Page 23 of The Girl and the Lies

“It is,” I agree. “What else have you heard about the murder?”

She leans against the counter. “He worked for that Tracy Ellis woman. That’s probably why someone went after him.”

The comment piques my interest. “Why do you say that?”

“Haven’t you ever listened to her? To the people who admire her and think like her, she’s some sort of modern-day saint, but for everybody else, she’s a nightmare. I’ve watched her videos a few times just to try to see the draw. I don’t get it. Not many people can get that riled up and spew that much hate in the name of faith. I always grew up thinking that church and religion were supposed to be about loving each other and trying to help each other get through life the best they could. She’s nothing like that. At least not unless you’re one of the tiny population of people she thinks are of any good in life. Or one who wants to be like that. She makes a lot of people very angry with the things she says,” Lisa says.

“She’s local to the area,” I say. “Right?”

Lisa nods. “I’m actually surprised with how popular she’s gotten that she’s stayed around here. We’re not exactly a small town, but I would think that she would be more interested in being in a big city where she could get even more attention.”

“I think that being able to say she’s from a place like this is part of the persona,” I say. “She wants to seem down-to-earth and approachable to everyone rather than like a member of the elite. Have you ever interacted with her?”

“She’s come in here,” Lisa confirms. “She recorded almost the whole time, but when she didn’t have her phone pointed at herself, she was a totally different person. Like you said, she was talking into the camera like she comes in here all the time and is just a good ol’ hometown girl. But then when she wasn’t recording, she was rude and dismissive of everyone working here. She greeted a few people who were here and had that big, fake smile, but then her bodyguard started shooing people away from her, and she left without saying anything.”

Lisa leaves me to eat my lunch, but I’m still thinking about her assessment of Tracy Ellis as I pay and leave. It seems the woman’s reputation for being divisive and controversial is very accurate, which only means the list of potential suspects just keeps getting longer.

When it’s time to meet with Ander Ward, I drive through a quiet neighborhood of beautifully kept homes on lush lawns that make me thirsty just thinking of all the water needed to keep them that green. I bring my notepad and file of notes with me as I climb the stone steps onto their front porch and ring the bell.

Ander has changed out of his suit and into more casual clothes when he comes to the door to let me in.

“Agent Griffin,” he says. “Come in.”

“Thank you,” I say. “And thank you, again, for letting me come to your home to talk to you.”

“Absolutely,” he says. “My wife is waiting in the living room. Can I get you something to drink?”

“No, thanks, I’m fine,” I say as I follow him through the front of the house to the living room.

There’s a pretty blond woman sitting on the couch when I walk in, and Ander gestures at her.

“This is my wife, Sabrina,” he says.

I hold my hand out to shake hers. “Agent Emma Griffin.”

“Glad to meet you,” she says.

“Please sit down and make yourself comfortable. I’m going to get some lemonade,” Ander says.

There’s a much more comfortable air about him now than there was at the office. He’s at ease now that he’s out of his suit and in his home, away from the pressures of work. I sit down on a cushy recliner and set my bag at my feet.

“I couldn’t believe it when Ander said an FBI agent was coming over to talk about what’s been going on,” Sabrina says. “I just hate that it had to come to someone being murdered for these threats to be noticed.”

“Has Ander been getting them for long?” I ask.

“For a few weeks,” he tells me, coming back into the room with a tray holding a pitcher of lemonade and three glasses.

He fills a glass and hands it to Sabrina, then fills one for himself, leaving mine empty but sitting there in case I change my mind about wanting a drink while we’re talking. He sits down on the couch beside his wife and rests a hand on her thigh, giving her a thoughtful gaze.

“But to be honest, I didn’t really think about them at first because I’ve seen so much hate mail going to Tracy,” he says. “Being her bodyguard is nothing short of interesting.”

“What is it like?” I ask, urging him to elaborate. “Tell me about working for her.”

“I started about five years ago just as one of her lower-level security guards. I was one of the people who hung around the office building in case something happened and went to events and appearances, but I was stationed around the perimeter, not actually with her. It seemed like pretty much any other security job. I’d done some other security work before, and this didn’t seem much different other than the types of events I’d gone to.

“To be honest, I barely even knew who Tracy Ellis was when I applied for the job. I just needed work, and there was an opening for security. When I met with the staffing director, she asked me all sorts of questions about the things that Tracy teaches and how I felt about her mission. I was honest and said I didn’t know much about it but that I would be willing to learn if that was important to the position. I was willing to say just about anything to land the job,” he says.

“And did you learn about it?” I ask.

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