With no sign of movement coming from inside the house, Joanna took the time to pull in behind the Bug and run the plates. The results were back within moments, confirming that Andrea Mossman was the VW’s registered owner.
Her sense of apprehension growing, Joanna turned off the Ciwie’s engine and stepped out of her air-conditioned vehicle into Tucson’s midday midsummer heat. The one-hundred plus-degree temperature pounded into her head. Sunlight glared off the sidewalk with blinding intensity while, from somewhere nearby, the too-sweet smell of freshly baked bread filled Joanna’s nostrils. Usually the scent of bread baking would be a welcome one, but not today. That odor, combined with the almost unbearable heat, teamed up to leave Joanna feeling more than slightly woozy.
There was no bell, so Joanna knocked on the door. When no one answered, she knocked again, hard enough to hurt her knuckles. Finally, just when she was considering whether or not she should call Tucson PD and ask for help, there was the smallest motion on the corner of a pull-down shade in one of the front windows.
“Who is it?” a female voice asked. “Go away. I don’t want any.”
“It’s Sheriff Brady,” Joanna replied. “From Cochise County. I need to talk to you about your sister’s death.”
303
“Show me your badge,” Andrea Mossman replied. “Drop it through the mail slot.”
Grateful to hear that Andrea Mossman was exercising some caution, Joanna did as she was told. Moments later, after a series of locks had been unlatched, the door opened and she was allowed inside.
Compared to the humble exterior the building showed to the world, Andrea Mossman’s home wasn’t at all what Joanna had expected. The tiny living room was a full thirty degrees cooler than the outside temperature, a feat performed by new and highly efficient air-conditioning equipment. The rooms Joanna could see had been fully remodeled and painted in bright colors paired with an assortment of mismatched but highly whimsical furniture. A hardwood floor, broken by thick rugs, gleamed underfoot. And, although shades remained drawn, the recessed lighting and well-placed lamps made the small room seem both bright and cozy, which was more than could be said for Andrea Mossman.
Joanna had never seen Carol Mossman in the flesh, but the resemblance between Andrea and her younger sister, Stella Adams, was downright spooky. Both had the same mousy light brown hair that must have come from their mother, Cynthia. Both had the same haunted-looking eyes, although Andrea wore glasses and Stella didn’t. Andrea wore a faded cotton robe and carried a box of tissues. She looked as though she’d been crying.
“I had no idea Pam and Carmen were dead,” she said, half sobbing. “Not until a few minutes ago, when Grandma called to tell me. I can’t believe it. It can’t be true.”
“I’m sorry to have to say this,” Joanna said gently, “but it is true, Ms. Mossman.”
304
Andrea Mossman sank into an overstuffed easy chair covered in a fabric with a pattern of bright-pink peony blossoms and yellow butterflies. “I was about to get dressed and come to Bisbee to talk to you,” she said. “But I’m glad you’re here.”
“May I sit down?” Joanna asked.
Andrea nodded woodenly and motioned Joanna onto a small bright yellow leather couch.
On her way out of the office, Sheriff Brady had paused long enough to collect a pocket-size tape recorder. She pulled it out of her purse and set it on a nearby end table. Then she took out her cell phone and switched it off.
“Do you mind if I record this conversation?” she asked.
“No,” Andrea said. “Go ahead.”
Joanna switched on the recorder. After identifying herself and giving the time and date, she introduced Andrea Mossman. “And you know why I’m here?” she asked.
“Of course I do,” Andrea replied. She stopped long enough to force down a sob. “It’s because all of this is my fault.”
“Your fault?” Joanna asked. “Why is that?”
“Because I’m the one who heard what Pam and Carmen were looking for,” Andrea said in a rush. “One of my clients-one of the former Brethren women whose children I helped counsel and who ended up living in L.A.-somehow learned that Pam Davis and Carmen Ortega were looking for a way to do a story-an insider’s story-on The Brethren and what goes on with them.” Andrea paused and looked closely at Joanna’s face. “You do know what goes on, don’t you?”
Joanna nodded. “I have a pretty good idea,” she said grimly. “Your grandmother told me some of it, but I’d like to hear what you have to say.”
305
Andrea Mossman’s face darkened. “Among The Brethren, women are nothing, and girls are less than that. They’re pieces of property, to be traded back and forth. And abused. For some of the girls, it’s the first thing they remember. For others, it’s the first thing they forget.
“Pam had heard about me through that former client. She contacted me and asked if I would help her put together a story on The Brethren. That same client has a son named Josiah who still lives in the family compound up in northern Arizona-out on what they call the Arizona Strip. He helped his mother get out, and he’s functioned as a spy for us ever since. Among The Brethren, boys are given far more freedom to come and go than women and girls are-it’s a lot like the Taliban that way. Josiah has been able to smuggle messages in and out for us. It was through him that I found out about …”
“Cecilia’s wedding?” Joanna suggested quietly.
Andrea glanced quickly at Joanna’s face, then she nodded. “You know about that, too-about my father’s other family?”
“Yes.”
“I shouldn’t have told you Josiah’s name,” Andrea said. “If anyone finds out he helped us …”
“He’d be in danger, too?” Joanna asked.
“What do you think?” Andrea broke off. After a minute or so, she went on. “If it hadn’t been for Josiah, I wouldn’t have known what was going on. I didn’t think I could stop it, but Pam and Carmen convinced me that if they could film the wedding itself and make it public, maybe there would be enough publicity so we could bring Cecilia out of there and try to give her some kind of normal life. They said they needed enough damning evidence to blow The Brethren sky-high-something 306
so compelling that even the mainstream media would be forced to pick it up.”
“So you made arrangements for Josiah to help Pam and Carmen film the wedding.”
Andrea nodded.
‘And how did you contact them?” Joanna asked.
“Once or twice I emailed them, but usually I used a phone card and pay phones. I didn’t want to have anything traceable back to me.”
“One of my detectives found your e-mail address in Pam Davis’s e-mail address book,”
Joanna said.
Andrea’s face darkened. “I warned Pam about how dangerous these people can be,” she said softly. “But I don’t think she believed me.”
“Tell me about Carol,” Joanna urged. “I’m assuming you’re the one who put Pam and Carmen in touch with her.”
Andrea nodded again. “Everything I have-everything I own-this house, my education, my car, my independence-I owe to Carol. She’s the one who saved us-Stella and me.
She really did bring us out of the wilderness. If it hadn’t been for her, I’d probably have been sold off into indentured servitude in some family compound the same way Cecilia has been. But Carol called Grandma and made arrangements for train tickets.
Then she hustled us onto the train. She tried her best to get Kelly to come with us, but she wouldn’t. That was awful for Carol. Kelly simply refused to go. If Carol had tried to take her by force, none of the rest of us would have gotten away. So the three of us left and Kelly stayed, God help her. She’s twenty-five now. It breaks my heart to think of the kind of hell her life must be. It broke Carol’s heart, too.”
307
“So Carol saved you,” Joanna breathed.