Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
One month later
Goldie
Georgie has been working as a housekeeper at a motel in Bozeman.
They recently offered her a job as a manager, with a place to stay included.
We’ve all come to the safe house to celebrate this news.
Curly, Wylie, Olivia, Louisa, Ellis, Jake, Ennis, Barrett, and me.
The modest kitchen is tight, but I’m happy and proud of my friends.
Louisa’s mom, Jodi, and all of Louisa’s younger siblings moved back to Wyoming. The kids are enrolled in school, and Jodi got a job and a place for them all to live, thanks to help from an organization in that state that specifically aids women and children like her.
I’m so proud of us, and of what we’ve accomplished so far. I’m hopeful things will get better because of the connections we’ve made to help the small number of people who want help.
It’s not enough, and I still haven’t found my brother. But I have hope.
Hope enough to celebrate for one night.
After polishing off two pot roasts and ten pounds of potatoes, we’re in the middle of a dessert of apple crumble when suddenly, there’s a knock on the door.
I go to answer it, but Georgie beats me to it.
“Hello,” she says, her eyes wide and wary.
I hold my breath.
Barrett stands, his shoulders stiff in case he has to jump somebody.
“Good evening, ma’am. I’m looking for an Orlyn Moffatt.”
The temperature in the room drops about twenty degrees.
“You’d better come in,” Georgie says.
After Orlyn — The Prophet — recovered from his bullet wound, the county prosecutor said that Barrett’s trail cam footage did not provide a clear enough picture to identify Orlyn as the shooter of Elder Trace. The police booked him for charges related to the incidents at Sterling Ranch, and that’s the last we heard about his case.
All eyes turn as the man on the porch walks into the house. My shoulders relax slightly, but only because he doesn’t look like a polygamist. This guy looks like a reject from a motorcycle gang: long hair, leather jacket, motorcycle boots, and tattoos on every bit of skin that shows other than his face. I’d be worried, except that he’s not wearing the uniform of men from C.O.C.K.: polo, pressed khakis, and the kind of psychotic “nice guy” smile that makes your ovaries wither away like tumbleweeds.
“Can we help you?” I ask.
“Good evening, I was given this address by the Darling Creek sheriff’s department. I was told that this was Orlyn Moffatt’s last address.”
I look at Georgie, but she can’t seem to take her eyes off the motorcycle dude.
“Who gave you this address, specifically?”
“Deputy Mark something.”
Louisa and Olivia look like they want to vomit.
Georgie remains stoic in the face of this wild turn of events. “What do you need Orlyn for?”
“Failure to appear.”
Olivia curses under her breath. Wylie slips an arm around her.
The Prophet is on the run again.
The man in the leather jacket hands over a business card to Georgie. She looks down at it and reads the name out loud. “Jefferson Hope.”
She looks back up at the man. “You’re a bounty hunter?”
Jefferson clears his throat. “Among other things. I also juggle and sing karaoke in my spare time. Shit, I don’t know why I told you that.”
Georgie smiles. “If I see him, I’ll tell him you’re looking for him.”
I exchange looks with Louisa and Olivia. We communicate volumes with our eyes.
“Sorry, I’m fucking this all up,” Jefferson says. “I meant you should call me if you see him, okay? Do not under any circumstances approach him or tell him that I’m looking for him. He’s a very dangerous man.”
“Oh, we know,” Georgie says.
Jefferson reaches out and plucks a bit of lint from her sweater.
“Are you sure there’s nothing you want to tell me?”
Georgie turns bright pink and says breathily, “M-my name’s Georgeanne Turner. If you need me, I mean, if you have any questions. I mean, I’ll call you.”
This hulking biker-type dude runs a hand through his hair and laughs awkwardly. “Okay, perfect. Sounds good.”
Georgie turns to all of us, looking at me with a grimace. “Orlyn knows about the safe house. That’s the only thing that can explain how Mark gave him this address.”
“Although,” Jefferson offers, “he’s been pretty busy lately, what with the campaign and all, so it stands to reason he gave me the wrong address by accident.”
Ellis takes a step forward, his face ashen. “What campaign?”
Jefferson scans the room, looking like he’s just encountered a crown of people living under a rock. “Well, now, I’m sure you heard. Sheriff Ogle isn’t running again, so the position is open.”
“He can’t run. He just got his officer certification months ago. Less than that,” Louisa says, her voice quavering.
I rest a hand on her back, trying to keep her calm.
Jefferson puts his hands up in surrender. “Look, I don’t know that you necessarily need certain qualifications. From what I understand, anybody can run for just about any office.”
I look at Olivia and Louisa and shake my head. “We have to focus on one problem at a time.”
“I should be going. Nice to meet you, Georgeanne.” Jefferson disappears out the door and bounds down the steps. Olivia, Louisa, Wylie, and Ellis peek through the blinds of the picture window and watch the man hop on his motorcycle and rumble away.
“Elder Mark found out about the safe house and gave the address. He knows full well that Orlyn’s not here. We have to get everyone to some other safe place,” I say.
Louisa and Olivia nod in agreement.
Georgie shakes her head. “No. I have to go back to the compound.”
All eyes turn to her. “Are you crazy?” I ask.
“Mark has his eye on all of us. He’s not going to stop following us, and he’s not going to stop helping the Prophet. If I go back to the compound?—”
“Then they win,” Olivia says sternly.
“I have too much to lose if I stay,” she says. “I put you all at risk. It’s better if I go back and play nice with Elder Mark.”
Curly steps forward. “I’ll take her. None of them have any beef with me. I’ll make sure she’s treated well.”
“How?” Wylie says, shouting.
Everyone else agrees with Wylie, and soon we’re all shouting and protesting. Curly holds up his hands.
“Now, listen. Don’t worry about Georgie. We’re all in this for the long game, right?”
Jake folds his arms across his chest. “What are you thinking of doing, Curly?”
“Don’t anybody freak out. But I’m going to take her back to her mom’s house, and then I’m going to disappear for a while.”
Ennis is the first to shout, “No way. Absolutely not.”
I look at Ennis; he is so mad he could spit nails. So could Wylie and Jake.
“I have to. It’s the best plan to take down these sonsabitches once and for all.”
“It’s suicide,” Wylie croaks.
Olivia stomps her foot. “What the hell are you all talking about?”
Curly doesn’t answer. Just levels a stoic gaze at Wylie, Jake, and Ennis. “I’m grateful for everything you all did for me. Now it’s my turn to give back.”
Louisa’s voice trembles. “Give back what?”
He winks at her. “That’s for me to know and you to find out. But a little later. Have patience.”
“You don’t have to do this, Curly,” says Barrett. My hand goes in his, and I give him a squeeze. I feel like my man is losing a friend. Those are not easy for him to come by.
“I’m going that way, anyway. Besides, I have a box of candy to drop off,” Curly says reassuringly.
Candy…
I turn to Louisa, but she’s already figured it out. “That was you? With the phone numbers in the candy wrappers?”
He winks at Louisa and then turns to Georgie. “Let me know when you’re ready, honey.”
Much to his consternation, Curly is subjected to tearful goodbye hugs from almost everyone. Only Wylie and Barrett manage to keep it together.
“I told you all. No tears,” the older man grumbles.
He shakes Barrett’s hand, and then he’s gone.
The rest of us wait on Georgie. Will she stay, or will she go?
My heart feels like it’s been ripped out of my chest.
My one constant, my rock, wraps his hand around mine. The gold band on Barrett’s finger presses into my flesh, reminding me I’m not alone.
I hate this plan.
But Louisa and Olivia trust Curly. And because they do, so do I.
I don’t know what he has planned. I don’t know how this will all work out in the end.
I just have to have faith.
I don’t know what I believe anymore. I don’t know if faith moves mountains the way I used to believe as a child. But I know that putting my trust in a mountain man paid off, and he would move heaven and earth to help us.
My husband cares about me, my friends, and my weird little community.
He’s not going to stick his head in the sand and pretend we all don’t need each other.
I need him, and so do the rest of us.