This strange moment was interrupted by a knock at the door: the wiry fellow in the Hawaiian shirt. Margaret wondered if the man had missed the memo on the weather pattern Hubbard was creating for the day. Hubbard motioned toward Margaret and Sheryl Ann. “These two were asking about Chris Powell.”

“Julius Mercer,” he said as he shook their hands. “I run our Los Angeles office. I’m very sorry for your loss.” He paused. “I’m sorry, ladies, I didn’t catch your names?”

“Beatrice Powell,” said Margaret. “Chris was my little brother. And this is my sister Sophie.” She and Sheryl Ann looked nothing alike, Margaret thought. Cousin would have been better. Damn it. Did she see Julius and Hubbard exchange a look?

“Let’s all have a seat, shall we?” Hubbard motioned toward the conference table. This was followed by an uneasy silence as they all sat down. Hubbard slid into his seat at the head of the table so close to Sheryl Ann, on his left, that their knees were touching, and Margaret began to wonder if they’d made a mistake in coming. Sitting in the diner with Addington White, she’d thought the sleuthing seemed like a harmless task to help Winston. Now she was in the presence of the actual L. Ron Hubbard in a building full of his acolytes, and given the grim history of religious zealotry around the world, the whole assignment seemed foolhardy. Worried that Hubbard might detect her concern, Margaret smiled at him, and he returned it with a flirtatious grin.

“The Secret of Treasure Island isn’t the only picture I worked on, you know,” he told her. “You ever see Dive Bomber or The Plainsman or Stagecoach?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I wrote them too, but the dumb Jew producers denied me the credits.”

Margaret heard Sheryl Ann draw a sharp breath beside her. “So,” Margaret said firmly. “Our brother Chris.”

“Chris came to us last year with a serious gambling problem,” said Julius, handing a green file to Hubbard.

“What do you ladies know about our church?” Hubbard asked, looking through the papers in the file.

“Just that Chris thought it would help him,” Margaret said.

Hubbard looked up. “He was right to come to us.” His tone had shifted from genial host to stern instructor. “Scientology achieves things for people where nothing has worked before. It cures us of illnesses once considered hopeless. It increases our intelligence and competence, improves our behavior, brings us to a better understanding of life.”

Lecture concluded, he flashed them an enormous smile.

“But it didn’t help Chris,” said Sheryl Ann with a tight smile.

“It sounds to me,” snapped Margaret, “like you took advantage of a vulnerable man with a gambling problem.”

“Beatrice,” scolded Sheryl Ann, catching on. She put a warning hand on Margaret’s arm.