Chapter 16 #2
“It’s not accountability,” Tean said. “It’s blackmail.”
“Who would want that?” Jem said.
Quinn darted a sidelong glance at Beckett.
“No,” Beckett said.
“That’s why Tafton’s in-laws made him come,” Quinn said.
“Quinn!”
“It is—Nora’s parents are super rich. And super LDS.”
“But his wife knows he’s gay,” Jem said. “Why not divorce him?”
“Because she loves him.”
“Not enough that she didn’t go crying to her parents when she found out, though,” Beckett said.
Quinn nodded. “They’re the ones who made Tafton come. And if he screws up, they said they’d cut him off.”
“Hold on,” Jem said. “He’s here to keep his allowance?”
“There are worse reasons,” Beckett muttered.
Quinn only offered another of those soft shrugs.
Silence followed. The blush in Beckett’s cheeks was fading, and now he shivered slightly, holding himself more tightly. Quinn, still staring resolutely at the floor, flexed his toes against the tile.
With a sigh, Jem grabbed the towels from the hooks near the door. He tossed one to Quinn and the other to Beckett.
As the men wrapped themselves in the towels, Beckett said in a milder tone, “Someone really killed President Fitzpatrick?”
“Is that hard to believe?” Tean asked.
Beckett seemed to think about the question for a moment. “No, I guess not.”
“Why’s that?” Jem said.
“He was a hardass.”
“He has—” Quinn grimaced. “—had high expectations.”
“What does that mean?” Tean asked.
“It means zero margin of error for fucking up,” Beckett said. “And if you fucked up, he ripped you a new asshole.”
“But you weren’t worried about Gerald catching you?”
Beckett snorted, but Quinn’s expression was troubled.
“How did people in the group feel about Gerald?”
“They worship him,” Beckett said. “They talk shit about him, but they worship him.”
“Sounds complicated,” Jem said.
With a shrug, Beckett said, “Not so much. Kind of like a dad you can’t ever make happy. You know you shouldn’t care. You bitch about him, make fun of him, but if he says, ‘Jump,’ all you want to do is jump high enough that he’s proud of you.”
Tean tilted his head as he considered Beckett.
“That makes sense to you?” Jem asked.
“It’s a common dynamic in the church,” Tean said.
“You have to understand that church leaders have a huge presence in the members’ lives.
They’re supposed to have spiritual insight into you and your actions, as well as divine guidance.
You’re expected to follow what they tell you.
To a certain extent, you’re expected to follow without questioning, although that… varies.”
“The blue cup thing.”
“He told you about that?” Beckett said with a roll of his eyes. “Yeah, that was President Fitzpatrick.”
“What was the deal with him and Stephen?” Jem asked.
“You mean his big success story?” Beckett asked dryly.
“You don’t believe him?” Tean said.
“I mean, if it worked, then it really worked.”
“You don’t think he’s gay?” Jem asked.
“Like, not at all.”
“He might be bi,” Quinn said.
Beckett didn’t say anything, but the expression on his face told Jem what he thought about that.
“If he’s not gay,” Tean said, “then what’s he doing here?”
“He was gay,” Quinn said. “That’s the whole point. President Fitzpatrick fixed him.”
“Jesus, Quinn,” Beckett said.
“That’s not what I meant. You know what I mean. That’s why he’s different. Because Stephen was gay, and he didn’t want to be, so President Fitzpatrick helped him.”
“Have you met any other success stories?” Tean asked.
Quinn opened his mouth and then shut it again. He played with his towel. Then he said, “President Fitzpatrick has told us about a lot of guys he’s helped.”
“But you haven’t met them,” Jem said.
“They don’t come to the group anymore because they don’t need to.”
“That’s convenient.” Before Quinn could respond, though, Jem repeated Tean’s question, “If Stephen’s not gay, what’s he doing here?”
“It’s a job,” Beckett said. “He helps President Fitzpatrick with everything. Stephen’s the one who keeps things running.”
“Financially?” Tean asked.
“Everything,” Beckett said. “President Fitzpatrick handled the actual meetings, did all the talking. But anything outside of that, Stephen was in charge of.”
“What about Stephen and Brigitte?” Jem asked. The question popped out before he could think about what it meant. Or why he’d asked it.
Beckett’s gaze slid away, and the blush started in his chest again.
Quinn, however, didn’t seem to notice. “Sister Fitzpatrick isn’t really involved with us.
She comes to support President Fitzpatrick, and it’s important for us to see them model a healthy relationship, and for us to interact with women in positive ways.
But she doesn’t do any of the actual work with us. ”
“But there’s something,” Jem said. When Beckett still wouldn’t look at him, Jem said, “Beckett?”
The blond man hesitated for a moment. Then his face smoothed out, and he said, “Like Quinn said. She’s not involved.”
Jem considered pressing the question. Instead, he asked, “Did anyone in the group have a problem with Gerald?”
“Did anyone want to kill him, you mean?”
“More like, did he get in an argument with anyone? Did he seem upset recently? Did anybody in the group start acting differently?”
Quinn gave Beckett another of those sidelong glances. Beckett stared straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge it.
“He and Tafton had an interview yesterday,” Quinn said.
Beckett began shaking his head.
“It might be important,” Quinn said.
“Tafton didn’t kill anybody,” Beckett said.
“Why not?” Jem said.
“Because he’s a giant baby.”
But Quinn was biting his lip.
“You don’t agree?” Jem asked.
“He was really angry,” Quinn said. “You didn’t hear them. They were shouting.” But then he corrected himself: “Tafton was shouting.”
“What were they shouting about?” Tean asked.
Quinn shook his head. “I don’t know, but it was bad. Tafton pretty much shut down for the rest of the day, and President Fitzpatrick was pissed off, even though he tried to act like he wasn’t.”
“Tafton didn’t tell you what it was about?”
“What do you think it was about?” Beckett said. “Tafton is an idiot.”
“In what way?”
“Our first night here, he was bragging he found a privacy browser. You know, an app. No filters, and Stripling couldn’t track it.”
“It’s strike three,” Quinn said miserably. When Jem raised his eyebrows, he continued, “He’s tried this before. The first time, he was messaging this waiter at the resort we were staying at. President Fitzpatrick lit him up, but Tafton promised it was just a slip. The next time, it was porn.”
“He put it on the TV in our next meeting,” Beckett said. “Made us watch.”
“And sent it to Tafton’s in-laws?” Tean asked.
Quinn nodded.
“Hence,” Beckett said, “strike three.”
“So, you think he got caught,” Jem said, “and Gerald was going to tell Nora’s family again?”
Quinn and Beckett exchanged another look, but neither of them said anything.
“The problem with that,” Jem said, “is he was with Aiden, Dean, and Sawyer last night. So, he’s got an alibi. Nora, too, if that’s your next guess. She was with Mckell at the theater.”
Beckett pursed his mouth. Quinn rubbed the back of his neck.
“What is it?” Tean said.
To Jem’s surprise, it was Quinn who spoke—voice low, head down, words aimed at the floor. “Tafton wasn’t with Aiden and Dean.”
“Yes, he was,” Tean said. “They all said he was.”
But Jem said, “Where was he?”
“I saw him when I went to get ice,” Quinn said, his gaze coming up to meet Jem’s. “He was going somewhere with Stephen.”