Jemimah watched Laura McCabe’s hand brush against her husband’s arm. He put his hand over hers and gave it a squeeze. She had grown to like McCabe. He was what she wished her own father had been. A shiver of misery ran through her as she recalled her own lack of paternal love.
Born in Hildale, Utah, most families that Jemimah grew up around were presided over by a husband with at least two wives. Her father was a fifth generation Mormon and had three wives, the most recent being Kathryn, about Jemimah’s own age. Kathryn had not had much choice in the matter. Her father arranged the marriage at the monthly council meeting where such unions were discussed and approved. If Jemimah was still unmarried at the age of nineteen, she would be sent on a mission with young men and women her age, required to travel to another country to spread the faith. This could last eighteen months. Jemimah did not relate to her contemporaries, brainwashed into believing it was an honor to be chosen as a bride at an early age. She was single-minded and independent and wanted a career other than housewife or traveling Evangelist. She was aware it would be futile to express her desire to leave the sect, so her options were limited. Nonetheless, she continued to explore various methods to escape her perceived Mormon destiny.
As a teenager she noticed the steamy stares Mormon men directed at young girls her age and it turned her stomach. Young women she grew up with were brainwashed to be one of many wives. There were no boyfriends, no high school crushes, no flirtatious looks, no weeding out of suitors. For the most part, their blossoming youth consisted of puberty followed by a quick, sometimes stealthy marriage. She questioned the lifestyle of the particular sect her father had chosen, but knew in the long run she had no say in parental decisions. Polygamy was not something she understood.
Jemimah had been spared the trauma of groping hands and forced sex. A childhood skin condition resulted in large portions of her face and body being covered with dry scaly patches, not only painful but more importantly in this case, unattractive. Shortly after her eighteenth birthday, following years of treatment by family doctors, she was referred to a dermatologist in Las Vegas, Nevada. It was the first good thing that had ever happened to her.
The five hour trip began early in the morning. Jemimah, her birth mother, and one of the other wives climbed into the Ford station wagon. Her mother told her to take an extra change of clothes in case they had to stay overnight. Jemimah secreted two outfits in her suitcase, along with money from a savings box hidden in the top shelf of the pantry. She was certain this would be her one and only chance of escape. She refused to think about failure and what would happen if she had to return to Hildale and explain the missing money.
In Las Vegas they found the medical compound easily enough. Hannah, the other wife, dropped them off at the doctor’s office and went off to find a dry goods store to purchase bolts of cotton material. The doctor examined Jemimah and gave her a sample box of a new medicine that he said would clear up her skin within a few weeks. She and her mother returned to the waiting room to wait until the desk clerk provided them with billing and drug information. Jemimah feigned an upset stomach and claimed she had to go the women’s room, which was up another floor. Her mother intended to accompany her, but the clerk asked her to fill out insurance forms. Jemimah sighed in relief and ran up the stairs. Instead of going to the restroom, she exited through a side door, praying she would not set off the alarm system.
Outside, she ran down the steps and out into the busy street. She leaned against the exterior wall of the building, momentarily exhilarated and at the same time terrified she would not be able to pull off her escape plan. She scanned the parking lot to make sure Hannah had not yet returned to pick them up. Then she took off running. Two blocks, maybe three. She jumped on a city bus, not caring where it went. She rode for five or six blocks, asked the driver for directions, and then exited, crossed the street and took another bus to the Greyhound Bus terminal where she bought a ticket to Los Angeles.
Two hundred and fifty long miles later, she was in LA. She found her way to the women’s restroom and sliced off her waist length hair with scissors taken from the sewing basket at home. She didn’t care how she looked, as long as it changed her appearance enough so that she would not be recognized. Later that day she located a one-room efficiency apartment, and a few days later she was hired as a sandwich person in a popular deli.
At the end of two weeks, staring back at her from her bathroom mirror was a clear, clean complexion. The new prescription had worked. She had gone from a somewhat plain Jane to a beautiful young woman. Jemimah relegated her childhood to a compartment in the back of her mind and carved out her future. She figured the family had promptly ostracized her. Now, after all these years, she finally felt safe, and much too old to be of any interest to lecherous old Mormon men.
“Do you have family?” said McCabe, popping her back into the present.
“No, I don’t. Lost them a long time ago.” Jemimah pushed the rush of bitterness back.
“Well, come and visit us any time you want, dear.” Laura McCabe placed a warm hand on hers.
“I’d like that,” said Jemimah. For the first time in her life, she felt welcome.
“Okay, Jemimah, let’s get down to brass tacks here,” McCabe said. “You said you were out at the ruins, looking around, something about a tunnel. Fill me in.”
“Yes, sir,” she smiled. “Be glad to.
Yesterday I was walking around the ruins, searching the cave area on the off chance we might have missed something that might connect with your shooting. I sat down on that big boulder in the corner to tie my shoelaces.”
“Yes, I know the one,” McCabe nodded.
“Well, when I sat down, the rock seemed to shift, so I rolled it over and found it had been covering the entrance to a tunnel down below.”
“You’re kidding me,” said McCabe.
“I think you need to see it for yourself.
There was a ladder ...”
“What kind of ladder?” McCabe could not conceal his excitement. “What was it made of?”
“The ladder? It was wood, much like those Coyote ladders you see outside the trading posts on the highway. Only much older. I only went in a little ways. I thought I’d better get back and give you a call, it being your property and all.
I’d love to go back there with you and look around. Probably has nothing to do with your case but I’m intrigued.”
“Heck, it’s too late tonight. How about tomorrow, if you like? I know I won’t sleep a wink. I’d darn sure like to see what you’re describing. How about I meet you there early tomorrow morning, preferably at the crack of dawn?”
“Maybe she’s not an early riser,” laughed Laura.
“No, no. That’s perfect. I get up early to feed Mandy—my appaloosa. I’ll be there. And on another note, I was wondering if I might impose on you to help me out. Not just with your case. You may be able to give me some insight into missing person reports filed within the last six months.”
“Whatever I can do. By the way, congratulations on your new job. I didn’t realize that when you found me it would turn into a career.”
“Neither did I. It’s turning out to be more than I bargained for. There’s so much to learn. Aside from law enforcement, most of my career as a psychologist has been in private practice.”
McCabe was genuinely pleased to be asked for advice on a case. “How’s about we meet at the ruins, spend a few hours there and then have a late breakfast at the San Marcos Café?”
Laura rolled her eyes and smiled. “What’s that old saying about not being able to change the stripes on a tiger?” she said. “He’s been wanting to get his feet wet again in law enforcement. Just don’t go letting him get in too deep.”
“We’re just going to snoop around a little bit, Honey,” said McCabe. “I doubt there’s much danger in that. And you know I can’t get into trouble looking through old case files.”
“I’ll keep a close eye on him,” Jemimah winked at Laura. “Tomorrow will be just fine,” she told McCabe.
“I look forward to it,” he said, not containing his excitement.
Driving home, Jemimah thought about Rick and where their relationship was headed. She did not want it to move too fast. She wasn’t sure she liked him better than Whitney, but then again she wasn’t sure she liked Whitney at all ... well, other than his very handsome looks, his macho ways, and his concern for her welfare. She had been uneasy about dating again, particularly someone in law enforcement, and now she had two suitors who were cops. She hadn’t been on an official date with either, but she had spent time with each. Jeff Whitney was strong minded and forward. She knew exactly what he wanted and it made her blush to think about it. With Rick Romero, she had to read between the lines. He was intense where work was concerned, but warm and sensitive around her. A charismatic tenderness, and it unnerved her.
Over the last five years she had spent many hours on a therapist’s couch, delving into the difficulties she experienced after leaving her family and striking out on her own. After a whirlwind courtship in college, she married Dustin Peters, a pre-med student from Delaware.It didn’t take long to discover he was a control freak, much like her father. The marriage ended in divorce, inflicting another blow to her already damaged self-esteem. After that, she threw herself into her career, grasping for every brass ring she could reach. There were few goals she hadn’t yet accomplished; one of them was the ability to see a relationship through for more than a few months. Rick had also spoken about his failed marriage, so they each had a major relationship strike against them. Maybe that was good; they would be less likely to jump into anything without thinking. Right now she was making it impossible for them to enjoy each other’s company. She was mystified as to why he continued to pursue her. On a subconscious level, she had pushed him away every time he moved too close. Oh, who the hell was she kidding? She was pretty sure she had blown all her chances with him.
The sun was setting, bringing with it a mild drop in temperature. A chill ran through her. She was exhausted.