Brother Timothy stood. “Sister, what is the purpose of your new hairstyle?”
I tilted my head down, ever so slightly, gathered my poise, and spoke clearly. “Father Gabriel and Brothers of the Commission, my hair was cut as a reminder of my correction. As I wait for it to grow, I’ll continue to remember my transgression. Thank you for my correction and my reminder.”
Jacob’s grip relaxed and I took a breath. He approved.
“Brother and Sister,” Father Gabriel said, seemingly also content with my answer. “Please go to the vestibule. I’ll be down after prayer. You’ll enter the stage after the Commission. Once I reintroduce you, you may go to your usual seats.”
“Thank you, Father,” Jacob replied.
“Thank you,” I added.
After we’d left the room, I walked silently, wondering why Jacob hadn’t told me where we were going. It wasn’t until we were in a small area that must have been the vestibule that Jacob brushed my cheek and whispered, “I couldn’t tell you. Remember me saying that I also had requirements? You were perfect.”
“Thank you,” I whispered. “Although I’m still embarrassed about my hair, I promise I won’t show it.”
“You’re the wife of an Assemblyman. Never forget that.”
Moments later, following Father Gabriel and the Commissioners, we stepped onto the stage. While we waited to be reintroduced, I scanned the crowd, looking for Raquel and Sister Ruth. I found Sister Ruth first; her smile shone toward us. As my gaze went behind her, I gasped.
Though Jacob’s stare silenced me, I couldn’t believe my eyes. The two rows behind the Commission wives held eleven women and one empty chair. I immediately recognized Raquel on one side of the seat I knew was mine and on the other side was a beautiful redhead who I surmised was Elizabeth.
The reason I’d gasped was the Assembly wives’ hair. Every one of them had a cut similar to mine.
I had indeed started a trend.
CHAPTER 26
Stella
I spotted Bernard as soon as I entered the coffee shop. This wasn’t Starbucks or anything that tried to duplicate the modern-day successful chain. This restaurant had been sitting on this corner in Midtown for over fifty years, and if I were to guess, the Formica tables and plastic-covered seats had been here on opening day. That didn’t stop the patrons. The place was always busy. The bar with the swivel seats bolted to the floor was filled to capacity as I made my way toward the back and eased myself into the red vinyl booth. The overpowering aroma of grease hung in the air like a cloud, and grew stronger as I neared Bernard’s partially eaten plate of eggs, bacon, and potatoes. I didn’t know how he could eat that every morning and stay fit.
His dark eyes lifted to me as he paused between bites, wiped his mouth on a napkin, and said, “I ordered you a coffee. Do you want food?”
“No, I’ve eaten.”
“Do those cardboard bars count as eating?”
My stomach was in knots. “Is this my last meal?”
“I sure as hell hope not, but I need more answers than I’ve gotten in the last”—he dropped his fork to the plate, the clank echoing above the din of patrons—“since Mindy went missing. I think that’s the problem.”
I steeled my shoulders and lowered my voice. “You think it’s a problem that my best friend is missing? Or you think that because my best friend has dropped off the face of the earth, I’m no longer able to do my job?”
The waitress placed a cup of coffee in front of me, but hearing my tone, backed away before asking if I wanted anything to eat. Bernard’s beady eyes watched me over his coffee mug. When he didn’t respond I sighed and fell back against the seat, forcing the air from the vinyl with a whoosh.
Finally he spoke. “Stella, give me something. What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”
I pressed my lips together at his sexist comment. Did he ask Foster what was going on in that handsome head of his?
Instead of divulging all, I replied, “I’ve been following leads. It’s just that they’ve been coming up empty.”
“You told me about the women, no pattern, just women in this area turning up dead. I’ve done some research, and you may be onto something.”
My eyes widened. “What have you learned?”
“The incidence of female homicides, as well as the potential for women to end up missing, is statistically higher per capita here, not only in Detroit, but in this general region, than in any other place in the country. Yet with all the stats that people spout, this one is rarely mentioned.” He leaned forward. “My gut tells me that it’s because of what you called the nonpattern. If the women were all tied together by one race or any common factor, it would send up red flags.”
I nodded. “Why isn’t it enough that they’re all women?”