“United States Marshal Service.” Bible gave her one of his better smiles. “I’m Deputy Bible. This is Deputy Oliver.”
“Well.” Her arms crossed over her chest. She glanced back at Andrea. “Let me feed my cats before you take me in, please. I know I violated my restraining order. I’m not going to tack on lying to a police officer on top of everything else.”
Bible asked, “What kind of cats you got?”
Melody’s eyes narrowed, but she said, “A bushy little calico and a very talkative Siamese.”
“I gotta Siamese called Hedy,” Bible said. “My wife calls her my girlfriend because I love her so much.”
Melody looked back at Andrea, then at Bible. “You’ll have to forgive me. I thought Marshals spent their time guarding airplanes and tracking down fugitives.”
“Well, you’re only half right there, ma’am. Federal Air Marshals are part of the Transportation and Security Administration of the Department of Homeland Security. US Marshals are with the Department of Justice. Fugitive-tracking is only one of the many services we offer.” Bible smiled again. “Right now, we’re just here to talk.”
She wasn’t amused. “According to my lawyer, I shouldn’t talk to the police without calling him first.”
“Sounds like good advice.”
“Well, you’ve clearly never had to pay a legal bill.” She opened the door. “Come in. Let’s get this over with.”
As with Wexler’s farmhouse, Andrea found herself surprised by the interior of the cottage. Based on the overgrown yard and rainwater collection, she’d assumed Melody Brickel’s decorating style would lean toward quilts and spirit catchers. Instead, the woman seemed to prefer large floral patterns from the 1970s with a few anachronistic posters of the Eurythmics and the Go-Go’s doing their best to complement the explosion of color.
“My mother’s house,” Melody explained. “I moved back here four years ago when I found out Star had lost her mind. Let’s go to the back. It’s more comfortable there.”
Bible let Andrea take the lead as they followed Melody through the living room. Andrea looked down at the woman’s left ankle. Her pants were cropped. There was no silver band.
“This is Star. My Star, at least.” Melody had stopped at a series of photographs filling the short hallway. “I know what you’re thinking, but I named her after Ringo Starr. She dropped the second R in middle school. I swear I wasn’t setting her up to join a cult.”
Andrea tried not to respond to the word cult. She leaned toward the photos. She barely recognized the young girl doing all the things that young girls did in photos. Star was ghostly now, nothing like the vibrant, healthy-looking teenager who smiled so openly at the camera.
Melody said what they were all thinking. “She’s going to end up dead if she stays at that place.”
Andrea followed her through into the kitchen, which was as cluttered as Ricky’s, but in a warm and welcoming way. A large pot simmered on the stove. The smell of yeast filled the air. There was a loaf of bread baking in the oven, which made Star’s bread-making feel even more poignant.
“Tell me something,” Bible said to Melody. “I’m not asking as a Marshal, just out of curiosity. Why’d you violate your restraining order?”
“I heard about the dead girl in the field. I had to know whether or not it was Star.” Melody stopped to stir the pot on the stove. “Now you tell me, Mr. Bible, not as a Marshal but as a human being. Did that girl kill herself or did she die on her own?”
Bible asked, “What’s that mean—on her own?”
“What they’re doing is a slow suicide,” Melody said. “That I know of, two of them have already starved to death. Literally. Their bodies gave out and they died.”
Bible asked, “When was this?”
She put down the spoon. “One was three years ago. The other was last May. I won’t give you their names because there’s nothing you can do, and it would be piling onto a tragedy for you to give their grieving parents any hope.”
Bible nodded, but asked, “How do you know about the two deaths?”
“I’m part of a group of parents and family members who have lost their children to Dean Wexler. We had a website, but we were forced to take it down. Our Facebook page kept getting attacked. They even found us on the dark web. We were all doxed, sent death threats. Every penny that damn place makes is spent protecting Dean Wexler.”
Melody’s pain was so palpable that Andrea felt helpless all over again. “What about Nardo?”
“He’s never been anything more than a sick opportunist. Dean is the Charles Manson of the place.” Melody placed the lid back on the pot. “If there’s any justice in the world, he’ll die a miserable, excruciating death.”
“Life usually makes you pay for your personality,” Bible said. “Any chance you know the names of any girls who got away? Maybe they’re willing to—”
“There’s not a chance in hell,” Melody said. “Mr. Bible, I have no retirement left. I’m coasting to social security, teaching the piccolo to kindergartners, because every dime I have ever earned has gone to lawyers who could not help get my daughter out of that place. As far as I’m concerned, any girl who has the strength or courage to pull away from Dean Wexler should be left in peace.”
“I hear ya loud and clear,” Bible said. “But going back to what you said about those girls who lost their lives, I’m wondering why no one took their stories to the press?”