him hurt anyone else. I can’t let those gentiles ruin any more lives.”
Lines formed above her nose. “I . . . I’m sorry, I didn’t mean you. You know that, right?”
“Of course,” I assured her, brushing my hand against her elbow, grateful that she didn’t flinch again at my touch. Although it was quite possible that it was a deliberate, guilt-ridden action, I didn’t care. My relief was all consuming.
“What gentiles? And what do you mean there are too many lives at stake? I’m so confused by this discussion,” Holly said.
The dread on Aspen’s face was apparent. With her brow knitted and her eyes pleading, I knew she wanted to give Holly as little information as possible.
“I, uh.” I turned to Holly. “I think the less you know, the better, quite honestly.”
“How am I supposed to help you if I don’t know anything?”
“You know some of the details. You know the prophet is trying to silence Aspen. For now, that’s all we can tell you, I’m afraid. Just know that there is a group of gentiles involved . . . if and when the time comes, we’ll fill you in on the rest of the details. That’s just how it has to be for now. It’s safer for you and for Aspen if you don’t know too much.”
“I understand.” Her face didn’t match her words, but I didn’t care. It was time to construct our plan.
“Speaking of gentiles, I think that’s our next step in all of this—making contact with some of the prophet’s . . . customers. Now, obviously, this is something I’ll handle alone. You two would give us away in about a half a second.”
I chuckled and the two women looked at one another before Holly laughed and Aspen cracked an understanding smile.
I opened the laptop and retrieved one of the records. “Maybe if I can get one of them to crack. Like this guy here . . . Jim Penowsky. He’s been arrested half a dozen times for alcohol-related incidents . . . a few times at the same bar in town.”
“So?” Aspen looked confused.
“So, I’ll check him out . . . maybe buy him a drink . . . see if I can dig up any information.”
“You think that’ll work? That someone will talk so easily?”
“I take it you don’t spend a lot of time around drunks,” I teased, giving her a playful wink and nudging her forearm.
“We’re allowed to drink, but I don’t know anyone who does. We’re a dry home, except when we have weddings at the house. Paul doesn’t approve of alcohol.” She turned to Holly. “Do you?”
“Clarence does,” Holly said. “He loves white wine. He and Janine drink quite often.”
“Interesting, I would’ve thought it’d be banned.”
“Standard LDS aren’t supposed to drink, but we have different rules. We can have caffeine, too. I have coffee every morning.”
“You’d think it’d be the other way around,” I said, moving my hands back and forth. “I mean, seriously, I’d think you guys would be under more restrictions.”
Both women simply shrugged and I raised both eyebrows in surprise. Elizabeth was raised in a traditional Mormon household and was not allowed to drink caffeine or alcohol. However, once in college she indulged in both and her Diet Coke addiction was still going strong after more than a decade. She often blamed her strict upbringing for causing her to rebel, and I’d tease her that to most people, Diet Coke wasn’t exactly a rebellion.
Different strokes for different folks.
“Anyway, didn’t mean to digress, but back to Penowsky. I don’t know what kind of guy he is . . . other than the fact that when he gets drunk, he fights . . . a lot. So, maybe he also gets wordy.”
“So, you’re going to talk to him?” Aspen asked, narrowing her eyes.
“Yep. I’ll be casual about it, don’t worry. I’ll see what I can find out.”
“And what should we do?” Aspen asked, impatience hovering in her sharp voice. “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop.”
“They won’t stay idle, I promise. Just keep sweet for now.
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