Into the Light (The Light #1)(90)
I nodded. “Why isn’t it enough that they’re all women?”
“We need more.”
“I followed your informant’s lead in Highland Heights. I don’t know what the building is used for, the one that holds the address of the registrations for the cars that cross the border. It looks abandoned to me; however, I don’t think it is.”
“Why?”
“While I was watching, an SUV pulled up and some men got out. They walked between the buildings.” I shook my head. “They didn’t stay long. So when they pulled away, I followed them to another part of Highland Heights. They all got out at a church and went in. I’ve been back and I’ve seen the same SUV there again.”
“Why haven’t you told me any of this?”
“Because I don’t have a connection from the church to drugs crossing the border. As a matter of fact, I think the reason they’re going in and out of Canada is because of preserves.” I nodded toward the little rectangular packets stacked in a silver bin at the edge of the table.
“You think they’re transporting jams and jellies?”
I shrugged. “I found the church on the Internet. It doesn’t have much information, but what little it does have says that they sell homemade preserves to support their ministry.”
“In Highland Heights? Why would a church in that part of town be selling preserves? I wouldn’t think there’d be a big market for anything homemade, other than meth.”
I released my lip. “I know. I’ve told myself the same thing. It’s kind of weird. I’ve been back a few times. I’ve seen men in cars and women walking from the church to what seems like an abandoned school. I think that they make the preserves in the school. And maybe there isn’t a market here; that’s why they’re going to Canada.”
“Who owns the old school? Does the church?”
Shit!
“I don’t know. That’s one way I didn’t take this.”
“Look that direction. Find the money trail.”
I nodded. “So you’re not taking me off of this?”
“Not yet, but you need to keep me informed.”
“I know you believe my thinking is off because of Mindy, but I recently learned that HHPD has been trying to keep tabs—in a good way—on their transient populations, primarily females. This has been going on for a while, yet no one talks about it, maybe because they lose them. What I mean is runaways and prostitutes go missing.”
“I’m not sure that’s newsworthy.”
I scrunched my nose. “Who knows, I could be trying to pull too many things together? I’m trying to connect all of it, and most likely none of it is connected.”
“I’ve found that money talks,” he said between bites. “I’m talking following the money trail, not paying someone off. See if you can come up with any connections under the surface since on the surface things aren’t materializing.”
“I will. May I ask you something?”
Bernard took a long drink of coffee. “Of course, but if it’s classified, well, I may have to kill you.”
I grinned. “I’ll take my chances. This isn’t specific, but what do you think about cults?”
“Cults?” His brows disappeared beneath his dark salt-and-pepper hair. I didn’t know why he didn’t wear it like this on the air. The way he greased it back for television made him look more like a used car salesman. This style was actually becoming. “I think,” he said, “it’s a derogatory term associated with deviant or unusual beliefs.”
“What if it isn’t, or they aren’t? I mean, what if they aren’t all like Waco or Jim Jones? What if they exist right in front of us?”
“Are we talking brainwashing, kidnapping, sexual abuse, and mass suicide?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. I don’t have any proof of anything. Probably too many nights with wine and my computer.”
Bernard grinned. “You’d better be careful. My wife killed her motherboard that way.”
“That’s why my glasses are stemless.”
“I’m glad to know you’re being cautious.”
I shrugged. “They’re bigger too.”
“I don’t know if you’re barking up the wrong tree or not. It seems like you’re trying to pull too many things together. Concentrate on the money trail and get back to me.”
I looked at my coffee. I hadn’t even touched it. “Thanks for not firing me.”
“Stop worrying. I’m not firing you, but I am setting a deadline. If you don’t have a story for me in by the end of the month, you’re moving on to something else.”
“Got it, boss.”
Instead of going straight to WCJB, I did what I’d led Dylan to believe I wouldn’t. I drove back to Highland Heights. I didn’t plan to get out of my car. I just wanted to drive around and get a feel for the property I’d be researching. In front of the old school was a large FOR SALE sign. I recognized the realty company immediately: Entermann’s Realty, a client of Preston and Butler. I’d done some work on a case in which a woman sued Entermann’s because she’d tripped and fallen on property owned by the company. My job was to discredit the claimant. It wasn’t difficult; she was one of those litigious people with multiple cases pending. Apparently she’d been successful in more than a few of her endeavors, because without record of employment she was financially solvent. Following her from her meeting with the attorneys, I found her walking around the deck of her twenty-five-foot boat docked at the river. It was a beautiful Hydra-Sports with two motors and a lower cabin. It wasn’t the boat that interested Preston and Butler—it was the lack of the walking stick or neck brace she’d sported merely an hour earlier.