“Do you pay rent, or what?”
Sister Cora shook her head. “There’s no rent,” she said. “But we have to obey all the rules. If you break one, you’re gone-O-U-T.”
“And the rules are?”
“No booze. No drugs. No cigarettes. You do your assigned chores. You attend classes, work at the thrift store, do whatever needs to be done. We’re here to better ourselves. To learn to make better choices.”
“How long do people stay?” I asked.
“As long as it takes,” Sister Cora answered. “Sometimes it’s only a couple of months. Sometimes it’s longer. I’ll be leaving in another month or so, after I get my new teeth.”
“New teeth?”
“I get fitted for them next week. A dentist volunteered to fit me for free. I can hardly wait.”
Without teeth Sister Cora looked like an old woman, although she was probably only in her midthirties. I tried to imagine how she’d look with new teeth. She’d most likely still look like she’d been rode hard and put up wet, but not as bad as she did right now.
“What about money?” I asked. “If you’re doing all this volunteer work and taking classes and studying the Bible, what do you do for spending money?”
“We don’t need spending money,” she said simply. “The Lord provides for our needs while we’re here. We earn credits for the chores we do and for however many classes we take. If we do work at outside jobs, we turn that money over to the treasurer, who holds it until we leave. Then, when it’s time to go, we have that money and whatever is in our credit account to use to get started outside-for an apartment deposit or whatever. It’s like a little savings account.”
I wondered what kind of interest rate the good pastor paid, or if he paid any at all. Sister Cora’s impending teeth notwithstanding, I kept trying to figure out if this wasn’t some kind of scam. Maybe King Street Mission was the sort of place where if Pastor Mark directed the residents to swill down a cup of arsenic-laced Kool-Aid, they would all say “Bottoms up” and guzzle away.
The front door opened. A man in a suit and properly knotted bow tie slammed his way in through the door and then strode across the room. I had him pegged for an attorney long before he opened his mouth.
“Is this man disturbing you, Sister Cora?” he demanded.
She looked at him in some confusion. “Not at all, Mr. Ramsey. He was just asking a few questions.”
I recognized the name. That would be Dale Ramsey, of Ramsey, Ramsey, and something else, a name I vaguely remembered from some of the published legal papers regarding God’s Word, LLC. Which meant Pastor Mark had run up the flag for help and here was Mr. Ramsey riding to the rescue.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to leave now, Mr. Beaumont,” he said. (Pastor Mark’s careful study of my ID had obviously allowed him to remember my name with uncanny accuracy. He had also duly reported it.)
“Sister Cora has work to do,” Ramsey continued. “You’ve kept her from it long enough. Furthermore, Pastor Mark tells me that you’re from the attorney general’s office. Our people have spent all weekend answering questions for investigators from Seattle PD concerning the unfortunate death of Brother LaShawn. Unless Ross Connors’s office has some reason for horning in on someone else’s jurisdiction, I see no reason for this to continue.”
Ramsey was pushy in a stilted, officious, and overly formal way. It’s no wonder I took an instant dislike to the man. But for Ross Connors, deniability was still everything. If I made even the slightest objection, phone calls would be made to Seattle PD downtown. Questions would be asked. Attention would be paid.
“Of course,” I said, equally formally, and bowed slightly in Sister Cora’s direction. “You’ve been most helpful.”
Pastor Mark emerged from behind his closed office door in time to watch me leave. With his tattooed arms folded across his chest, he stood and smiled-smirked, really-at my being ejected. I nodded and sent my own half- baked smile in his direction, just to make sure we were even.
It doesn’t matter if we’re talking bars or missions. I don’t like being run out of places before I’m ready to go. It rubs me the wrong way. In this case it made me think that God’s Word, LLC, had something to hide. But thanks to Sister Cora, I wasn’t walking away empty-handed. I knew which Seattle cab company had green cabs, and since they keep records, that meant that, whether the folks at God’s Word liked it or not, I also had a lead on Elaine Manning’s whereabouts.
I had left my cell phone in the car while I visited King Street Mission. I had been inside for far longer than I had anticipated, and again the phone was awash in messages. I hurried through them one by one.
“Hi, Dad,” Scott said cheerfully. “Mel wanted me to call you with our flight information, but we’ll be renting a car, so you don’t need to worry about coming to pick us up. By the time we get our luggage, it’ll probably be close to six-thirty or so. Are there dinner plans? Should we go there directly or just check into the hotel and wait for marching orders?”
The next caller was Mel: “Where are you?” she asked. “Why aren’t you picking up? Did you remember to order the flowers?”
Next was one from my son-in-law: “Hello. It’s me. Jeremy.” He sounded nervous, and I can understand why. We hardly ever talk on the phone. “We’re in Salem at the Burger King,” he continued. “Kelly’s in the restroom changing Kyle’s diaper. We’ll probably be in Seattle around two or so. I guess we’ll be coming straight to the house. I think that’s what Kelly wanted me to tell you. If it isn’t, I’ll call back.”
If Kelly had charged her husband with calling me, did that mean she and I weren’t speaking, or at least she wasn’t speaking to me? If that was the case, it would make the occasion of my grandmother’s funeral more than a little awkward.
Mel again: “Harry wants to know if the funeral is a private affair or if it would be all right if some of the SHIT guys came along,” Mel said. “I told him it was fine, but now I’m wondering. Should I have checked with Lars? Do we know how many people really are coming? Had we better order some food and reserve the party room? Call me.”
Awkward and complicated. This was beginning to sound like putting on a wedding-minus the bride and groom.
Next was Men’s Wearhouse: “Mr. Beaumont, when you were in on Monday, we were told that you needed your tux in time for Friday. It’s ready now. Could you please stop by at your convenience and try it on? That way, if any additional alterations are required…” Checking on a tux for Friday seemed like a very low priority.
Mel again: “I’ve been trying to think of where we should go to dinner with a new baby and all. I finally decided that we’d be better off eating at home. So I’ve called that new catering place, Magical Meals, and I’ve cleared it with the doorman. They’ll deliver a roast beef dinner with all the trimmings to the condo, complete with someone to serve and clean up. They’ll be at the house at six. If you think that’s a bad idea…” In fact, it seemed nothing short of brilliant.
Then a message from Lars: “
I hadn’t been writing anything down, and by then my head was spinning. I called Lars back first. “What’s up?” I asked.
“I t’ink I’d like to go to another meeting,” he said. “If it’s not too much trouble.”
“I’m on my way,” I said.
I called Mel back and breathed a small thank-you when I reached her answering machine instead of her. “Busy with Lars,” I said. “Taking him to a meeting. Dinner sounds great.”
I forgot about the tux, but on the way to Queen Anne Gardens I remembered to call the flower shop and got the flowers ordered. Several different arrangements. Big ones. Spare no expense. So I may not be great, but at least I’m not entirely useless. In between all that I even managed to call the cab company and started the process of tracing Elaine Manning’s Saturday-morning ride.
Lars came out to the car looking like death warmed over. I’d managed to find another noontime meeting, this one over on the east side at a place called Angelo’s. I’d been there before, years ago. So had Lars.
“Thank you,” he said, once he got in the car.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
He shook his head. “I cannot believe t’ose women,” he said. “The first one knocked on my door this morning
