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Authors: Betty Webb
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the sofa cushions with a satisfied smile, having made clear his own suspicions about the murderer’s identity.
Virginia looked up from the floor, her face tense with irritation. “Money, money, money, all the time you talk about the money. What about those poor girls?”
I sympathized, but I saw Leo’s point. Sons had killed their fathers for a lot less money than the Purity Fellowship Foundation controlled. It would be interesting to find out exactly how well Solomon and his son had gotten along, but in the end, I doubted it made any difference. One of my recent cases had shown me how little love mattered when big bucks entered the picture.
Virginia wouldn’t drop it. “The girls, Leo. Tell her about the girls. She needs to know before Saul gets here.”
“Saul?”
Leo smiled again. “Oh, just an old friend. He’s joining us for dinner tonight, and he has a very interesting proposition for you. But Virginia’s right, you do need to know more about the women.”
I was becoming more and more uncomfortable with this. “Look, I’m just here to catch a murderer so I can get my client out of jail. I’m sorry life is so hard for those women, but I don’t have time to get involved.”
Leo grunted. “Trust me. You’re going to need to know exactly how the women in Purity are treated and how they behave. But we’ll hold off on that until Saul arrives. For now, there’s something you might find more directly useful about the political situation.”
I leaned forward and listened.
“We’re beginning to suspect that the polygamists are in collusion with certain government officials.”
I frowned. “Name names.”
“For starters, Jepsom Smith, the governor himself, is descended from polygamists. He issued a press statement once to the effect that polygamy, because it’s a religious belief, is protected under the First Amendment. Good thing nobody’s sacrificing babies to the great god Baal, right? Given Smith’s weird interpretation of the First Amendment, we’d sure have a lot of dead babies around Utah. But he’s not the only nut. Some of our legislators are even trying to get the anti-polygamy laws repealed.”
Utah sounded goofier than Arizona, with its flying saucer landing pads and New Age vortices. I told him so.
“You don’t know the half of it,” he said. “There are anywhere from thirty to fifty thousand people still practicing polygamy, mainly in Utah, but some in Arizona. Maybe even more. At least ten thousand of them live right here in Beehive County and we can’t get anybody to do anything about it. Now tell me, Lena, let’s say you dismiss Jepson Smith’s drivel about freedom of religion. Think you can come up with the real reason government officials are playing the hands-off game with the polygamists?”
I remembered Sheriff Benson’s excuse. “Polygamy is considered a victimless crime, is that it?”
Leo laughed, but the sound wasn’t pretty. He was a man with a mission, all right. “Oh, that’s the official excuse, but remember the money, Lena, always remember the money. Those polygamy prophets are rich men and we suspect they’ve spread a few dollars around to avoid prosecution.”
I frowned. “Do you have any proof?”
He shook her head. “Nope. Getting the proof is
your
job. You’re the detective.”
I threw up my hands. “Whoa! I’m not the U.S. Attorney General. What you’re describing here could range anywhere from graft to organized crime.”
Leo’s face was grim. “Exactly.”
Chapter 6
Virginia disappeared into the kitchen and directed the cook to serve us an early dinner on the back patio, that secluded little spot so dear to the randy Frenchman. In the distance, the red pillars of Zion National Park flamed with the late afternoon light. I heard the chi-ci-go-go of quail as they scurried through the underbrush, the cooing of doves from the nearby grove of sycamore. The chatter of tourists gathered around the big fireplace only now and then
Virginia looked up from the floor, her face tense with irritation. “Money, money, money, all the time you talk about the money. What about those poor girls?”
I sympathized, but I saw Leo’s point. Sons had killed their fathers for a lot less money than the Purity Fellowship Foundation controlled. It would be interesting to find out exactly how well Solomon and his son had gotten along, but in the end, I doubted it made any difference. One of my recent cases had shown me how little love mattered when big bucks entered the picture.
Virginia wouldn’t drop it. “The girls, Leo. Tell her about the girls. She needs to know before Saul gets here.”
“Saul?”
Leo smiled again. “Oh, just an old friend. He’s joining us for dinner tonight, and he has a very interesting proposition for you. But Virginia’s right, you do need to know more about the women.”
I was becoming more and more uncomfortable with this. “Look, I’m just here to catch a murderer so I can get my client out of jail. I’m sorry life is so hard for those women, but I don’t have time to get involved.”
Leo grunted. “Trust me. You’re going to need to know exactly how the women in Purity are treated and how they behave. But we’ll hold off on that until Saul arrives. For now, there’s something you might find more directly useful about the political situation.”
I leaned forward and listened.
“We’re beginning to suspect that the polygamists are in collusion with certain government officials.”
I frowned. “Name names.”
“For starters, Jepsom Smith, the governor himself, is descended from polygamists. He issued a press statement once to the effect that polygamy, because it’s a religious belief, is protected under the First Amendment. Good thing nobody’s sacrificing babies to the great god Baal, right? Given Smith’s weird interpretation of the First Amendment, we’d sure have a lot of dead babies around Utah. But he’s not the only nut. Some of our legislators are even trying to get the anti-polygamy laws repealed.”
Utah sounded goofier than Arizona, with its flying saucer landing pads and New Age vortices. I told him so.
“You don’t know the half of it,” he said. “There are anywhere from thirty to fifty thousand people still practicing polygamy, mainly in Utah, but some in Arizona. Maybe even more. At least ten thousand of them live right here in Beehive County and we can’t get anybody to do anything about it. Now tell me, Lena, let’s say you dismiss Jepson Smith’s drivel about freedom of religion. Think you can come up with the real reason government officials are playing the hands-off game with the polygamists?”
I remembered Sheriff Benson’s excuse. “Polygamy is considered a victimless crime, is that it?”
Leo laughed, but the sound wasn’t pretty. He was a man with a mission, all right. “Oh, that’s the official excuse, but remember the money, Lena, always remember the money. Those polygamy prophets are rich men and we suspect they’ve spread a few dollars around to avoid prosecution.”
I frowned. “Do you have any proof?”
He shook her head. “Nope. Getting the proof is
your
job. You’re the detective.”
I threw up my hands. “Whoa! I’m not the U.S. Attorney General. What you’re describing here could range anywhere from graft to organized crime.”
Leo’s face was grim. “Exactly.”
Chapter 6
Virginia disappeared into the kitchen and directed the cook to serve us an early dinner on the back patio, that secluded little spot so dear to the randy Frenchman. In the distance, the red pillars of Zion National Park flamed with the late afternoon light. I heard the chi-ci-go-go of quail as they scurried through the underbrush, the cooing of doves from the nearby grove of sycamore. The chatter of tourists gathered around the big fireplace only now and then
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