Finding a parking space proved difficult. I ended up near the hospital and had to walk several blocks to the Redding city offices. Along the way, I encountered a surprising number of citizens gathered in small groups and hanging around the entrances to the coffeehouses and restaurants and bars; about ten percent of them wore masks. There were City of Redding police officers and county sheriff’s deputies, too, a few chatting with the citizens while others stood apart and watched. Their voices were muffled in some cases, subdued in others. No one was shouting, no one was cursing; no one sounded angry. The loudest sound I heard as I made my way down Main Street was nervous laughter. It was as if everyone was waiting for something to happen.
The atmosphere was much the same inside the ancient brick buildings that hosted the city offices, although the number of people tightly gathered in the enclosed area increased the volume. Plus, there were signs and placards. Most supported RAH, yet a few suggested to me that the Sons of Europa had its followers as well.
RACISM IS NOT WELCOME HERE was met with ALL ARE WELCOME HERE.
SAY NO TO HATE SPEECH was held across the corridor from THE FIRST AMENDMENT IS FOR EVERYONE.
My favorite sign was written in crayon on cardboard and held aloft by a kid who looked like she should be at home studying for tomorrow’s geography quiz—LIFE IS TOO SHORT FOR THIS ****.
Whatever this **** is, my inner voice added.
Some people had already claimed seats inside the city council chambers, yet most had remained in the corridor outside the entrance while waiting for the meeting to commence. About half the audience refused to wear masks despite the government edict. Eden and Alex Redding were among those that did. Eden seemed to be giving a speech, or at least a pep talk, to a dozen people who all leaned in close to hear what she was saying while Alex smiled like a proud parent.
On the other side of the corridor, I saw a maskless Conrad Fredgaard speaking to a smaller knot of people that included Brian Hermes, the kid with the flyers. Heimdall was nowhere to be seen. However, two men who I branded as bodyguards stood behind Fredgaard, although the way they moved suggested to me that instead of hiring professionals, the lawspeaker had simply picked the two biggest guys in his haus and hoped for the best.
What caught my attention and held it, though, was the woman who was hanging on to Fredgaard’s arm. She was in her early thirties, tall and slender with the blondest hair and bluest eyes I had ever seen; her eyes were even bluer than Nina’s, which I didn’t think was physically possible. She wore a plaid knee-length dress, black high-heel boots, and a pouting expression, and I thought, my goodness, Fredgaard, in what Nordic prop shop did you find her?
My attention was wrenched away, however, by a woman’s giddy laughter. I turned my head just in time to see Big Ben Redding sweep a woman half his size off the floor. He held her in his arms as if he was presenting her as a gift; she wrapped her arms around his neck as if she didn’t want to be let go. Olivia shook her head at the two of them and gestured at the floor. Big Ben released the woman and, once standing on her own two feet, both she and Olivia hugged. That’s when I recognized the woman—Veronica Bickner, who was the office administrator and principal of Boeve Luxury, a Development Company.
“Pathetic, isn’t it?” Anna Redding said.
I flinched at the sound of her voice; surrounded by people and noise she still managed to startle me.
“I didn’t see you there,” I said.
“No one sees me there.” Anna pointed in the general direction of Big Ben. “I find this incomprehensible.” She spoke as if she didn’t care to hear my opinion; only wished to voice hers. I gave it to her, anyway.
“To the untrained eye, they look like people who are happy to see each other,” I said.
“Given the distressing circumstances that prompted this gathering, I would suggest that their behavior is indiscreet to say the least, never mind that the story of Big Ben and the small-town girl he left behind, that he keeps leaving behind, is a tale best played out in private.”
“Girl he left behind?” I asked.
“Repeatedly.”
“Ms. Redding—”
“Dr. Redding.”
“Dr. Redding, would you please explain?”
You know you want to, my inner voice added.
“They were together all through puberty and high school or are those two events interchangeable?” Anna asked. “Ronnie gave him her virginity the night of their senior prom, in the castle no less, or so rumor has it. Ben moved on afterward, of course he did, moved on to the cheerleader of all people, leaving Ronnie alone and heartbroken. She actually worked at the castle for a time, hoping, I’m convinced, that Ben would come back to her. She purchased an inexpensive bungalow about a half mile from the castle, not actually located on the lake, yet near it, on the wrong side of the street, possibly for the same reason.
“McKenzie, when you’re a woman living in a small town, back in the early eighties at least, you did one of two things after you were graduated. You either left to go to college or you stayed and became married. Ronnie eventually married Dave Bickner, who was the son of the man who owned the lumberyard and the second-most-eligible bachelor in Redding after my brother. She was quite lovely in those days.”
“Still is,” I said.
“Possibly. For twenty-five years she and Dave sustained an unremarkable and childless union; him working at and eventually inheriting the lumberyard; her helping out in between classes at Mankato State University where she attended part- time. That is, until ten years ago, when she abruptly sued Dave for divorce. A small town, McKenzie, yet no one saw it coming. Instead of spousal support, Veronica demanded a onetime lump sum payment for her years of marital servitude that she immediately invested in the development company founded by her niece, becoming an active junior partner.”
“You’re talking about the company that wants to buy Redding Castle. Which means Veronica has as much at stake in tomorrow’s vote as anyone.”
“More, I would think.”
“Why more?”
Anna took on the stern air of a teacher exasperated by a dull student.
“Have you not been listening to me?” she asked.
It took a few beats before I replied—“The girl Ben keeps leaving behind.”
“Exactly. Ben and Ronnie’s liaison has continued down through the decades. Ben comes home, he spends time with her; he leaves. She seems satisfied by this arrangement. I cannot imagine why. I would find it unfulfilling if not disrespectful. In any case, if the Sibs vote to sell Redding Castle, Ben will no longer have a home here to come back to, will he? Ronnie will at last be forced to say good-bye to him finally and forever. Poor thing.”
Yeah, I can tell you’re brokenhearted at the prospect.
“Do you think Olivia is aware of their relationship?” I asked aloud.
“Yes, McKenzie, I believe Livy is aware.”
I glanced at the two women. Olivia and Veronica were behaving as if they were the ones who had been classmates back in the day.
“If that’s true, then Olivia is a very open-minded woman,” I said.
“I often ridicule her because she deserves it, yet time and experience has proven to me that she is both shrewd and endowed with strength of character. For all of his outsized charisma, do you honestly believe Ben is capable of building and maintaining a company as successful as Ben’s Beez Honey? It has taken the two of them together. Right brain and left brain. I’ll leave it to you to decide which is which. In any case, I believe their business partnership has precedence over their personal relationship.”
“I was told that you continue to resent the fact that Olivia married your brother; that you’re jealous of their business success; that it was you who kept them from using Redding Castle as the name and trademark for their company. ’Course, that’s none of my business.”
“Spoken like a pulp-fiction detective, McKenzie. And yes, it’s none of your business. Excuse me.”
I watched as Anna started to merge with the surrounding throng of people. She managed to take half a dozen steps before turning back to face me.
“I love my brothers and sisters,” she said. “I celebrate their every achievement.”
She spun around once more and walked away.
“What was that about?” Barbara Finne wanted to know.
I was startled again.
“I wish people would stop sneaking up on me,” I said.
Barbara’s response was to gesture more or less in the direction that Anna had gone.
“The Redding siblings are in conflict,” I said.
“Are you still on the clock, McKenzie?”
“I am.”
“So I can’t ask any questions on the record.”
“I wish you wouldn’t.”
“How ’bout deep background?”
“You’re assuming I know something worth talking about. I really don’t.”
“You know that the Reddings are in conflict.”
“I don’t think that’s news.”
“Now that’s news,” Barbara said.
“What?”
Barbara pointed at the entrance to the city council chambers where Chief Deidre Gardner in her perfect blue uniform was talking to a man who seemed as round as he was tall and who was wearing a white and brown uniform that resembled a basket of unfolded laundry. The badge he wore actually had his name embossed on it.
“The chief and the sheriff speaking in a civil manner,” she said. “Let me get my camera.”
Barbara wasn’t kidding. She dipped into the bag draped over her shoulder, produced an electronic camera, and took a couple of pics.
“I’m told that he insists on calling her Dee Dee,” I said.
“She calls him ‘Doogie.’ His real name is Doug Housman.”
“They don’t get along, I take it.”
“That’s because Doogie is prejudiced against women and Dee Dee is prejudiced against incompetence.” Barbara returned the camera to her bag. “He’s a lousy sheriff, yet a great politician.”
“Looking at him, I assume the sheriff’s department doesn’t have any physical fitness requirements.”
“It does—for everyone but Doogie.”
“It’s good to be king.”
“McKenzie, have you spoken to Conrad Fredgaard?”
“I was present when Chief Gardner spoke with Conrad Fredgaard, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Did he deny having anything to do with the cross?”
“No.”
“He wouldn’t deny it when I spoke with him, either,” Barbara said.
“His followers want him to have done it; if he denies it they’ll be displeased. Everyone else wants him to have done it, too, only if he admits it, they’ll put him away. There is power in silence.”
“My impression is that he’s waiting to take his spot at center stage.”
“There’s that, too.”
“Here we go.”
The crowd began to filter into the city council chambers. Barbara and I were caught in the rush. The blonde I had seen earlier brushed past me, pulling Conrad Fredgaard by his hand.
“This way, Daddy,” she said.
They pushed their way to the front of the crowd. Barbara glanced at me.
“Daddy?” she asked.
“I think it’s an honorary title,” I told her.
There were seats for about eighty people divided in two sections; the rest of us stood along the walls; again, only about ten percent wore masks. A microphone was mounted on a stand in the empty aisle between the two sections. Eden and Alex Redding stood close enough to the microphone that they could reach it in a hurry. Big Ben, Olivia, and Veronica Bickner had found seats in the back. Anna Redding was seated near the back door.
The family that sits together … my inner voice said.
At the front of the chambers was a long table that curved inward. Mayor Matthew Abere sat at the center of the table. I knew it was him because of the engraved sign he was sitting behind. On his right was Brianne Halvorson, whose name I recognized from a newspaper article that Barbara Finne had sent me. On his left was Cassandra Boeve. There were two other council members and at the end of the table was a man whose sign identified him only as CITY ATTORNEY. Three people working video cameras moved among the crowd. Two of the cameras were pointed at the council members; the third at the audience. My impression was that the proceedings were being broadcast live on a public access cable channel.
All of the government employees wore masks except when they spoke, which I thought kind of defeated the purpose.
Mayor Abere used a wooden gavel to call the meeting to order.
“We all know why we’re here,” he said after he removed his mask. “To discuss the incident that occurred at Redding Castle, a place that is dear to all of our hearts. But please, please let us be civil to each other, I beg you.”
He wanted to say more, only Councilwoman Halvorson interrupted.
“I would like to say that the City of Redding condemns all racism and all hate speech in all of its hideous forms now and forever,” she said.
Some members of the audience applauded. Abere glared at her as if to ask, “Are you done now?”
She wasn’t.
“I would like to hear from Chief of Police Deidre Gardner,” Halvorson said. “Chief, what can you tell us?”
The chief rose from her seat and moved to the microphone. I knew her well enough to read her body language; she clearly didn’t want to be there. Yet she stood straight and spoke confidently.
“Officers of the Redding City Police Department responded to a 911 call made from Redding Castle at one thirty-four this morning,” she said. “A wooden cross had been set on fire in the clearing behind the castle. By the time my officers arrived, however, the cross had been cut down and the flames extinguished by members of the castle’s staff. My officers secured the scene and we have been gathering evidence and conducting interviews ever since. Beyond that, I can only tell you that at the present time our investigation is ongoing.”
“Bullshit.”
The obscenity came from a woman at the far side of the room who was sitting directly in front of Eden Redding. Most of the people in the chambers turned to look at her. The chief did not.
“Watch your language; we’re on TV,” Cassandra Boeve said. “Children might hear.”
She was ignored.
“Why the hell won’t you tell us the truth?” the first woman asked. “Why won’t you tell us that there was an eyewitness; that the witness saw a member of the Sons of Europa set fire to the cross?”
“Chief?” Councilwoman Halvorson asked. “Is that true?”
“It would be improper for me to comment on an ongoing investigation,” Chief Gardner said. “I’m sure the city attorney would agree.”
The city attorney didn’t reply. He looked as if wished he was anyplace other than where he was.
“If you know who did this, why don’t you say so?” someone else yelled.
“Chief, if you know something…”
“It would be improper…”
“Sheriff Housman,” Mayor Abere said. “What can you tell us?”
The sheriff rose from his seat as if he expected to hear applause. He did not move to the microphone, but turned to the crowd and spoke in a voice meant for a baseball stadium and not a small room.
“Dee Dee has refused to allow me access to the investigation,” he said. “She claims”—he quoted the air—“that it is her job.”
“The City of Redding has jurisdiction,” the chief said.
“This thing is too big for you.”
The chief refused to reply.
“Did you hear me?” the sheriff asked. “I should be in charge here.”
“What about that?” Mayor Abere asked.
“It is the city’s jurisdiction,” the chief repeated.
“But you’re not doing anything?” someone yelled.
“Our investigation is ongoing.”
“I think we need to have a vote right here and now,” said Councilwoman Halvorson. “A vote of no confidence in Chief Gardner.”
There was a murmur of approval.
“That’s not necessary, is it?” Cassandra Boeve asked.
“I think it is,” Halvorson replied.
More murmurs.
“Councilwoman Halvorson,” the chief said. “It is this council’s privilege to dismiss me anytime it likes. But know this, I will not be bullied into committing an illegal or unethical act. I have too much respect for the badge I wear and the city that gave it to me. It is the reason why I have carried a signed but undated letter of resignation in my pocket since the day I was sworn in. Tell me—does anyone here, anyone, believe that they are more outraged by this crime than I am? Does anyone here believe that they want to see justice done more than me? Anyone? Our investigation is ongoing. When it is completed, I will present all evidence to the city and county attorneys and to no one else. Are there any other questions?”
There weren’t.
“Thank you,” the chief said. She sat down and stared straight ahead. Her hands were clenched; her fingernails digging into her palms. Anyone else would believe that she was furious. I knew that she was working hard to keep from laughing.
The room quickly returned to the business at hand—calling each other names. Eden Redding began the proceedings.
“We have no words that can possibly express our outrage at the Sons of Europa’s unquestionable embrace of racism, of pure bigotry,” she said. “There are no words that can adequately state our anger over the fact that our ancestral home of Redding Castle was made a victim of their hate.”
Others chimed in.
“You can’t just bar people from practicing whatever religion they want or saying anything they want as long as it doesn’t incite violence.”
“A burning cross is violence.”
“The community should be open-minded and respectful to all.”
“A whites-only religion? That’s what they’re preaching? Puh-leez.”
“I for one don’t see a problem with it.”
“White separatism is white supremacy, there’s no two ways about it.”
“RAH, RAH, RAH—they call themselves Redding Against Hate, but they’re the ones who are being hateful. They’re the one calling people names, not the Sons of Europa.”
“They’re just repeating what their so-called ancestors said—white is right.”
“This is hurting our hearts and the so-called anti-hate group is to blame.”
“Don’t forget, the Sons held a food drive during the pandemic.”
“White supremacists with great PR.”
Finally, Conrad Fredgaard rose from his seat and strolled slowly to the microphone. The way the blue-eyed blonde stared at him, her hands clasped together beneath her chin, you’d think she was expecting him to announce that he loved her more than life itself and they were moving to Aruba. The chamber grew quiet. A cameraman moved in for a close up.
“I am Conrad Fredgaard, lawspeaker for the Sons of Europa Tyr Haus. This council knows me. You citizens of Redding know me. We have been here before, labeled as racist, condemned as evil, simply because we have chosen to honor and respect the culture and ethnicity of our Northern European ancestors. Yet we have not committed a single act or voiced a single opinion to invite these insults and condemnations. A cross was burned at Redding Castle. It was a disgusting, despicable, heinous crime. A false flag act committed by those who seek to vilify and slander our name simply because we wish to gather together and celebrate as the descendants of Anglo-Saxons, of Lombards and Goths, and of Vikings, a name this great state has chosen to bestow on its professional football team. Yet we will not point fingers. We will let you decide among yourselves who has the most to gain by burning that cross, by attempting to stop us from preserving the heritage, and the customs, and the bloodlines of our forefathers.”
There was a murmur at the word “bloodlines.”
Barbara leaned close to me.
“He didn’t deny it—again,” she said.
“I noticed.”
“You’re white supremacists,” Eden Redding said.
“That is not true, Ms. Redding,” Fredgaard replied. “We are not white supremacists. We are white separatists. There is a difference. We do not hate others. We do not place ourselves above anyone or any group or any religion. We support Black Lives Matter. We abhor the violence inflicted on Asian-Americans and the lie that they are somehow responsible for the coronavirus. We applaud the hashtag MeToo movement. At the same time, we do not ask you to support us. We ask only that we be left alone to worship our gods and practice our religion as we see fit. We seek only to preserve our white heritage. We want our white children to grow up to be mothers and fathers of white children of their own. We wish to protect white people from the threat of extinction.”
Fredgaard turned and looked directly at the woman who had called him “Daddy.” Many people in the audience did the same.
“We want a thousand years from now, ten thousand years, a hundred thousand years from now, for there to be white people with blond hair and blue eyes walking among us,” he said.
For a moment, there wasn’t a word uttered by anyone in the chamber. Finally, the young girl I had seen earlier holding the LIFE IS TOO SHORT FOR THIS **** sign bowed her head.
“Sweet Jesus,” she said.
“That was exciting,” I said.
Chief Gardner leaned back in her chair and swiveled it about while she gazed at the ceiling of her office.
“The Sons are all about preserving blue-eyed blonds,” she said. “Who knew?”
“They are an endangered species.”
“I remember reading a sci-fi novel when I was a kid—The Lathe of Heaven by Ursula K. Le Guin. In it there was this guy who could change reality with his dreams and one night he eliminated racism by dreaming everyone gray.”
“Light gray or dark gray?”
“Light gray.”
“Well.”
“Maybe Fredgaard read it when he was a kid, too, and it messed him up. Now he’s terrified of turning gray.”
“Dee, do you really have an undated letter of resignation in your pocket?”
She laughed at the question.
“I suppose I should write one in case somebody demands to see it. Do you have anything for me?”
“No. If our cross burner was there tonight, he kept his ID to himself.”
“McKenzie, do you think Fredgaard was telling the truth; that it was a false flag operation?”
“’Course it was. The question is—whose flag? I thought burning a cross in the castle’s backyard was a dumb move; only seeing Fredgaard in action tonight—you might argue that the Sons did it so they could proclaim their innocence, condemn their foes, and extol their religion in front of the city council and a live audience, not to mention public access TV; maybe generate a little sympathy and support for his church. Good PR, baby.”
“I’m so tired that actually makes sense to me.”
The chief and I walked out of the Redding city offices together. The streets were quiet.
“No fires,” I said. “No protestors overturning cars or looting businesses. Apparently, cooler heads have prevailed.”
“Thursday night in Redding. It’s ten P.M. Do you know where your children are?”
“In the woods cooking meth?” I asked.
“Ah, Mr. Doty. I was wondering if he could be a supporter of the Sons of Europa. Or an actual member. Or if he just likes burning crosses.”
“So was I. He wasn’t there tonight, though, if that matters.”
“’Course, he could be a legit guy who’s just worried about kids cooking meth in the woods.”
“Aren’t we all?”
Behind us a door closed. There was the sound of footsteps and a voice.
“Chief.”
We turned to see Barbara Finne moving toward us.
“Girl, don’t you ever go home?” the chief asked.
“Don’t you?”
“I am home. It’s right where I’m standing. I’m thinking of getting a lounge chair.”
“Somehow I can’t picture you sitting in a lounge chair.”
“What? Black people can’t lounge?”
“About that.”
“Forget it, Barbie. I have nothing to say to the press.”
Barbara slipped her bag off her shoulder and thrust it at me.
“Hold this,” she said.
I did.
Barbara wrapped her arms around Chief Gardner and hugged her tight.
Ten seconds later, she released the chief and took back her bag.
“Thank you,” Chief Gardner said.
“Wait ’til you read what I have to say about Doogie and the city council; you’ll thank me even more. Good night, Chief. Good night, McKenzie.”
We watched as Barbara walked up the street and disappeared around a corner.
“I don’t know why she did that,” the chief said.
“It’s just a guess, Dee, but she must think you’re pretty good copy.”
The chief went her way and I went mine with the promise that we would talk soon. I headed up Main Street. Not for the first time, I was impressed by how quiet it was. I could actually hear the conversations of people I couldn’t even see, although I was unable to understand what they were saying. A pair of voices became more distinct, though, as I approached the intersection with Second Avenue. Two women.
“Where’s Ben?” one asked.
I stopped in my tracks.
“Where do you think?” the second answered. “Do you believe we drove separately by accident?”
“I, for one, am glad you did.”
I hugged the redbrick wall of a building, hiding myself in the shadow I found there. The voices sounded like they were coming from right around the corner.
“My aunt, though,” the first woman said. “I love her so much. I doubt I’d even have my business if it wasn’t for Ronnie, but my God, what is wrong with her?”
“Ben. He’s like an addiction. Trust me, I know.”
“But you’re over him.”
“I am.”
“Now if we can only get my aunt to go cold turkey.”
“After the vote tomorrow.”
“Ben promised Ronnie that he would vote to sell the castle to us.”
“I don’t believe him. He’s just saying that to make her happy while he’s in Redding. It won’t matter, though. Carly, Marian, and Alexander will carry the vote.”
“You’re sure?”
“As sure as I can be. Still, you need to make a wow presentation to guarantee Mari and Ed. Good enough so they’ll feel justified in turning against Jenness; so good they’ll be convinced they don’t have a choice.”
“I was heading to my office to work on it when I saw you.”
“Did I distract you?”
“A little bit.”
“Well, now it’s time for you to get back to work, young lady.”
“You could come with me.”
“Work not play.”
“Livy…”
Livy? my inner voice asked. You get to call her Livy?
“Livy, you really wouldn’t mind moving to Redding, would you?”
“It’s not where you live; it’s whom you’re living with that matters.”
They stopped talking. I pushed myself away from the building and walked a half block back down the sidewalk as quietly as possible. I gave it a half beat and resumed walking forward again, this time as noisily as possible. I even started to whistle “Summertime.”
The voices remained silent.
I crossed Second Avenue, fighting my curiosity with all my might; keeping myself from even glancing down the street toward Boeve’s office.
A couple of blocks later, I found my Mustang. I started it up, and drove down Main Street. I slowed as I crossed Second Avenue; looking intently. The street was empty.
While I was driving to the castle, my cell phone pinged the arrival of a text message. I read it off the display on my dashboard.
“The bar is open.”
I found Nina sitting at a small table on the patio of Redding Castle. Her eyes were closed and she seemed to be listening to the music being piped over the invisible speakers, a Canadian songbird named Emilie-Claire Barlow singing “Dream a Little Dream of Me” in French.
There were two glasses on the table, a wineglass and a squat glass filled with a dusky-colored liquid. I sat at the table. Nina seemed to know I was there without opening her eyes.
“The Dracula wine is mine,” she said. “I ordered you some Knob Creek smoked maple bourbon.”
“You are my favorite person in the entire world, thank you.”
“She’s very good.”
“Hmm?”
“Emilie-Claire. She’s a very good singer. I wonder if I can book her. Hey, I saw you on TV.”
“How’d I look?”
“Engrossed.”
“I was waiting for someone to jump up and scream, ‘yes I did it, I burned that cross and I’m glad, do you hear, ah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha.’ Imagine my disappointment.”
“Probably it would have been better if someone had.”
“Oh?”
“Things have taken a turn.”
“In what way?” I asked.
“Jenness and I and some of the staff were watching cable access while we were taking care of business. Apparently, we weren’t the only ones because right after the council meeting broke up the phone started ringing. At least a half-dozen people canceled their dinner reservations.”
“Let me guess, Conrad Fredgaard’s line about letting the viewers decide who had the most to gain by burning that cross resonated with some folks.”
“It kind of threw Jenness. Now she’s wondering what tomorrow might bring.”
“Me, too.”
“This trip hasn’t turned out to be much of a vacation, has it?”
“You’re not having fun?”
“Whatever happens tomorrow,” Nina said, “one more sunset and we’re out of here. Deal?”
“Deal.”