Chapter 88
EIGHTY-EIGHT
Mystic Church
Tilly entered the AA meeting against Derrick’s advice. He wanted her to wait for him so he could sit outside the meeting and guard her, but Tilly had been on her own a long damn time and she hadn’t sensed a threat at the AA meeting.
She insisted she could be helpful in learning more about the attendees, so she tugged on her Braves hat and flannel jacket and grabbed a ride to the church.
Derrick had run background checks on each of the members she’d met at the first meeting but found nothing to point toward anyone specific.
The leader, Gil McCoy, had no priors, had been brought up in the mountains and raised by an elderly aunt after his mother died. There was nothing about the father.
He’d never married, attended college and majored in communications. He did not have a presence on social media, but Derrick dug up information suggesting he’d been accused of roughing up a female sex worker in college. No charges were filed though.
That raised a red flag. But the paper trail ended there.
Bob’s last name was Underwood. He appeared to be who he claimed, a man who’d served time for violence against the woman who’d killed his wife in a drunk driving accident. Tilly wondered if his violent tendencies still lay beneath the surface and had triggered him to hate women in general.
Dr. Kyle Limbach, an obstetrician, had lost two patients, who Derrick had researched in detail, at least what was public knowledge.
Those patients had been women giving birth, both single women.
The babies had survived, only to be shuffled into DFCS and adopted immediately.
Could he be involved in the adoption ring?
The attorney, Thomas, did have a friend who’d committed suicide, a female attorney. But Derrick couldn’t find much more on the man. Except that last year he’d prosecuted a case against a driver high on coke and the woman had been sentenced to ten years in prison.
Tilly entered the room, noting most of the attendees were already present, helping themselves to water, coffee and snacks from the hospitality table. She made her way through the group, poured herself a cup of coffee and claimed a seat next to a young pregnant girl.
She smiled at the teen, who gripped her water bottle so tightly the plastic squeaked.
Tilly had played it low-key at the first meeting. She still intended to do the same, only hopefully extract more information this time.
“Hi, I’m Lily,” she said, using her cover name.
“Clara,” the young girl said as she traced her fingers over her pregnant belly.
“How far along are you?” Tilly asked.
“Eight and a half months. My daughter could be here any day.”
Tilly gave her a tender smile. “Are you ready?”
Clara gave a small nervous laugh. “Not hardly. But Hazel will be there for me.”
“Hazel?”
“Yeah, she’s the house mom at Sanctuary House,” Clara said. “I don’t know what I’d have done without her and Ms. Putnam, my counselor.”
“I’m glad you have their support,” Tilly said softly.
Clara started to speak again, but Gil called the meeting to order, welcoming everyone and giving his opening about anonymity. “Anyone want to go first?”
Clara fidgeted and squeezed her water more tightly, and Gil seemed to notice her anxiety.
“Clara?” he asked. “It’s been a long time. But welcome back. We’ve missed you.”
“Thanks. It’s been a rough few days.”
“You were tempted?”
“No, it’s not that. I’ve been clean for months.” Clara pushed her hair from her face. “I’m just nervous. I was friends with Minnie Benton, the girl who was murdered, and with her little girl, Iris.”
“Of course you’re upset about Minnie,” Gil said sympathetically. “We all are. She was doing so well, too.”
Others chimed in with understanding nods and murmurs of concern.
Clara twisted her hands together as the room quieted. “And now another girl is missing and so is her child. I’m terrified I might be next and that someone might try to take my baby.” Her voice broke off with emotions and Tilly reached out and squeezed her hand.
Unfortunately Clara had reason to be afraid.