Bad Hair Day 4 - Body Wave (14 page)

*Chapter Fourteen*
Ministry of Hope stood in the glaring afternoon sun like a concrete bunker in the middle of farm country. The Tarpon Springs headquarters for Jeremiah Dooley's organization consisted of a square tan building with a single door in front and a second level that led to a tiered structure of concrete tanks, metal walkways, pipes and hoses. Beyond stretched raised ponds interspersed with sandy trails in a patchwork pattern.
Marla shoved herself out of Vail's car with a groan of fatigue. Dust clogged her nostrils, adding more misery to the heaviness throbbing at her temples. "This visit had better be worth it," she said, wishing they were on their way home.
Vail, after stretching to his full height outside the car, tossed his jacket onto the backseat. "Let's check it out."
As they approached the front entrance, a sign directed visitors to a stairway in the back. They trudged over grass, brown and brittle from lack of rain, to an access area in the rear with gaping double doors. Against a wall leaned an assortment of fifty-pound aqua-culture feed bags. Inside the garage-like entrance, rakes and other garden implements, a washer and dryer, different length hoses, and eel tanks met her bewildered gaze. Peering into one tank, she grimaced when a slimy black creature slithered to the surface.
"Hello there," said a gray-haired man wearing jeans and a green polo shirt. His casual outfit seemed incongruous for a gent with his dignified bearing, but he appeared at ease in the surroundings. Marla couldn't believe this was the same man she'd seen on television, where he'd ruled the pulpit with such fervor. She would never have pictured him on a fish farm.
They'd caught him in the middle of a conversation with two young men in shorts. "Finish with your measurements, and then get back to me," he told them before turning to his visitors. He spoke with a slight Southern accent that hadn't been noticeable on his TV show. "You must be Mr. Vail and his fiancee. I'm Reverend Dooley." His brown eyes glowed with a friendly welcome.
They shook hands, then Jeremiah led them up a steep flight of stairs to a makeshift office that held desks covered with papers, graphs, and posters; trash cans overflowing with empty soda cans; and tilapia fish tanks. Marla gazed in awe as several magnificent specimens swam into view. Wide and sturdy, with shiny scales, they made her mouth water for a seafood dinner.
"I understand y'all are interested in making a substantial donation to Ministry of Hope," Jeremiah said with a fatherly smile. "I can't tell you how much our congregants need your help. Our operations in Latin countries provide jobs for hundreds of workers, and food for more. Your contribution will help us carry forth the Lord's work."
"I'm not familiar with tilapia farming, but I imagine it must provide a good source of revenue," Marla murmured, smoothing her slacks. She must look rumpled after a day of travel. She'd left her blazer in the car, and the silk blouse stuck to her sweaty back.
"Indeed." Jeremiah gestured to the fish tanks. "Tilapia has been raised as far back as ancient Egypt. Legend tells us that tilapia was the fish our Lord multiplied to feed the masses. Since it comes from the Nile River, this is probably true. Tilapia is the most popular fish in freshwater aquaculture because it's so hardy and easy to breed."
"Really? What does that mean in terms of production values?" Marla persisted, attempting to gauge his organization's financial status.
"Just to give you an idea, annual yield in the United States approximates twenty million pounds," Jeremiah said, puncturing his remarks with gestures. "In Florida, fish farms produce over one million pounds per year. Let me add that tilapia are a tropical fish."
Marla cast a glance at Vail. While she'd kept Jeremiah occupied, he had sidled over to peer at a stack of papers on the minister's desk. She could tell he was more interested in the office accouterments than the fish tanks. _Okay, I can play this game, she told him silently._ "What happens with temperature variations?" she queried, plastering a look of rapt fascination on her face.
"Warm water increases their growth rate. Cold weather can kill them if the water temperature drops below fifty degrees."
"What are these different types?"
The reverend pointed to each tank in turn, speaking like a professor to a student. "This is blue tilapia, which is naturalized in Florida and inhabits the Everglades. That's white tilapia, and the other one is a hybrid of Nile tilapia. You can tell by its stripes. The hybrid is also more aggressive."
"I'm curious," Vail said from the opposite side of the room. "If you direct your activities from this location, where do you tape your television shows?"
Jeremiah puffed out his chest. "I live in Margate, and I do the shows from Miami. Regarding the missions, we have a manager who oversees our business operations, and an aquaculture specialist who supervises the farms. So I only come up here on special occasions, to meet folks like you or to make sure everything is running smoothly." His eyes narrowed, as though he'd just noticed Vail wasn't listening to his lecture. "You said you're from Palm Haven, but I didn't catch the name of your company."
Vail had a ready answer. "I'm in security, and Marla owns a chain of hair salons. Why don't you give the good reverend one of your business cards, sweetcakes?"
She returned his dazzling smile with a conspiratorial wink. Handing Jeremiah a card, she said, "This is for my anchor store. Come in sometime, and I'll give you a complementary cut." The minister's hair didn't have a single strand out of place. He must use a generous share of his pocket money on hair spray, she surmised. Her glance took in his manicured fingernails. No wonder he didn't work on the farm; it might soil his hands. She hoped to kick up some dirt herself while they were here.
"My friend mentioned your show," Marla ventured. "Her name was Kimberly Kaufman. Maybe you read about her in the newspapers since you live near Fort Lauderdale. She was murdered a couple of weeks ago."
"How horrible," Jeremiah said, steepling his hands in a prayer position.
"Kim said she knew you personally."
Jeremiah glanced from Marla to Vail, who was engaged in casually picking off a fleck of lint from his pants. "We'd met a couple of times. Like yourself, Mrs. Kaufman was interested in donating to the cause. I always try to meet our benefactors in person."
"Did you attend her funeral?"
"No, I wasn't on intimate terms with the family. When I didn't hear from Mrs. Kaufman again, I just assumed she'd lost interest. I'm so sorry to hear she met such a dreadful end."
_If you weren't intimate, why did she call you Uncle Jerry?_ "How did you meet each other? Did Kim contact you?"
"You seem mighty interested in my relations with your friend, Miz Shore."
Marla moistened her lips. "If it weren't for Kimberly, Dalton and I wouldn't have known about your work. We've always been concerned about world hunger, so we were thrilled to learn about your efforts. Breeding fish in ponds is an excellent means of providing food for thousands."
She'd hit upon the right subject to divert him. "You're absolutely right. Praise the Lord for his gift!" Jeremiah raised his arms. "He giveth us the means to produce a bounty of consumables. Who needs material wealth when we have food stocks? You can't eat money."
_No, but you can buy a Porsche with it, pal._ From the corner of her eye, she watched Vail shift a few papers on a file cabinet. "Do many people know about tilapia?" she said hastily to grab Jeremiah's attention. "It's not a common fish on the menu at restaurants."
He gave her a benevolent smile. "Look for it at the fish counters in your local grocery store. Tilapia is rapidly gaining consumer recognition. Besides being white, firm, and moist, it's mild in flavor, so it accepts sauces well. You can use it in recipes that specify other kinds of fish. Let's go outside, and I'll show you the rest."
Nodding agreeably, Marla hoped her companion noticed how well they were working together as a team. A moment's guilt flushed through her at their deception. Vail had arranged this meeting under false pretenses. It was bad enough that Marla had deceived the Pearl family in her role as nurse's aide. She dreaded the day Miriam would discover her ruse, especially since she'd become fond of the old lady. Maybe the reverend would give her a blessing and absolve her from sin.
_Yeah, right. Believe that, and you can make hair sprout on a bald head with a prayer._
They emerged into the sunshine on a raised walkway. Marla was aware of Vail's presence directly behind her. When he placed a possessive hand on her shoulder, she folded into him, leaning against the solid length of his body. His arm curved around, encompassing her waist. A slight smile lifted the reverend's lips as he regarded the intimate gesture.
"We grow tilapia in outdoor tanks and ponds since our weather is fairly predictable," Jeremiah continued, squinting in the bright light. "Other farms may use greenhouses to control the climate, but we don't worry about that here. I mentioned that tilapia is a hardy fish. Since they have strong immune systems, they're more easily grown than other fish species which are prone to disease, plus they don't get as stressed by environmental changes. These factors make tilapia a highly marketable, protein-rich food source as well as a cash-generating crop, so it's perfect for our third-world missions."
"Don't you have sites in Costa Rica?" Marla asked.
He nodded. "Our farms use pure rainwater from the cloud forests. It flows by gravity through our farms at such a rate that the ponds exchange their water every twenty minutes."
"Is the fish sold there?"
"We harvest the fish six days a week. Some of it is distributed locally and the rest is flown to Miami each evening. From there, we deliver the fish to customers by truck or air."
"Kimberly's family owns coffee plantations in Costa Rica," Vail commented in a dry tone.
"Really? What a coincidence." Jeremiah gripped the black metal railing that lined the walkway.
"Are you acquainted with Morris Pearl?" Vail asked. "He's the family member who runs their business."
"Sorry, never heard of him."
"Where did you say you lived in Fort Lauderdale?"
"Margate." The reverend frowned at Vail. "I don't understand why you're asking these questions. I thought you wanted a tour of our facilities before making a contribution. Perhaps you're ready to conclude our business."
Marla felt Vail stiffen and stepped away from him. "How long does it take to grow one of the tilapia?" she asked in a ditzy tone, hoping to ease the sudden tension that had sprung up between the two men.
Jeremiah seemed happy to resume his didactic role. Plowing a hand through his styled hair, he said, "It takes six to twelve months for them to reach full size. We harvest them when they reach a pound and a half."
"How often do they reproduce?"
"Too often!" Jeremiah laughed, and the tenseness dissipated like a flock of egrets taking flight. "Tilapia are mouth breeders. Normally, the male digs a nest in the sand. By flashing his tail, he attracts the female, who lays eggs. He fertilizes them, then she picks them up in her mouth and holds them until they hatch, which takes a couple of weeks. She can carry up to one thousand babies, called fry, in her mouth. An average female hatches over three hundred fingerlings every month year-round. Considering this rate of reproduction, you see how overpopulation becomes a problem."
"How much do they sell for?" Vail asked bluntly.
"Tilapia bring up to two dollars per pound. We sell our crop wholesale to seafood brokers, fish markets, restaurants. It's a more valuable commodity than something like catfish."
"Why isn't the water clear?" Marla asked. The water in the concrete tanks was so deep and murky, she couldn't see any fish swimming inside.
Jeremiah pointed. "That greenish tint is due to algae that forms from sunlight penetrating to the bottom. Young fish feed on algae; tiny combs in their gills allow them to remove it from the water. They have efficient digestive systems and convert a greater proportion of their food into growth than many other fish species."
"They don't eat anything else?"
"Older specimens eat floating fish food. Come this way." He led them up a short flight of stairs and along a maze of elevated walkways, pipes and hoses, netting and buckets. They detoured around workers engaged in various tasks. All of them deferentially made way for the minister and his guests.
"Besides the algae, tannin and fish poop alter the clarity of the water." Jeremiah chuckled at Marla's grimace. "When we're ready to harvest, we put the fish into a tank of clear water to flush metabolites from their system. This purges toxins so no odor remains. That process takes two or three days. Because they don't feed on other fish, which might contain pollutants, tilapia are one of the cleanest varieties."
"According to what you're saying, tilapia are only as pure as their water supply," Vail cut in, draping his arm around Marla's shoulder.
"Good point." The reverend speared him with a keen glance. "Our water passes through a filtration process beginning with a biofilter system. After passing through particle settling and nitrogen conversion tanks, the water sifts through a micron particle filter to remove fine fragments. Then it's mixed with oxygen and pumped into the fish tanks."
Marla sought a way to bring up Kimberly again, but this didn't seem an appropriate time. Vail seemed content to play along with their ruse for now. His sharp gaze surveyed their surroundings, absorbing details.

"What is that guy doing?" Marla indicated a mustached young man working with a net.
"Manuel is censuring the tank, which means catching the fish and weighing them." Jeremiah waved to the fellow. "This tells us their chronology so we can project when to harvest them. We'll weigh a sample of twenty-five fish to get the average in a tank. Each tank holds eighty thousand gallons of water and produces around ten thousand pounds of tilapia. We drain the tanks to harvest them. Hey, Manuel, show them how to catch one."
The man flashed them a grin before tossing a weighted net into the water. Holding an attached rope, he pulled the net from one end of the tank to the other before gathering it up and over the railing. Fish spilled out, flopping on the concrete path, mouths gaping. After weighing one, he threw them all back in the tank.
"Fish water is rich in nitrogen and phosphorus," Jeremiah continued, "so we use it to grow crops. Green peppers, tomatoes, and lettuce are some of our produce; plus herbs such as basil, oregano, and spearmint. The yield is all natural, without pesticides or chemicals. We sell it to natural food stores. Y'all heard of hydroponics? Well, aquaponics is the official term for the combination of fish water and hydroponics. Come take a look."
Marla's ears picked up various sounds as they followed him: gushing water, trickling streams, a humming generator. She didn't smell much in the way of fish, which surprised her.
"Our hydroponics system consists of hydro-pipes, hydro-raceways, and ponds," Jeremiah said. "This is where hydro-pipes supply return water to nourish the plants. We place cuttings in small plastic trays or plastic-lined Styrofoam flats. See where their roots hang down through holes into the water? Water enters the system through one end and exits the other end."
Jeremiah broke a sprig of spearmint and held it out to her. She sniffed the heady fragrance. When he offered her some basil, she sighed with pleasure. Her herbs in the kitchen had never smelled this fresh!
At his signal, they moved toward the edge of the concrete structure. "We keep our people busy. Among other tasks, they weigh and feed fish, take water quality readings, and adjust water flow and aeration."
"Do you have a set schedule?" she asked, fishing for a question relevant to their purpose but unable to conceive one. She felt a flash of annoyance toward Vail. He'd given her the burden of carrying on the conversation. When was he going to play hard-hitter?
The minister grinned. "We catch fish on Tuesdays. On Wednesday and Thursday, we harvest vegetables. Fridays are fish sales when buyers come."
He led them off the structure and around the rear of the bunker. "This is our wetlands area where we grow cultures of pickerelweed, arrowhead, and red mangroves. Note the hydro-pipes that channel water from the fish tanks. The ponds are raised above ground and lined with plastic to prevent leaks."
They headed down a dirt path, kicking up dust. "Here is our raceway section for high-density production of tilapia, eels, and sturgeon."
"I noticed eel tanks in the building earlier," Vail said, scooping Marla's hand into his. She gave him a startled glance. Wasn't he overplaying his role? Not that she'd dare protest, since Jeremiah seemed taken in by their act. What she saw in Vail's eyes wasn't pretense, however. A coil of desire snaked its way through her body as she squeezed his hand in response.
"Eels are very popular for sushi," Jeremiah answered, beaming at them. "They sell for five to nine dollars per pound wholesale. Since birds like to eat them, we have to protect our outdoor tanks with netting. You'll find up to ten thousand eels in one tank. They grow into small, medium, or large sizes."
"How did you become so knowledgeable about all this?" Vail asked on their way back to the main building.
_Yes, Dalton. Now that Jeremiah is off guard, slam him with the real questions._ Marla avoided looking at him, afraid she'd smile and give away their game.
"I studied marine biology before receiving my calling. I think the good Lord meant it that way. He gave me the means to feed thousands and provide work for our less fortunate brethren."
"How did you arrive in Tarpon Springs? I thought mostly Greeks lived here."
"My father was Greek, not that it matters. People move here for different reasons."
"Your last name is Irish."
"It's my mother's name. She didn't change it on the birth certificate."
"Piotr didn't mind?"
Jeremiah stopped, his expression darkening. "How do you know his name? Have you been checking up on me?"
"Before I give money to anyone, I always investigate," Vail replied.
"You've asked enough questions." He led them inside his office. "You can make your check out to Ministry of Hope."
_Gone is the smooth-talking representative of the Lord. Here is the true huckster in prime form._ Marla wondered how Vail would get out of this one.
"I'll have to get back to you," Vail said. "You're doing some wonderful work here, but I'm not sure you need the extra funding. Your operations must produce plenty of income."
"Any funds we generate are funneled right back into our missions," Jeremiah said, facing them. "We work among the poor in third-world countries. Our aim is to feed and house our farm workers in addition to the missionaries and their families. It's never enough when you're doing the Lord's work."
Vail pulled out his wallet. But instead of offering the reverend a signed check, he showed him a photograph. "Recognize these people?"
The minister's face paled. "Where did you get this?"
"From Stan Kaufman, Kimberly's husband. He said you called on her one day, but she wasn't home. He recognized you in this photograph found in her room. Neighbors claimed they saw your car a couple of times in the neighborhood. They said Kim bragged about her rich Uncle Jerry. She was pregnant, Mr. Dooley. I suspect you were involved with Mrs. Kaufman in a manner your congregation would not condone. Were you the father of her child?"
Jeremiah's mouth gaped like a fish out of water. His skin turned the color of a white tilapia. "W-who are you?"
Vail ignored his inquiry. "Where were you on the morning of February fifth?"
"Get out. Both of you, leave n-now," Jeremiah sputtered.
"You paid for Kim to go to design school, didn't you?" Marla offered. "After she told you she was pregnant, you tried to buy her silence. It would be easy enough for her to pass the child off as Stan's. But Kim wanted to leave her husband. Did she threaten you? Is that why you killed her?"
The reverend clenched a pen in his hand. He stepped toward her, a menacing light in his mud brown eyes. "You'd better not spread these lies to anyone, or I'll scale you alive."