Читать книгу Knot of This World - Mary Marks - Страница 11

CHAPTER 3

I left Paulina and Mansoor and drove back to Encino, my mind racing. If the rumors about the Mystical Feather commune were true, Birdie and Denver were in grave danger. But if Royal was suspected of “dispatching his members to the afterlife,” wouldn’t he be on law enforcement radar? I was eager to see what Crusher found out from his FBI contact today.

Once I got home, I went straight to the place where I did my best thinking. My sewing room. I combed through dozens of fabrics until I found just the right conversation prints for all the dresses in my granddaughter’s Sunbonnet Sue quilt. Then I searched for complementary solid colors for the bonnets. Each block would be a twelve-inch background square with one Sue appliquéed in the middle. I figured, with sashing and borders, I needed twenty blocks for a twin-sized bed quilt. I assembled twenty combinations of fabric. For the turquoise fabric with the little white lambs, I found a soft yellow for the bonnet. Using a plastic template, I proceeded to trace the pattern pieces onto the fabrics and then cut them each by hand.

I let my mind wander as I worked. Where was Denver in all this mess? Was he merely going along with Birdie because he wanted her to be happy, or did he genuinely buy into the insidious hype about the society? If he was just going along, if he didn’t really believe in the society’s message, maybe I could convince him to stop Birdie. I resolved to talk to Denver alone.

Crusher came home at five thirty and found me in my sewing room. “Hey, babe. What’s that delicious smell coming from the kitchen?”

Oh crap. I forgot all about dinner again. I finished cutting the last piece of appliqué, put the sharp Gingher scissors on the cutting table, and stood to give him a welcome-home hug. “Gosh, Yossi. When did preparing dinner become my exclusive job?”

In the beginning of our living together, we both had agreed to share the domestic chores. If one cooked, the other cleaned up after the meal.

He threw back his head and laughed. “About the same time breakfast became my job, I think.” He had a point. Since he almost always got up earlier than me, he usually cooked a substantial breakfast. And since I almost always got home earlier in the day than he did, I usually prepared our evening meal.

“You must have a great sense of smell because I’m going to make those tuna sandwiches we didn’t have last night. You’ll even have a choice between barbeque chips or plain.”

Fifteen minutes later I placed plates of tuna on rye with a side of kosher pickles and an open bag of plain potato chips on the kitchen table. I plunked down a bottle of Heineken in front of Crusher and cracked open a can of Coke Zero for me as I sat. “See? Gourmet fish salad on bread seasoned with caraway seeds, a side of cucumber spears preserved in a garlic vinaigrette, and paper-thin petals of fried potato. B’tei avon.” Good appetite.

While he chewed, I told him about my visit with Paulina and Mansoor. “Did you have a chance to ask your FBI contact today about Mystical Feather?”

He nodded and swallowed. “Yeah. The FBI keeps track of all known cults in the US. But when I asked about what constituted a cult, my guy was vague. The reason Mystical Feather is on their radar is they received a couple of complaints from concerned families who couldn’t contact their loved ones after they joined the group.”

Wow! What Mansoor told me might be true. People did disappear. “And? Did the FBI investigate?”

“They questioned Royal St. Germain, who maintained that, in both cases, the missing persons decided to leave the group. He didn’t know where either of them had gone to. He claimed his members were free to come and go as they wished.”

“And the Feds just accepted his word for it?”

He shrugged. “Well, according to the notes on file, St. Germain invited them to search the place, even though they hadn’t brought a warrant. The agents found nothing suspicious, although one of them wrote that some of the members avoided eye contact.”

“So that was it? The whole FBI investigation?”

He pulled a handful of chips out of the bag and dumped them on his empty sandwich plate. “Apparently so.”

“Well, that’s no help. They could’ve at least deployed cadaver dogs or used ground-penetrating radar to see where St. Germain might’ve buried the bodies of those missing people.”

“Babe. There was no probable cause to conduct a further search, especially after the agents interviewed the dude. Besides, what evidence do you have that St. Germain killed people besides rumors you heard from a psychic?”

Crusher was right. I had no evidence beyond my gut feeling something was terribly wrong and my gut was seldom wrong.

* * *

The next morning, I called my best friend, Lucy, and told her what I’d learned from my visit to Paulina and Mansoor and added what Crusher’s FBI contact told him.

When I was finished, she gasped. “I knew it! I got one of my bad feelings, right down to my bones, the moment Birdie started speaking. She and Denver are making a horrible mistake.”

I used to ignore Lucy’s bad feelings and her claim to have ESP. However, despite my doubts, I came to respect her sharp intuition about things because she was frequently right. “I’ve got to find a way to speak to Denver alone. He’s more likely to be honest if Birdie’s not around. Are they home now?”

“Just a minute, hon. I’ll look out the front window.” There was a brief pause. “Yep. They’re home. I see Denver in the driveway fiddling with the Winnebago. Since Birdie can’t drive, if Denver’s home, that means she is, too.”

“Let’s pay a surprise visit. You keep Birdie occupied in the house, and I’ll talk to Denver outside. I’ll be over in ten minutes.” I ended the call and threw on my size sixteen stretch denim jeans, a white T-shirt, and a pair of navy blue Crocs. Then I grabbed my purse and car keys and drove to Lucy’s house, just a couple miles south of me.

As I parked in front of Lucy’s, I was relieved to see Denver still in the driveway across the street working under the hood of their Winnebago. Lucy had the front door open before I had a chance to knock. She grabbed my arm and pulled me inside.

Lucy always looked perfectly put together. Unlike me, she woke up early, along with her husband, made his breakfast, and packed his lunch. Also, unlike me, she put on makeup and dressed carefully in an outfit she’d selected the night before. Today she wore a grass green cotton sweater over a white shirt with matching green pants and yellow flat shoes. Her orange hair was carefully curled, and her brown eyebrows were expertly drawn. “Come on in, girlfriend, and let’s work this out before we go over there.”

“Good idea. Let’s tell Denver we decided on the spur of the moment to say hi. Then you’ll go inside to talk to Birdie and keep her distracted.”

“What’ll I talk about?”

“Anything. Just don’t bring up the subject of Mystical Feather. We don’t want to be obvious about the purpose of our visit. Then, while you’re keeping Birdie busy, I’ll stay outside and strike up a conversation with Denver.”

Lucy nodded. “Okay. Got it. Let’s go.” She walked quickly to the front door.

“Wait, Lucy. We’ll look suspiciously like we’re on a mission if you walk that fast. Just be casual. Let’s saunter across the street and talk to each other as if we don’t have a care in the world.”

We left the house and moseyed across the street, arm in arm, wearing big smiles. “Hi, Denver.” Lucy and I spoke at the same time.”

The white-haired retired rancher sat on the steps of the RV with what looked like a greasy engine part in his hands. He looked up and a broad smile creased his weathered face. “Mornin’, ladies.” He stood to greet us.

I poked Lucy with my elbow. “I came to visit Lucy today, but when I saw you across the street, I just had to come over and say hello. It’s wonderful to see you again.” I stepped forward and gave him a big hug. Then I looked at Lucy and inclined my head toward the house.

She took the hint. “Is Birdie inside?”

When Denver nodded, she turned and made her way up the porch and inside their Craftsman-style home.

Once we were alone, I forced myself to smile. “Birdie told us Tuesday of your plans to sell your properties.”

“Uh, yeah. Twink’s got a plan.” Denver’s pet name for his wife was short for Twinkle. Don’t ask.

“Yes, I think she may have told us a little about it. You’re going to live on a commune?”

He sat on the steps again, picked up a screwdriver with an oily blade, and began cleaning it with a red cotton rag. “Yeah. That’s right. It’s called the Mystical Feather Society. Up in Ojai. Very peaceful place to end our lives.”

I shuddered at the possible double meaning. “End your lives? Is there something we should know? Are you ill?”

Denver barked out a laugh. “Hah. Poor choice of words. It’s a peaceful place to live out the remainder of our lives, however long that may be.”

He gestured toward the interior of the RV. “I feel a coffee break coming on. Why don’t you come on inside where we can sit comfortably and talk? Twink and I were up at six, and you know her. She just had to bake something. Today it’s cranberry scones.”

I followed him into the interior of a surprisingly comfortable space, even though the walls were beige fiberglass and the furniture was permanently bolted to the floor. I sat on the sage green upholstered banquette, which wrapped around two sides of the dining table. Denver washed the grease from his work-worn hands. Then he placed a teaspoon of instant coffee in each of two mugs he pulled from an overhead cupboard and turned the flame on the propane stove under a stainless-steel kettle. “Just give it a few minutes, and we’ll have some nice fresh coffee. Meanwhile, help yourself.” He pointed to six scones sitting on a plastic plate in the middle of the table and handed me a paper napkin.

I chose a round scone about the size of a dinner biscuit and placed it on my napkin. “Why did you choose that particular place in Ojai?”

He rooted his hand under his shoulder-length white hair and scratched his neck. “I didn’t choose it, really. Twink did. We went to Sedona for the spring equinox because Birdie said she felt a calling. People up there were eating mushrooms and talking about their spirit guides. Birdie wanted to try it and asked me to take care of her while she went on her ‘journey.’ ”

“Did you eat mushrooms, too?”

“Naw. I wanted to make sure she came out of it okay. Anyway, the next day I woke up and found her talking to this Mystical Feather dude. That’s when he told us he was the son of Madam Natasha St. Germain. Twink knew all about her. Even had some of her books. The dude claimed his mother came to him in a vision and told him to talk to us.”

“What did he want to talk about?”

The kettle whistled, and Denver got up to prepare the coffee with cream. “He basically asked us a bunch of questions about how long we’ve been together, how we met, you know. That kind of stuff.”

My BS radar started pinging. I was sure St. Germain wanted to suss out whether Birdie and Denver had money. “Did he talk about himself?”

“Yeah, some. Mostly he talked about the commune. Asked us if we might be interested in starting a new chapter in our lives. Like joining the commune.”

“So you said yes? Just like that?”

“No, I said we needed time to think on it. Later that day, me and Twink hiked up this hill to watch the sun set. We walked slowly because of her bum knees. Twink told me about the amazing healing powers of Madam St. Germain. She supposedly could cure arthritis. When Twink spotted three white feathers on the path, she took it as a sign. After dark, we went back to our RV and found St. Germain waiting for us inside.

“He broke into your RV?”

“Naw. We never lock it. Anyway, he said he could tell from our Winnebago we were exceptional people.”

He probably snooped around to discover whatever he could about their finances.

Denver continued. “He said his mother came to him in a new vision. She told Royal we were the ones he was looking for. We were the ‘Elect.’ ”

“So it was then you agreed to sell everything just like that? Without seeing the commune?”

“Not at first. He asked us some more questions, like did we anticipate any resistance from friends or families and were we willing to go all in. You know, give everything up in exchange for being welcomed into a loving community of like-minded people who would care for us even if we became ill or incapacitated. Become part of a spiritual family, like.”

“Did you ask him anything, or did he do all the talking?”

“He talked. We mostly listened. Twink and I discussed it that night after he left. She made up her mind. St. Germain assured her that her spirit guide would show her how to heal her arthritis. She said it would be a dream come true if we became members of Madam St. Germain’s Society.”

More like a nightmare. “Since you’ve come back, have you visited the commune? Seen the people there? Talked to anyone else involved?”

“Nope. I’m just going along for the ride. The only place I want to be is with her. Wherever she goes, I go.”

“Denver, what if I told you Madam St. Germain’s son, Royal, has been investigated by the FBI? Would you still go?”

He swallowed a mouthful of scone. “Investigated? I’m not surprised. Back in the sixties when we lived on that commune in Oregon, the Feds hassled everyone. Accused us of being subversive. Called us Commies. I’m not concerned about what the FBI thinks. It’s just the way the government treats people who prefer to live an alternate lifestyle.”

“What if I told you there are rumors he killed some members of the society?”

“Who said? The Feds, again? What evidence do they have?”

What could I say? Mansoor the Magnificent heard rumors? Had visions? “I just want you to check out the place thoroughly. Go take a look before you commit yourselves. Talk to the people there. Selling everything you have and giving it away is nonreversible. If you change your minds, you’ll have nothing to come back to. You’d be virtual captives up there.”

“Martha, I think you’re letting your imagination run away with you. But thanks for your concern. Like I said, whatever Twink wants. That’s what we’ll do.”

Dear God. How can I stop this train wreck?