Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Three weeks later, Lorelei met her sisters in Memphis, where they rented a car for the ninety-minute drive to Parchman, which was located in unincorporated Sunflower County in the Mississippi Delta region.
“This is quite the notorious prison. You know that, right?” Serenity said as she pulled into the lot designated for visitors and put the car in Park. She’d insisted on being the one to drive, saying it helped with the motion sickness that came on so easily since she’d gotten pregnant.
Lorelei got out the passenger side and watched as Reagan covered her eyes to shield them from a broiling hot sun as she left the backseat.
“Notorious in what way?” Reagan asked.
“Corruption, abuse, gang violence.” Serenity opened the trunk so they could put their cell phones and purses inside. “The structure itself is falling apart. You’ve never heard about this place?”
“No.” Reagan sent them each a worried look. “Is there a reason I should have? Has it been in the news recently?”
Serenity closed the trunk. “What I read on the internet was from a little over a year ago. That’s pretty recent.”
They all made sure they had their I.D.s.
Reagan slid hers in the pocket of her black slacks as they started toward the entrance. “You read up on the prison?”
“I was curious,” Serenity said with a shrug.
Lorelei had Googled “Parchman Farm,” too.
She’d been so anxious about this visit that she’d followed quite a few of the links and read several articles.
“Back in 1901, when the Mississippi legislature bought the Parchman Plantation so they could build a prison here, they set up a system where they used a few trusted prisoners to help the guards keep the others in line—trusties, they were called—and they used a big whip for discipline.”
Reagan looked appalled. “I can only imagine how well that worked out.”
“Apparently, it worked better than what came after,” Serenity said. “Or just as well. Gangs have taken over where the trusties left off.”
“I read about that, too,” Lorelei said. “I don’t know if it’s still true, but there was a time in the not-so-distant past when gang leaders were calling the shots here, including where various inmates would be housed.”
“Where were all the correctional officers?” Reagan asked. “What were they doing?”
“This prison has been severely understaffed for years,” Serenity said. “They’ve tried to get enough money from the legislature to raise salaries, but I couldn’t find anything that indicated they ever received it.”
“Morale was low, people were quitting left and right,” Lorelei added.
Serenity lifted her long dark hair and began to fan herself to relieve the heat. “And that sort of thing filters over to the inmates, you know? A couple years ago, they had nine deaths in one month.”
Reagan wiped off the sweat that was beginning to bead on her forehead. Lorelei was hot, too, but she was used to the heat and humidity in the South. Reagan and Serenity couldn’t seem to get over how hot and sticky it was. “You mean they were taken out by rival gang members?”
“Some were killed that way,” Serenity told her. “But not all of them. There’ve been quite a few suicides, too. Conditions here are said to be deplorable.”
Lorelei agreed. “Some of the pictures I saw online showed water pouring into the prison whenever it rains.”
Giving up on trying to cool herself off, Serenity dropped her hair. “Not to mention toilets that don’t work, sinks that are missing, food and water that are unsanitary, rats the size of cats.” She waved a hand. “You name it.”
“And you two are only saying something now?” Reagan muttered. “What are we doing here again?”
“We’re going to meet Daddy Dearest,” Serenity joked.
Reagan grimaced. “Ew. Don’t call him that.”
Lorelei shuddered, too. “I feel the same. Anyway, I’m sure conditions have improved. They got a new corrections commissioner a little while ago.”
“Those are big problems that can’t be fixed overnight,” Reagan pointed out.
“At least we know what to expect,” Serenity told her. “I wanted to picture what Bernard Greenstone’s life has been like for the past twenty years.”
Serenity researched everything. That was probably what made her so good at her job. Lorelei had only read up on the prison hoping that knowledge would raise her comfort level and lower her anxiety. “Did you ever think we’d meet Greenstone when we figured out how we were related two years ago?”
“I’ve never had any desire to,” Reagan responded. “I just came to see you two.”
They’d reached the sally port, where they had to be scanned and searched, but it didn’t take long until they were allowed to go into a waiting area, after which they were bussed to the appropriate unit.
“The visitor center looks okay,” Reagan commented as they were led inside.
“After all the bad press, I’ll bet the officials would make sure of that,” Serenity said.
Lorelei didn’t add anything. One of the correctional officers had already opened the door on the other side of the room, and the inmates were filing through, hurrying over to the friends and loved ones who’d made the trek to see them.
She knew the instant she spotted a distinguished, white-haired gentleman that she was looking at “Father” Greenstone.
He seemed to realize who they were, too, because he smiled as he came toward them. “Wow. You all have the same dark hair and blue eyes. It’s uncanny how much you resemble each other.”
Lorelei had no idea what to say. Reagan and Serenity didn’t say anything, either, which surprised her. They were rarely at a loss for words.
He continued to smile even though the color had drained from Serenity and Reagan’s faces—and likely her own. Fortunately, he was courteous enough to pull his chair out an appropriate distance rather than sit too close.
Lorelei hauled in a deep breath. He was wearing a plain white T-shirt with black and white striped pants like the rest of the inmates, but he was significantly older than the others in the room.
“Thank you for seeing us,” Serenity said.
Lorelei was relieved that her sister had taken charge. She was more comfortable sitting back and watching and listening for a while.
“Of course.” He put the Bible he’d carried in with him on the table. “It’s the least I can do.”
Serenity gestured at the book. “Is there any particular reason you brought the Bible with you?”
He looked down. “I keep it with me always. It’s how I find peace in here.”
“I see.”
“I know it must seem odd to you,” he added, “but…I’ve managed to retain my faith despite my sins and my situation.”
Lorelei did find that odd, but she made no comment.
“Do you remember the women you slept with—our mothers?” Serenity asked.
He shook his head helplessly. “I’m afraid you’d have to give me something more to go on.”
Of course. There were probably more girls than just their mothers.
The Church had moved him from one parish to another before they were even born.
And it was now nearly forty years since he’d been with Serenity and Reagan’s biological mothers, and thirty-seven years since he’d been with hers.
Lorelei had been so focused on trying to find out who killed her adoptive mother that she hadn’t allowed herself to think too much about her biological one.
The need to know more about her, too, suddenly hit hard.
“The secrecy surrounding our adoptions has made it impossible for us to learn much,” Reagan explained.
What she didn’t say was that their birth mothers hadn’t yet gotten a DNA test through 23andMe or , two of the biggest companies that did that sort of thing, or the matches would’ve shown up in their profiles.
That signified, at least to Lorelei, that their mothers weren’t interested in being found, which was why she probably would never pursue it.
She needed to feel as though she might be welcome in order to do that.
“Where are you from?” he asked. “That might help jog my memory.”
“I’m the oldest, and I’m from the Bay Area,” Serenity told him.
“Your mother was eighteen,” he said.
Lorelei felt her jaw drop. She’d expected to hear excuses and lies.
“And her name?” Serenity asked.
“Laura.”
Serenity clasped her hands together so tightly Lorelei could see her knuckles whiten. “Do you remember her last name?”
“I do. But I’m afraid I can’t give you that information. It would be irresponsible of me. As harsh as that must sound—and I sincerely apologize for that and so many other things—I have to take her feelings into account. I don’t want to make what I did even worse. I hope you can understand.”
Again, Lorelei was surprised by his response. Although it wasn’t what any of them had hoped to hear, it sounded reasonable. “I suppose the same goes for my mother,” Reagan said. “I was born in Cincinnati.”
“Yes. I remember your mother, too. Her name was Liz. She was beautiful. Just like you.”
Fortunately, there was nothing suggestive about the compliment. He was acting rather fatherly—in the parent sense, not the church sense—which was disconcerting in its own way, since he was a total stranger and not someone they held a very high opinion of.
Lorelei spoke up for the first time. “I don’t know where I was born. I’m guessing Mississippi, because that’s where I was adopted by a couple named Mitch and Sarah Ryan.”
“I never met any of the adoptive parents,” he said. “I was always out of the picture by then. But if you’re the child I think you are, your real mother was named Kristina. She was only fifteen. I feel the worst about her.”
“Because…”
“She was so young,” he said as if that should be obvious. “But if it helps, you were also born in Cincinnati. They’d moved me to Mississippi by then, but your mother…she reached out to let me know she’d had a girl.”
If the reason he was being so nice was to strike up a relationship with them, it wasn’t going to work. But Lorelei felt relieved that this meeting wasn’t as adversarial as she’d feared. “So you never met my adoptive mother.”
He seemed confused that she’d ask about Sarah instead of Kristina. “No. Why do you think I might have?”
“I’m not saying you did. I just…she was murdered two years after I was born.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. “Who raised you, then?”
“I went into the foster system, and her killer has never been identified.”
His eyes widened, and he pressed a hand to his chest. “I’m guilty of abusing my position as a clergyman and of statutory rape.
Those things are bad enough. I regret what I did.
I can’t tell you how much. But I had nothing to do with anyone’s murder.
I’ve never even met this woman you’re asking about, didn’t even know her name until you mentioned it. ”
That made sense. Why would he? Lorelei had been grasping at straws, hoping one piece of the puzzle might lead to another. “You don’t think there’s any chance…my biological mother or any of her family could’ve tracked Sarah down, do you?”
“To harm her?” He shook his head. “No. They’d never do such a thing. I’m sure they were grateful you were in a good home. Giving you up meant Kristina could finish school, go on to college, build a life.”
“So who killed Sarah?” Lorelei asked. Now she was asking him to speculate, but she had so little to go on. At least he’d been involved in the situation at the time. Maybe he could tell her something that would lead to something else.
He spread out his hands. “I wish I could tell you. But just in case you still think it might’ve been me—maybe because I’m the only bad person you know in this whole mess—I can assure you it wasn’t. And I can prove it. I was in custody at the time.”
“You didn’t go to prison until after I was found,” Lorelei said. “We have a newspaper article dated after she would’ve been murdered that talks about your trial and the sentence you received.”
“But preparing for my trial took almost a full year. I was in custody that whole time.”
Which meant he couldn’t have been in Florida, murdering Sarah Ryan and dumping her body in a swamp. If he cared about the child he’d created at all, he was probably grateful someone had adopted her, and he no longer had to feel any obligation. “I see.”
“I can prove it,” he reiterated.
“I believe you,” she said.
“I’m a true crime writer,” Serenity told him, “and I plan on writing our story. What happened back then. How Lorelei, Reagan and I found each other through DNA testing. Is there any chance you’d be willing to meet with me again and tell me more about what you were thinking and feeling, and why you did what you did? ”
He hesitated. He didn’t seem too pleased with the idea, but he ultimately nodded.
“I wish I knew why I did what I did. Since I don’t, I’m not sure that what I have to say will be meaningful.
But as long as it doesn’t put any of the women I’ve already hurt in a worse position, I’ll help as much as I can. ”