul. Shame on you for embarrassing him.”

Ross laughed at something Elizabeth had said and turned to Julia, maneuvering her out of the little group. “Nice bunch of people,” he said. “But right now you’ve got to tell me where the little boys’ room is.” She pointed. “Thanks.” He strolled toward the door.

Claire spoke in a breathy whisper, completely ignoring Madeleine’s warning. “Ooh, Julia, he is some kind of gorgeous. You’d better watch your step.”

“I don’t have to. Everyone else is watching it for me.”

“You should just hear them talking. Derrick is chewing nails. I could hear his teeth grinding from two seats away. Now, don’t give me that look. What is he supposed to think, with you sitting with another man? What are you trying to do to him?”

“I’m working a mission. Nothing more.” Uh-huh. That was some mission up on the mountain. And what about that little scene by the lake? She squelched the mocking voice inside her head. As far as she was concerned, she’d bypassed “mission” entirely and was walking in some uncharted territory with only her feelings for a guide. And so far they were more likely to get her in trouble than help her out.

“Don’t let his looks tempt you,” Claire said earnestly. “Believe me, I know what can happen when you do. Look at my sister. She wants to come back to the Elect, but she’d have to leave Andrew. She’ll never leave the kids, and he’ll never let her take them. Looking Outside only means heartbreak.”

“I know, sweetie,” Julia said, squeezing her friend’s shoulder. Claire’s distress over her sister’s unhappy choices distracted her momentarily from Ross. Yet that insistent voice that had been living in Julia’s head all summer just wouldn’t go away. They all defined themselves by the love of God, but their code forced Elaine to choose between the man she loved and the God she worshiped. God’s love was said to be wider than the heavens and higher than the sky. Why did the Elect force it inside the narrow confines of their way? Seen with the eyes of the Elect, Elaine’s choice should be obvious: she should put her salvation before earthly love and renounce her worldly husband. Seen through the eyes of love, Elaine shouldn’t even have to contemplate such a choice.

Julia knew there was no reconciling the two points of view. Since Ross had ridden into her life, though, she’d found herself able to think from both sides of a question.
To the Elect, that ability was fatal. It meant the Devil was working in your mind. There was only one side. Ross had—

Ross. She looked over Claire’s shoulder toward the washroom entrance. Where was he? Had Derrick trapped him in there and challenged him to a duel? Maybe she’d missed him and he’d slipped out the door already. The hall was practically empty and Melchizedek was looking at her expectantly. She walked to the door and shook his hand.

“I’m so pleased your friend was willing to come this evening,” Melchizedek said. “And amazed that his appearance has changed so markedly. The Spirit must be taking control of his life. Do you think he enjoyed sitting under the sound of the gospel?”

“I’m sure he did.” Julia had no idea. She certainly hadn’t heard any of it. “Has he come by?”

“No, I’m anxious to speak to him myself.”

“That’s odd. He went to the men’s room ten minutes ago and I haven’t seen him come out.”

“Would you like me to check? Everyone’s gone now.”

“Oh, no, don’t trouble. I probably just missed him and he’s out in the parking lot waiting for me.” Embarrassed, Julia scurried out the door. She’d finally been able to emulate Madeleine and bring someone to Mission—only to lose him the way she lost scarves and keys.

She barely had time to sweep the parking lot with an anxious gaze before a hand clamped her elbow. “Julia.”

She jumped. “Goodness, Derrick, you scared me!”

“I’ve been standing out here for fifteen minutes, waiting for you.” He tugged on her arm, and unwillingly she went with him to his car. “Where’s your friend?”

“In the men’s. He’ll be out in a moment and I’ll introduce you.”

“That’d be nice. I seem to be the only one in town who hasn’t met my girlfriend’s new man.”

“Derrick!”

The lines around his mouth drooped. “Well, what am I supposed to think? I don’t see you for days, and suddenly you turn up in Mission, making a big production out of sitting together.”

“It wasn’t a production. We came separately. I’m the only person he knows.”

“He knows Owen and Madeleine, from what I hear.”

“He wouldn’t be comfortable up at the front.”

His hurt gaze accused her. “I think you should let Melchizedek take over. If there’s a mission to be worked here, he should be the one to do it.”

“What you think and what Melchizedek thinks are two different things.”

“It looks bad, Julia. How can you shame me in front of everybody?”

She frowned. Shame him? “This isn’t about you. This is about a person’s soul.”

“Do you think about his soul when he smiles at you like that?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” She turned away and scanned the parking lot again.

Where on earth was he? A few stray clumps of people stood here and there. The motorcycle was nowhere in sight. Had he walked, or merely parked it discreetly down the block? Now that she thought about it, she hadn’t heard him arrive in the first place. As she stood looking from one end of the lot to the other, completely mystified, Melchizedek came out the door and locked it behind him.

He looked around for her and waved. “I checked. No one there,” he called, before striding down the path to his apartment.

“He’s not in the bathroom?” Derrick asked. “Where did he go, then?” Satisfaction at losing the competition was all too visible in his face.

“I—I don’t know,” Julia said.

No one there. No one here. Ross Malcolm had ditched her. And Derrick had to be the one to witness it.

“Would you like to go somewhere and talk?” he said, bending over her, all solicitousness now that she had been completely mortified.

She shrugged him off, distracted, and walked to her car. She had already forgotten about him by the time she turned the key.

R
oss washed his hands, mulling over the cast of characters in this weird investigation. As he pulled a paper towel from the dispenser, he shrugged his shoulders a little, unaccustomed to the restriction of the new jacket. The sacrifices he made for an investigation. He hoped the OCTF would reimburse him for the new mufti when he submitted his expense report.

He slam-dunked the balled-up towel into the trash can, and leaned against the sink thoughtfully. Try as he might, he couldn’t connect Melchizedek’s sermon, exclusive and arrogant as it was, with aberrant behavior, so it wasn’t likely Ryan’s parents were being urged to it from the pulpit. The people were another matter. Conservative to the point of social isolation. But isolationism wasn’t a crime. None of their behavior led him to think they were anything but a harmless splinter group.

Or at least, the kind of harm he’d seen wasn’t the kind
he could prosecute. “Them” versus “us” thinking. The privileged, sanctified few against the rest of the world. The refusal to accept fellowship with the rest of the body of believers. Separating the women from the mainstream as effectively as any Middle Eastern group.

The kind of thinking that would be deeply ingrained in his daughter by now, wherever she was. The old pain in his heart had scabbed over into a kind of fatalistic hope. Some day, if he investigated enough people and ferreted out enough cults, God would lead him to her. Some day he’d walk into a house with a prayer and a search warrant, and there she would be.

Except he had no idea what she looked like now. No idea if she knew who he was. Or if she did, how her view of him had been shaped by hatred of the Outside.

The thought of Insiders versus Outsiders led him back to Julia. How could she have survived in a household where the parents’ favoritism was so overt? No wonder she’d been so hard to approach. If she had any self-esteem at all, it was her own doing, and probably hard-won at that, with all this emphasis on humility and self-sacrifice.

And there was old Madeleine, jumping on Claire like a cat on a toy. She’d been happy enough to let her mother sing her praises. What was it with that woman? She had everyone worshiping at her feet, but look out if you turned the spotlight on anyone but her. So much for humility. The only person who showed real humility in this crowd was Julia.

Thankful to have something to smile about again, he
ran a glance around the washroom. Thick yellow paint covered plain concrete-block walls, so thick in some places that it looked like cake frosting. The kind of work done by zealous but unskilled volunteers. On the right wall, opposite the door, was a ventilation grille, and as he reached for the door handle, he heard voices. There must be another anteroom on the other side of the wall.

“Madeleine, I’m sorry to follow you in here, but I can’t stand it.” The desperate murmur got his attention. Ross stepped under the grille and listened. “I can’t pray. This is standing between me and God. I need your forgiveness.”

“There’s nothing to forgive, Michael. Ryan’s illness was God’s will.”

Michael? The doctor?

“Nothing to forgive? Then why do you despise me? I can see it in your eyes when you look at me…or refuse to look at me. Nothing is the same anymore, Madeleine. I’ve destroyed our relationship, haven’t I?”

“You’re my brother in the Spirit.” Madeleine’s voice became more gentle and controlled the more emotional Dr. Archer became. “That hasn’t changed.”

Her control seemed to goad him. “At least you’d look at a brother! It’s like I don’t exist anymore for you. I tell you, I can’t stand it. Forgive me, hate me, do what you like but at least show me some emotion! It’s all I—” He stopped, and a cold silence fell.

Ross’s eyebrow quirked up in anticipation. Madeleine and the good doctor? Did her adoring parents know what she was up to? Or her husband?

“What emotion do you feel you deserve?” Madeleine asked, a hint of a tremor in her voice. “I’m a happily married woman.”

“And Owen’s worthy of your love. I’m not. I know.”

“Self-pity is a sin, Michael,” she told him. “That’s what is standing between you and God. You’re looking for sympathy in the wrong place.”

“I’m not looking for sympathy, I’m looking for forgiveness.”

“Only Melchizedek and God can give you that,” she snapped. “You’d do better to concentrate on healing other women’s sick children.”

Ross blinked. Madeleine, the role model, showing her claws again? Had that little wobble in her voice been rage, not sorrow?

“Madeleine, wait—”

Ross heard a sound like the snap of a flag, as though a woman’s skirt had been pulled aside in disgust, and the door closed. He straightened. Definitely rage. Something big and nasty was going on here. If ever there was a perfect chance for a few questions, this was it.

The corridor was empty when he stepped out of the washroom. He pulled the anteroom door open and saw a middle-aged man with his back to the door, one shoulder against the wall, slumped in defeat.

“Hey.” Ross put a hand on his shoulder in masculine comfort. “You okay?” Dr. Archer looked up, surprised. Ross shrugged and tried to look sheepish. “I couldn’t help but overhear. My name is Ross Malcolm. It’s none of my
business, but I bet if I prescribed a cup of hot coffee, it would do you good. Want to join me?”

The doctor studied him for a moment, evidently weighing the desire for solitude against a chance to be an example to the famous prospect. He held out a hand and Ross shook it. “Michael Archer. Why not?” Archer allowed Ross to steer him out a side door onto the street. Ross didn’t feel too hot about leaving Julia in the lurch, but he’d call her and explain later. The opportunity to learn more about Ryan’s case was too good to ignore.

He found a café on the corner, the kind where the neon signs really had to work at getting through the nicotine film on the windows. Perfect. Ross would bet a month’s salary the Elect wouldn’t be interrupting them anytime soon.

“Thank you,” Archer said as their coffee arrived, along with a cinnamon roll the size of a sofa pillow. “You’re a good man.”

“Want to split this with me?” The sofa pillow was so fresh it bowed in the middle as he tried to cut it.

Archer smiled. “Thank you, but no. I’m not helpless. I feel badly about taking you away from J—er, from your friends for nothing.”

“It’s okay. Can I do anything for you?”

The smile faded, and Archer’s forehead furrowed with pain as he poured milk into his coffee, turning it the color of a muddy spring river. “There’s nothing anyone can do.”

“Are you sure of that? Sounds like you and Julia’s sister have some fences to mend.”

“I don’t understand where you came from.” Archer fixed him with a look.

Ross deliberately ignored the underlying question and answered the obvious. “Like I said, your voices carried into the men’s. Through the vent. Sorry I eavesdropped.”

“It could have been worse. It could have been Mark. Or Owen.” Dr. Archer sighed. “It’s an old and not very interesting story.”

“I’d still like to help.”

“You can’t forgive me and she won’t,” Archer said. He dropped his head into his hands.

“You could forgive yourself,” Ross suggested gently.

“How can I do that? I can’t tell her what’s wrong with her son. She’s right. It’s my incompetence keeping him from being completely well. Years of it. Years.” His voice hitched to a halt.

“How long have you been in love with her?” Ross asked, his tone quiet and matter-of-fact.

Archer looked up briefly, surprised, then an avid look crossed his face at the possibility of relief—of talking about what haunted him without the initial shocking confession first.

“I came to Hamilton Falls fresh out of medical school. Pediatrics. They didn’t have a specialist here, only a GP, so my practice grew pretty quickly. Madeleine was about ten then. She was such a delightful child. When she got too old to need a pediatrician I still saw her sometimes, when Elizabeth would bring Julia in for poison ivy, a sprained ankle. You should have seen her. At eighteen she was the
loveliest thing you ever saw.” He shot Ross a sudden guilty look, as if he’d remembered to whom he was talking.

Ross unrolled the pastry and tore it into sticky pieces. “A man in his thirties. A young woman. It happens.” Ross could give him understanding. If he wanted penance, he’d have to go talk to Melchizedek.

“I’d get up in the middle of the night and pray for forgiveness. My thoughts were base, carnal. Unworthy of her. I loved her, even then. Sometimes she’d come and talk to me about nursing, get my opinion on what I thought of it. I’d tell her it’s a suitable career for a woman. I treasured every single moment, hoping…” He paused. “It was I who encouraged her to start, though some of the more traditional folks here objected. When she met Owen…” He paused again. The memory was painful. “Stupid. I should have known she wouldn’t settle for someone so old. So limited in his prospects. I couldn’t offer her what Owen has.”

“So you offered her what you could. You looked after her kids.”

“So well one of them has never recovered.”

Ross looked up, startled. “What?”

“Oh, I don’t mean his illnesses have any one cause.” Archer reached over and helped himself to one of the pieces of the roll. “I mean indirectly. Through my own inability to diagnose the problem. To figure out what’s wrong.”

“Didn’t the specialist tell you that?” Ross waited. Rita Ulstad had explained Ryan’s charts to him, but maybe Archer could give him an insider’s view. A guess. A speculation. Anything.

“All he would say is that Ryan suffers from a chronic infection that causes internal bleeding. But I knew that already. What I don’t know is what causes it. And believe me, I’ve been up enough nights trying to find out.”

“Surely there’s been some indication in the tests.”

Archer lifted a shoulder, then took another piece of roll. “I’ve done so many blood tests I’ve practically exsanguinated the poor child. We’ve done surgery. EEG scans when he had seizures and then postseizure lethargy. Even a feeding catheter, with poor Madeleine doing round-the-clock care, to see if he would thrive. She won’t ever have a nurse, and she’s right. Ryan is only comfortable when she’s with him. I can see it, you know. She’s the most loving and involved parent I’ve ever known. A real example to all the young families in town.” He dropped the roll in his saucer and contemplated his coffee. “I just can’t understand it. Not at all.”

“Have you done any kind of blood screen?” Ross asked cautiously. “Do you have facilities for toxicology here?”

Archer quirked an eyebrow at him. “You sound almost as educated as Madeleine. I hope not for the same reason.”

Ross smiled, inwardly cursing himself for the slip. “No. I made it through two semesters of premed and dropped out.” He’d completed two semesters to prove to his mother that the career she envisioned for him fit him no better than a white lab coat, and changed majors. To administration of justice.

“A shame. To answer your question, no, we don’t. This is a small town. They do that kind of thing in Seattle or Portland, but not here. I doubt a toxicologist would have any more to add than the GI specialist who operated on
him. Besides, he’s scheduled to go home tomorrow. I just can’t tell Madeleine that we have to keep him in for a few days more to run another blasted test.”

Ross could just detect a hint of affronted professional pride, carefully held in check since pride was a sin. Dr. Archer drained his cup and set it in the saucer with a clink.

“Thank you for coffee,” he said. “And for allowing me to bend your ear.”

“No problem. I’d like to get together again. I feel more comfortable talking to you than to Owen or Melchi-zedek.” There, that should hook his interest and guarantee carte blanche for another visit.

Dr. Archer gave him a searching look. “But I did all the talking.”

Ross shrugged. “Your turn tonight, my turn another night. I’ll be around for a while.”

Archer smiled. It looked sincere. “Call me at the office any time.”

Outside the café, Ross watched as Archer pulled away from the curb in his sober late model sedan. He walked back to where he’d parked his motorcycle and sat on it sideways, legs crossed at the ankle, thinking.

There was no evidence of bodily harm to the children of the Elect. Even the other two deaths he’d looked into had been explainable and competently followed up on by the investigator. But in one family, the danger seemed very real. If Owen and Madeleine were such wonderful parents, and Archer such a dedicated physician, why couldn’t anyone find out what was making the kid so sick?

A memory stored in the case files in his brain surfaced. Back before Christmas he and Ray had been on surveillance, cracking sunflower seeds and swapping stories. There was little else to do while you were staked out. But Ray had told him something that had made his blood run cold. He wished he’d paid more attention, but the target had come out of the house about then, and everything but their case was crowded out of his mind.

In light of that memory fragment, the little byplay between Claire and Madeleine took on a darker cast.
He’s the hottest news since the wedding,
Claire had whispered behind him, and Madeleine had squashed her. Why? Out of consideration for his feelings? Consideration for people’s feelings hadn’t stopped her from dealing a harsh blow to Archer. Or was it for some other, more selfish reason?

What was going on in this family?

Why was Ray’s case ringing bells in his memory?

He slewed around on the seat and fired up the engine. The drive over to the station didn’t take long. He parked the motorcycle in the back, where no one would see it, and let himself in the rear entrance. He picked up the phone and dialed Ray’s number. It wasn’t urgent enough to page him, but he still needed to know. Voice mail clicked on.

“Ray, it’s me. When you get in in the morning, page me. No, I’m not hounding you about this Miriam woman. Not yet. Remember that case with the mother and the kid you told me about? I need some details. This thing in Hamilton Falls…I’m starting to wish it were nothing but a nice, simple cult.”