“No,” I replied confidently. “Your parents never told her.”
Nodding, Reaper rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay, I get Denton, Reynolds, and Pavlov, but what do they have to do with my Grandfather and this club?”
Sighing, I got up and poured myself a cup of coffee. “That’s what we’re trying to figure out. All we have are pieces, but we can’t figure out how they connect. This shit show started with your grandfather. If we can figure out how it all connects, then maybe we can set this club straight for good.”
Reaper said nothing more as he walked over to the far wall where a painting hung. The image was much to look at, just some scenic picture of the mountains, but when Reaper moved it to the side, that painting seemed more interesting.
Behind the painting was a wall safe. I’d been in this office since I was a young boy, and never once did I see that safe before. Saying nothing, Reaper entered the lock combination and opened the safe, reaching in for something. He turned and placed an old black and white photo of seven men sitting on their hogs. Looking at the picture, I could immediately pick out Reaper’s grandfather as he was in the middle of the group. He was young, unlike what I remembered, but the others were a mystery to me.
“Holy fuck! Is that Andrew Peterson,” Phantom gasped, pointing to the last man on the left in the picture.
“Who is Andrew Peterson?” I asked, taking a closer look.
Phantom was furiously typing on her laptop. As she spoke, she turned on the television she installed a few months. Pictures of Andrew Peterson filled the screen as she began to talk. “Andrew Peterson, born March 3rd, 1938 in Mobile, Alabama to Margaret Wells and Phillip Peterson. Born and raised in the church, the Peterson family was prominent in the religious community. In the mid-fifties, Phillip Peterson started traveling, preaching God’s word, taking the family with him. He had a big following and, over the years, became well known in the political arena, preaching about Christian beliefs and the sanctity of marriage.
“Now his son Andrew was another story. He fell in with some hippies while attending college in the late sixties early seventies, preaching the ‘make love not war’crap. Still, when his father suddenly died, Andrew forgot about his Birkenstocks and donned a suit and picked up where his father left off, only Andrew was more specific in his teachings, mainly preaching about only the pure will inherit the earth.”
“So, he is a racist fucker. What does he have to do with my grandfather?” Reaper asked as he leaned back in his chair.
“That’s the million-dollar question, but does this person look familiar?” Phantom said, putting a new picture up on the screen.
I leaned forward, recognizing the guy immediately. “That’s Samuel Peterson, the televangelist.”
“Exactly, and he is the only son of Andrew Peterson. When Andrew suddenly died of a heart attack in 2005, Samuel took over the business. Now, if you thought Andrew was racist, well, Samuel is in a whole new league. He preaches about purity, one world order, the rise of the Arian race. Hell, the man has preached on the Capitol steps about segregation of races for moral purity. But what I think you will find interesting is that Samuel, Darrin, and Jeffery all grew up in the same neighborhood in Virginia. They were schoolboy friends.”
“So, they know each other. That doesn’t mean anything,” I sighed, leaning back, rubbing the back of my neck. The more I dug into this mystery, the more questions I had. None of this was making sense. I needed something to bring it all together.
Getting to my feet, I paced the room while everyone else continued to look at the files for any kind of connection. As the hours ticked by, Reaper walked over to me. “You need to sleep. This isn’t going to solve itself tonight.”
“I’m close, Reaper. I know I am. I can feel it.”
“Go to bed. Go kiss your daughter good night, and sleep.”
“She isn’t here.”
Reaper paused, then sighed. “And where is my niece?”
“On a plane with your mother, heading far away from this mess.”
“What did you do?” Reaper seethed.
“What I had to.”
“We could have kept her safe here.”
“Really?” I stopped and looked at the man who’d been my best friend for as long as I could remember. “And how did that work out for Mia?”
Reaper hauled off and punched me square in the face. I stumbled back, hitting the wall. Bracing myself for more, I didn’t move, knowing I was over the line. I shouldn’t have said that to him. I knew he was already feeling guilty for his sister’s death, but to rub it in his face was uncalled for.
Instead of hitting me again, Reaper shouted, “Get the fuck out of here and go sleep it off.”
I did just that.
Four
Ghost
“Sir?”