Dance nodded.
“She was saying how popular they were. I think that’s why people’re obsessed with them. There’s something terrifying about the idea of being kicked out of your family.” She shrugged and fondled the cross on her chest.
“You got a longer sentence than the others. For destroying evidence. What was that story?”
The woman’s lips grew tight. “It was stupid. I panicked. All I knew was that Daniel called and said Jimmy was dead and something had gone wrong at this house where they’d had a meeting. We were supposed to pack up and get ready to leave, the police might be after him soon. Daniel kept all these books about Charles Manson in the bedroom and clippings and things. I burned some before the police got there. I thought it’d look bad if they knew he had this thing for Manson.”
Which it had, Dance reflected, recalling how the prosecutor had used the Charles Manson theme to help him win a conviction.
Responding to Dance’s questions, Linda mentioned more about her recent life. In jail she’d become devoutly religious and, after her release, moved to Portland, where she’d gotten a job working for a local Protestant church. She’d joined it because her brother was a deacon there.
She was seeing a “nice Christian” man in Portland and was the nanny, in effect, for her brother and
sister-in-law’s foster children. She wanted to become a foster parent herself—she’d had medical problems and could have no children of her own—but that was hard with the prison conviction. She added, in a tone of conclusion, “I don’t have many material things, but I like my life. It’s arich life, in the good sense of the word.”
A knock on the door intruded. Dance’s hand strayed toward her heavy pistol.
“It’s TJ, boss. I forgot the secret password.”
Dance opened the door and the young agent entered with another woman. Slim and tall, in her midthirties, she carried a leather backpack slung over her shoulder.
Kathryn Dance rose to greet the second member of the Family.
Chapter 28
Rebecca Sheffield was a few years older than her fellow Family member. She was athletic-looking and gorgeous, though Dance thought that the short crop of prematurely gray hair, the brash jewelry and the absence of makeup made her look austere. She wore jeans and a white silk T-shirt under a brown suede jacket.
Rebecca shook Dance’s hand firmly but she immediately turned her attention to Linda, who was rising and gazing at her with a steady smile.
“Well, look who it is.” Rebecca stepped forward and hugged Linda.
“After all these years.” Linda’s voice choked. “My, I think I’m going to cry.” And she did.
They dropped the embrace but Rebecca continued to hold the other woman’s hands tightly. “It’s good to see you, Linda.”
“Oh, Rebecca…I’ve prayed for you a lot.”
“You’re into that now? You didn’t used to know a cross from a Star of David. Well, thanks for the prayers. Not sure they took.”
“No, no, you’re doing such good things. Really! The church office has a computer. I saw your website.
Women starting their own businesses. It’s wonderful. I’m sure it does a lot of good.”
Rebecca seemed surprised that Linda had kept up with her.
Dance pointed out the available bedroom and Rebecca carried her backpack into it, and used the restroom.
“You need me, boss, just holler.” TJ left and Dance locked the door behind him.
Linda picked up her teacup, fiddled with it, not taking a sip. How people love their props in stressful situations, Dance reflected. She’d interrogated suspects who clutched pens, ashtrays, food wrappers and even their shoes to dull the stress.
Rebecca returned and Dance offered her some coffee.
“You bet.”
Dance poured her some and set out milk and sugar. “There’s no public restaurant here, but they have room service. Order whatever you’d like.”
Sipping the coffee, Rebecca said, “I’ve got to say, Linda, you’re looking good.”
A blush. “Oh, I don’t know. I’m not in the shape I’d like. You’re glamorous. And thin! I love your hair.”
Rebecca laughed. “Hey, nothing like a couple years in prison to turn you gray, hm? Hey, no ring. You’re not married?”
“Nope.”
“Me either.”
“You’re kidding. You were going to marry some hunky Italian sculptor. I thought for sure you’d be hooked up now.”
“Not easy to find Mr. Right when men hear your boyfriend was Daniel Pell. I read about your father in BusinessWeek . Something about his bank expanding.”
“Really? I wouldn’t know.”
“You’re still not talking?”
Linda shook her head. “My brother doesn’t talk to them either. We’re two poor church mice. But it’s for the best, believe me. You still paint?”
“Some. Not professionally.”
“No? Really?” Linda turned to Dance, her eyes shining. “Oh, Rebecca was so good! You should see her work. I mean, she’s the best.”
“Just sketch for fun now.”
They spent a few minutes catching up. Dance was surprised that though they both lived on the West Coast they hadn’t communicated since the trial.
Rebecca glanced at Dance. “Samantha joining our coffee klatch? Or whatever her name is now?”
“No, just the two of you.”
“Sam was always the timid one.”
“‘Mouse,’ remember?” Linda said.
“That’s right. That’s what Pell called her. ‘My Mouse.’”
They refilled their cups and Dance got down to work, asking Rebecca the same basic questions she’d
asked Linda.
“I was the last one to get suckered in by Mr. Pell,” the thin woman said sourly. “It was only…when?” A glance at Linda, who said, “January. Just four months before the Croyton situation.”
Situation.Notmurders.
“How did you meet Pell?” Dance asked.