Читать книгу Knot of This World - Mary Marks - Страница 15

CHAPTER 7

We continued north for forty minutes on the 101 until we reached the town of Ventura and turned east on the 126 Freeway. Citrus orchards flanked the highway for the next ten miles in a part of Southern California where farms managed to hold their own against the tsunami of urban sprawl.

Denver downshifted the vehicle as we left the highway in Santa Paula. We headed north on Route 150 and drove past a Mexican restaurant, the historic Union Oil Company building, an old railroad depot, Victorian-era homes, and onto a two-lane roadway that wound through the mountains toward our destination.

After twenty minutes of driving, Denver slowed down and made a left-hand turn on Sulphur Mountain Road. “We’re almost there.”

We drove past a ranch with horses on our left and a row of green Dumpsters on our right. Mountain residents had to bring their garbage down the hill for easy collection in the metal bins below. The letters “MFS” were painted on the outside of one of them.

Almost immediately, we began a slow ascent up the narrow road past oak trees clinging to the slope on our right and rocky hillside on our left. Because of the particular geology of the area, the road cut had opened an occasional seepage of tar that oozed slowly from the mountainside like blood from a wound.

Lucy also noticed the tar. “You know, that oil could provide a brushfire with enough fuel to light up this mountain like a torch.” With the prolonged draught in California, it seemed like brushfires were on everyone’s minds.

After another ten minutes of slow climbing and an occasional grinding of gears, we reached the top. A beautiful view of the narrow Ojai Valley spread below. A metal mailbox sat on top of a wooden post at the beginning of a poorly paved driveway on our left. A wooden sign underneath announced MYSTICAL FEATHER SOCIETY.

Birdie beamed. “I’m really excited to finally be here. I can’t wait to see Royal again.”

We turned into the driveway and drove slowly past an adobe building with round Spanish tiles on the roof and a sign that read:

MYSTICAL FEATHER SOCIETY

BOOKSTORE AND TEAHOUSE

PUBLIC WELCOMED

Several vehicles were parked next to the building. A white-robed man with a dark beard appeared in the doorway, apparently drawn by the sound of our vehicle turning into the driveway. Curiosity satisfied, he waved briefly and disappeared back inside the store.

We bounced for about two hundred feet until we came to a chain-link fence with another sign:

MYSTICAL FEATHER SOCIETY

PRIVATE RETREAT

CLOTHING OPTIONAL

INFORMATION IN THE BOOKSTORE

* * *

Lucy looked confused. “Why does the sign say ‘Retreat’? I thought this was a commune.”

Mansoor said, “Technically it’s both. Programs are available for people to spend a limited time here taking classes and meditating. Other people have chosen to live here permanently.”

The gate was closed, but the padlock hung open by a careless hook, as if someone forgot to lock up. Denver slowed to a stop.

Mansoor jumped up from his seat at the table. “I’ll get the gate.” He reached in the pocket of his torn jeans and extracted a pair of latex gloves. He blew each one up like a balloon before slipping them easily over his hands. He pushed open the door of the Winnebago and dropped to the uncertain terrain of the driveway.

We watched as he unhooked the padlock and swung the gate wide open, beckoning with his arm for us to enter.

Birdie looked at her husband. “Do you remember Royal ever mentioning anything about ‘clothing optional?’ ”

Denver grunted. “Nope.”

Lucy poked me in the side with her elbow and whispered, “Does ‘clothing optional’ mean what I think it means?”

I whispered, “I hope not.”

Lucy shivered slightly and rubbed her arms. “I hate to say this, but I’m getting a very bad feeling.” She looked at Paulina as if waiting for confirmation from the psychic. She didn’t have to wait long.

Paulina squinted her eyes and peered out the window. “You’re very astute, Lucy. There are some unhappy spirits here.” She closed her eyes. “But I don’t get the sense they’re a threat. I think they want to tell us something.”

I glanced at Birdie to see how she reacted. But she appeared to be lost in thought.

Denver drove the Winnebago onto the property and stopped just beyond the fence to give Mansoor a chance to close the gate and climb back into the vehicle. The younger man looked at Paulina. “Do you feel it? This is a very active space. I sense more than one spirit.”

Birdie didn’t seem to be listening. She sat transfixed, scanning the native xeriscape of spreading oak trees and low-growing shrubs, like buckwheat, purple salvia, and white matilija poppies. She’d been an avid horticulturist, both in her own yard and with fabric. Her appliquéd quilts featured the colorful blossoms she cultivated in her garden. “Oh, I hope they let me work the soil here.” She turned to her husband. “Remember when we used to grow our own food at Aquarius?” Birdie referred to the time in the 1960s when she first met Denver in a commune near Ashland, Oregon.

A slow smile spread across Denver’s face. “I sure do, Twink. And if they’re smart, they’ll let you loose in the kitchen, too.”

She pointed to the Longaberger basket. “That’s why I’m bringing all these baked goods. I want Royal to sample what I can contribute.”

He chuckled. “’At’s my girl!”

I grew increasingly uneasy. Even after the declaration that “unhappy spirits” lurked about, neither Birdie nor Denver seemed to hear the warnings from Paulina and Mansoor. Not that I believed in that stuff, but I knew Birdie did. Yet, she seemed unfazed.

We jostled slowly over potholes as we made our way up the road. About fifty yards ahead, a dozen small adobe buildings sat next to a large wooden and glass structure shaped like a giant yurt. Birdie tugged on her braid and pointed to the circular building. “Oh, look, Denny! I’ll bet that’s the Lloyd Wright meditation center Royal was telling us about.”

Two old white vans were parked next to a new red Mercedes under the shade of an oak tree and behind some bushes. Denver maneuvered the Winnebago next to the Mercedes and cut the engine. He stood and stretched. “Let’s go.” He picked up the basket, opened the door, and helped Birdie down the steps. “Come on, ladies.” He reached up and helped steady Lucy, Paulina, and me down the steps.

Mansoor was the last to leave. “Do you want me to lock up?”

“Naw,” said Denver. “We never bother. If someone needs something we got, let ’em have it.”

Although the sign at the driveway entrance read PRIVATE RETREAT, our arrival didn’t seem to cause concern or trigger an alarm. We couldn’t detect a soul on the property. Nobody came out of the buildings to greet us. The only movement came from two angry crows chasing a hawk away from their nest in the top of a sycamore tree.

Lucy checked the wristwatch she always wore. The bezel of the tiny gold timepiece was surrounded by diamonds and attached to a diamond bracelet, a fiftieth-anniversary present from her husband, Ray. “It’s nearly eleven. Where is everyone?”

“Perhaps they’re all meditating, dear. Let’s try that big wooden building.” Birdie had to hang onto Denver’s arm while she navigated the fifty yards of uneven terrain leading from the parking area.

I picked my way slowly across the dirt, kicking an occasional stone and stirring up dust with the toe of my navy blue Crocs. I strained to hear what Paulina and Mansoor were discussing in low voices behind me. The only words I heard were “Not now!”

I guessed the diameter of the large circular structure to be about forty feet. The walls were nearly all glass, affording a 360-degree view of the surrounding mountains and valley. Peering through the glass, I could see the roof inside was constructed with polished wooden beams meeting in the center, like the ribs of an umbrella. In between the beams were tongue-and-groove planks made of the same polished wood.

Birdie sighed. “Isn’t it lovely?” She turned to face Lucy and me. “Royal said Madam Natasha commissioned Lloyd Wright, the son of the famous architect, to design a building conducive to meditation and communing with nature. It was completed in nineteen seventy-three, two years before her death.”

In addition to the dozen small adobe structures scattered across the property to the right, three long, low wooden buildings and a two-story whitewashed house sat slightly down the hill on our left.

By the time we’d covered the distance from the parking lot, I was out of breath. I briefly stopped walking. “This place is bigger than it seems from back there.”

Through a closed glass door, we observed about thirty people sitting on the floor. Some wore white robes, others sat naked on top of white cloths. They held hands in a circle with their eyes closed, seemingly in a trance. Some were young, some old, but they all seemed to be fairly fit. I toyed with the idea of joining the retreat myself, just not until I lost about fifty pounds. But the thought of parading my naked body persuaded me otherwise.

Lucy quickly looked away from all the exposed flesh and made the sign of the cross. “Holy mother of God. Thank the Lord Ray isn’t here.”

A man with white hair spoke, but we couldn’t hear him through the closed doors. Paulina leaned in close. “Looks like we arrived during a séance, Martha. If we go inside and interrupt, the spirits might get angry and decide not to cooperate with us. We should wait until they’re through.” She clucked her tongue. “All of those people’s auras. The different colors are tinged with brown. Something’s way off.”

“But I want to hear what they’re saying.” I moved toward the entrance until a pair of hands wearing latex gloves landed on my shoulders and held me back.

“Don’t,” Mansoor hissed. “You’ll ruin everything.”

“What’s everything?” I whispered back. “Do you know something the rest of us don’t?”

Mansoor took a breath, drew himself up to his full height of around five feet ten, and wrinkled an offended forehead. “I am a Seer.” As if that explained everything.

A moan escaped from Paulina’s lips, and her eyes rolled back. She began to sway as if she were about to faint. Still holding the basket of goodies in one hand, Denver reached to grab her shoulders with his free arm. She stopped swaying and opened her eyes. “There are dark powers at work here.”

I pointed to the white-haired man leading the séance. “Is that Royal St. Germain?”

Birdie peered through the glass and shook her head. “No. Even though he’s in his sixties, Royal’s hair hasn’t turned gray. It’s still mostly black. But there’s something about that man that seems familiar....”

Mansoor scowled at us. “Wait here and under no circumstances go inside. Paulina and I will look for Royal. He must be around here some place because I’m guessing the red Mercedes we parked next to belongs to him.” He pointed to a whitewashed house with a blue front door and lemon trees in front. “I’m also guessing the larger house belongs to him.”

He leaned toward me and whispered, “Trust me on this.” Then he and Paulina walked away, heads bent together in deep conversation.

“He’s right about waiting outside,” said Lucy. “We can’t just barge in on their naked church service. It’s not the polite thing to do.”

Birdie patted Lucy’s shoulder. “It’s not really a church, dear.”

Denver crooked his free arm at the elbow and offered it to Birdie. “Come on, then. We’d best wait over there. Don’t want to piss off the spirits.” He steered us toward a long bench under the shade of a nearby oak tree.

Paulina had said the auras of the group revealed something was seriously wrong. Her observations certainly confirmed what John Smith of the FBI hinted about Mystical Feather. No wonder the auras were “tinged with brown.” Not that I believed in that stuff.

The bench was made from a tree trunk split down the middle and polished smooth. Lucy brushed the dry, spiky oak leaves off the surface with her fingertips before sitting down. “Did you notice what was painted in the center of the wooden floor? A five-pointed star with an eye inside. And the whole thing was surrounded by a circle.”

“Yes, I saw it. That’s a pentagram. It’s used for magic.” Birdie grabbed Denver’s hand. “Did you get a look at that man with the white hair? Do we know him?”

“I wasn’t paying much attention, Twink.”

Ten minutes later we heard three loud pops. The crows in the sycamore tree flew out of their nest, scolding and complaining.

I sat straight up. “What... ?”

“Probably some off-season hunter.” Denver removed his cowboy hat, combed his hair with his fingers, and put the hat back on. “Huntin’ season’s in the fall. But there’s always gonna be some bozo who refuses to follow the rules.”

Lucy jerked her thumb toward the yurt and muttered in my ear, “Don’t they get cold sitting like that?”

We waited another twenty minutes for Paulina and Mansoor. Finally, they emerged from behind the bushes that obscured the parking area.

By the time they covered the distance, Paulina panted heavily. “We made a full circle. Knocked on every door, but nobody answered.”

“Did you hear the gunshots?” I asked.

Lucy’s head bobbed up and down and she consulted her watch. “Twenty minutes ago. Three of them.”

Paulina glanced at Mansoor. “Is that what they were? It was hard to tell for sure.”

Mansoor removed a tissue from his shirt pocket and wiped the moisture from his forehead. When he raised his arm, I could see sweat staining the armpits of his T-shirt. “We even checked out those vans, but they were empty.”

Paulina gestured toward the glass-and-wooden yurt. “They’re still at it?”

Birdie nodded. “Yes. We’ve been watching. Nobody has entered or left the place.”

“I sense they’re engaged in a powerful battle,” Paulina said.

Mansoor nodded. “Yeah. There’s some serious, ah... stuff going on, all right.”

“Oh, sure,” I said. “Invisible auras. Invisible spirits. Invisible combat. Good versus evil. That’s the trouble with trusting psychics. How can a regular person like me verify such a claim?”

Denver stood and once again assumed the leadership of our little group. “We obviously came on the wrong day. No use waitin’ around any longer. For all we know, those folks could be meditating for hours.” He hefted the Longaberger basket once again.

Birdie sighed. “Denny’s right. Let’s go have lunch in town and come back later. Maybe they’ll be finished by then.”

“I sure could use some water to drink,” Mansoor said.

We retraced our steps back to the RV, more than thirty minutes after we’d arrived. The door of the Winnebago stood slightly ajar.

Mansoor said, “I’m almost certain I latched up this door when we left.”

Denver shrugged, “Don’t worry, son. It sometimes does that. Let’s take our places inside. We’ll drive back down the mountain and on into town. Come on, Twink. Age before beauty.” He winked at Birdie and steadied her as she climbed the stair step to the door.

A girlish giggle escaped from my seventy-something friend until she stepped inside the Winnebago. “Denny! Oh my god! Denny!”

At the sound of her distress, Denver dropped the basket on the ground and hurried inside. The rest of us pushed all at once to be first inside the RV.

“What’s wrong?” I said.

Birdie pointed to the bed in the back of the Winnebago. Sprawled on top of it was a dark-haired man. His eyes stared blindly at the ceiling and his mouth hung open in silent protest. Clearly, he’d never see another birthday. Three closely spaced bullets had burned small holes through his white shirt around the region of his heart. I guessed he’d died instantly because very little blood oozed from the places where the shots had penetrated his body.

Birdie’s face became ashen and drawn. “It can’t be. I don’t believe it.”

Denver made her sit in the passenger seat and handed her a plastic bottle of water from the table.

“Do you know him?” Lucy’s eyes were wide with disbelief.

Mansoor twisted the cap off another fresh bottle of water. “Now it all makes sense.” He closed his eyes and took a long drink.

“What makes sense?” I demanded. “Who is he?”

Mansoor spoke quietly. “Meet Royal St. Germain.”