"How do you mean?"
"He wrote this manuscript he thought was going to sell fifty million copies and spend two years on the New York Times bestseller list. Over a thousand pages. I'm sure it's been rejected by every publisher on the planet. Not that there isn't a market for this secular evangelism stuff. You've seen all these books lately that tap into the wave of spiritualism and enlightenment without conventional religion. Anyway, Blechman thought he could parlay the book into a weekly. magazine, CD-ROMs, audiotapes, his own worldwide television talk show. So far the only place the philosophy seems to have caught on is on his farm."
"What's the philosophy?
"Can't say. Never read the book."
"I would think you would have gained some insights just from being around the farm."
"You would think," she said vaguely.
"What's the book's title?"
"His manuscript. There's no book. He calls it 'The Echoes."
"The echoes? What does that mean?"
"Maybe you should read it and find out."
"Can you get me a copy?"
"Sure. On sale. A mere fraction of what you offered Shirley. Twenty-five thousand."
"For a stinking unpublished manuscript?"
"You want to find your wife or don't you?"
"You're saying the book will tell me where Beth is?" Her sly smile was back. "I think it just might explain everything."
"Why should I believe that?"
"Why do you think my daughter was murdered?" "Your daughter's death was suicide, not homicide."
"Then why didn't they find any step stool or chair or anything like that around her? How did she suspend herself from the ceiling all by herself?"
"I don't know anything about that."
"You met Shirley. You really believe she hanged herself?"
Gus didn't answer, but the woman had a point.
She leaned closer, elbows on the table, her voice low. "This cult is like a fucking octopus. It's got arms that reach everywhere. Prisons. Thrift shops. Even perfect little neighborhoods like yours."
Gus met her stare. "How soon can I get my hands on that manuscript?"
"Just as soon as you can get me the cash."
"Tomorrow."
"I'll call you," she said. "Don't call me. Don't come by my house. And don't you dare tell anyone. we talked. I don't want to end up like my daughter. Understand?"
"Yeah," said Gus. "I'm beginning to."
They left separately, first Meredith, then Gus a few minutes later. Gus called his investigator from his car phone. "You heard?"
"Yeah," said Dex. His car was just a block away. "The wire worked perfectly."
"What do you think?"
"I think someone was watching you."
"What?"
"I had my eye on the green Mercury across the street from the hotel. It sat there the whole time you and Meredith talked and then pulled away when you did. Could be FBI. Could be someone else."
Gus checked his rearview mirror. Pairs of headlights scattered across three lanes behind him, but in the dark it was impossible to tell if any belonged to a green Mercury. "You think they followed me here or Meredith?"
"Depends on who they are. And whether Meredith is still part of them."
"Meaning she could still be part of the cult?"
"Think back to the last thing she said to you: 'I don't want to end up like my daughter.' Interesting coincidence that she used almost the same language that was in the letter you got on your windshield."
Gus stopped at the traffic light. "I don't think she's with the cult anymore, Dex. You heard her words over the wire, but only I could see the anger in her face. She hates this Blechman, the way she ridiculed his writings, emphasizing it wasn't a book, just a crappy manuscript. If you ask me, she's even forgiven her daughter for conspiring to kill her. I think she blames the cult for that."
"That's a lot of assumptions," said Dex.
"I don't think it's an outrageous assumption. Especially the part about Shirley's death being murder rather than suicide."
"I'm with you there," said Dex.
"Good. Because if Shirley was killed, that might even explain that note on my windshield this afternoon."
"How so?"
"It's in Beth's handwriting, so let's assume she wrote it. She warned that if I talk to Meredith Borge, she'll end up like Shirley. That makes no sense if Shirley committed suicide. But it makes total sense if Shirley was murdered."
"I would agree with you if she had signed it in her own name. But she signed it as Flora. That sounds like a cult name to me."
"That's my whole point. Someone in the cult forced Beth to write the letter. It's a warning to me in Beth's own handwriting that my wife will be killed if I talk to Meredith. It means they're holding Beth against her will."
"Or it means Beth is happy being Flora in her new life with the cult and wants you to back off. Because if her husband keeps snooping around, she's afraid they might decide she's more trouble than she's worth."
"I like my theory better."