Death Du Jour (30 page)

“What do you think of Southern civilization?” I asked Ryan, my eyes never leaving the preacher.

“Sounds like a good idea.”

“Well, well. Stealing material from Gandhi,” I said, turning to him in surprise. It was one of my favorite Gandhi quotes.

“Some homicide detectives
can
read.” There was an edge to his voice.

Guilty, Brennan. Apparently the reverend isn’t the only one harboring cultural stereotypes.

I watched an old woman circle wide to avoid the preacher, and wondered what sort of salvation Dom Owens promised his followers. I checked my watch.

“We’re moving toward the dinner hour,” I said.

“Could be a good time to catch folks mixing up tofu burgers.”

“We can’t meet Baker for another ninety minutes.”

“You up for a surprise visit, skipper?”

“Beats sitting here.”

Ryan was reaching for the ignition when his hand stopped. I followed his gaze and saw Kathryn coming up the sidewalk, Carlie on her back. An older woman with long, dark braids walked beside her. The damp breeze blew their skirts backward, molding fabric to hips and legs. They paused and Kathryn’s companion spoke to the preacher, then the pair continued in our direction.

Ryan and I exchanged glances, then got out and crossed to the women. They stopped speaking when we approached, and Kathryn smiled at me.

“How’s it going?” she asked, brushing back a tangle of curls.

“Not so good,” I said.

“No luck finding your missing girl?”

“No one remembers her. I find that odd, since she spent at least three months here.”

I watched for a reaction, but her expression didn’t change.

“Where did you ask?” Carlie stirred and Kathryn reached over her shoulder to adjust his carrier.

“Shops, food stores, pharmacies, gas stations, restaurants, the library. We even tried Boombears.”

“Yeah. That’s a cool idea. If she was expecting she might have gone to a toy store.”

The baby whimpered, then raised his arms and arched backward, pressing his feet against his mother’s back.

“Guess who’s up?” said Kathryn, reaching back to calm her son. “And no one knew her from that picture?”

“No one.”

Carlie’s whimpers grew more strident, and the older woman moved behind Kathryn and slid the baby from the carrier.

“Oh, sorry. This is El.” Kathryn indicated her companion.

Ryan and I introduced ourselves. El nodded, but said nothing as she tried to calm Carlie.

“Could we buy you ladies a Coke or a cup of coffee?” Ryan asked.

“Nah. That stuff will mess up your genetic potential.” Kathryn crinkled her nose, then broke into a smile. “But I could go for juice. So could Carlie.” She rolled her eyes and reached for her baby’s hand. “He can be a handful when he’s not happy. Dom’s not picking us up for another forty minutes, right, El?”

“We should wait for Dom.” The woman spoke so softly I could hardly make out her words.

“Oh, El, you know he’ll be late. Let’s get some juice and sit outside. I don’t want to ride back with Carlie fussing all the way.”

El opened her mouth, but before she could speak Carlie twisted and let out a wail.

“Juice,” said Kathryn, taking the baby and bouncing
him on her hip. “Blackstone’s has lots of choices. I’ve seen their menu in the window.”

We entered the deli and I ordered a Diet Coke. The others asked for juice, then we took our drinks to an outside bench. Kathryn pulled a small blanket from her shoulder bag, spread it at her feet, and set Carlie on it. Then she dug out bottled water and a small yellow mug. The cup had a round bottom and a removable cover with a drinking spout. She filled it halfway with her Very Berry, added water, and handed it to Carlie. He made a two-handed grab and started sucking on the spout. I watched, remembering, and the sensation I’d had on the island washed over me again.

I felt out of sync with the world. The bodies on Murtry. Thoughts of infant Katy. Ryan in Beaufort, with his gun and badge and Nova Scotia speech. The world seemed strange around me, the space in which I moved transported from another place or time, yet somehow present and jarringly real.

“Tell me about your group,” I said, forcing my thoughts back to the moment.

El looked at me but didn’t speak.

“What do you want to know?” Kathryn asked.

“What is it you believe in?”

“Knowing our own minds and bodies. Keeping our cosmic and molecular energy clear.”

“What is it you do?”

“Do?” The question seemed to puzzle her. “We grow our own food, and we don’t eat anything polluting.” She gave a slight shrug of the shoulders. As I listened to her, I thought of Harry. Purification through diet. “. . . we study. We work. We sing and play games. Sometimes we have lectures. Dom is incredibly smart. He’s completely clear—”

El tapped her on the arm and pointed to Carlie’s cup. Kathryn retrieved it, wiped the spout on her skirt, and held it out to her son. The baby grabbed the mug and pounded it on his mother’s foot.

“How long have you lived with the group?”

“Nine years.”

“How old are you?” I couldn’t keep the amazement out of my voice.

“Seventeen. My parents joined when I was eight.”

“And before that?”

She bent and redirected the cup to Carlie’s mouth. “I remember I cried a lot. I was alone a lot. I was always sick. My parents fought all the time.”

“And?”

“When they joined the group we underwent a transformation. Through purification.”

“Are you happy?”

“The point of life is not happiness.” El spoke for the first time. Her voice was deep and whispery, with just the trace of an accent I couldn’t place.

“What is?”

“Peace and health and harmony.”

“Can’t that be attained without withdrawing from society?”

“We think not.” Her face was bronzed and deeply lined, her eyes the color of mahogany. “In society, too many things divert us. Drugs. Television. Possessions. Interpersonal greed. Our own beliefs stand in the way.”

“El says things a lot better than I do,” said Kathryn.

“But why the commune?” asked Ryan. “Why not blow it all off and join an order?”

Kathryn gave El a “take it away” gesture.

“The universe is one organic whole composed of many interdependent elements. Every part is inseparable
from and interacts with every other part. While we live apart, our group is a microcosm of that reality.”

“Would you care to explain that?” Ryan.

“By living apart from the world we reject the slaughterhouses and chemical plants and oil refineries, the beer cans, and the tire heaps, and the raw sewage. By living together as a group we support each other, we feed each other both spiritually and physically.”

“All for one.”

El gave him a brief smile. “All the old myths have to be eliminated before true consciousness is possible.”

“All of them?”

“Yes.”

“Even his?” Ryan tipped his head in the direction of the preacher.

“All of them.”

I circled the conversation back.

“Kathryn, if you wanted information on someone, where would you ask?”

“Look,” she said, smiling, “you’re not going to find her.” She retrieved Carlie’s cup again. “She’s probably on the Riviera right now, smearing sunblock on her babies.”

I looked at her a long time. She didn’t know. Dom hadn’t told her. She’d missed the introductions and had no idea why we were asking about Heidi and Brian. I took a deep breath.

“Heidi Schneider is dead, Kathryn. So is Brian Gilbert.”

She looked at me as if I were crazy.

“Dead? She can’t be dead.”

“Kathryn!” El’s voice was sharp.

Kathryn ignored her.

“I mean, she’s so young. And she’s pregnant. Or was.” Her voice was plaintive, like a child’s.

“They were murdered less than three weeks ago.”

“You’re not here to take her home?” Her eyes shifted from Ryan to me. I could see tiny yellow flecks in the green irises. “You’re not her parents?”

“No.”

“They’re dead?”

“Yes.”

“Her babies?”

I nodded.

Her hand went to her mouth, then fluttered to her lap, like a butterfly unsure where to light. Carlie tugged her skirt, and the hand dropped to stroke his head.

“How could someone do something like that? I mean, I didn’t know them, but, how could someone kill a whole family? Kill babies?”

“We all pass through,” said El, placing an arm around the girl’s shoulders. “Death is merely a transition in the process of growth.”

“A transition to what?” asked Ryan.

There was no answer. At that moment a white van pulled to the curb in front of the People’s Bank on the far side of Bay Street. El squeezed Kathryn’s shoulders and nodded toward it. Then she gathered Carlie, rose, and extended her hand. Kathryn took it and got to her feet.

“I wish you the best of luck,” said El, and the two women set off toward the van.

I watched them a moment, then downed the last of my Coke. As I looked for a trash can something under the bench caught my eye. The cover to Carlie’s cup.

I dug a card from my purse, scribbled a number, and snatched up the lid. Ryan looked amused as I bolted from the bench.

She was just climbing into the van.

“Kathryn,” I called from the middle of the street.

She looked up, and I waved the cover in the air. Behind her the clock on the bank said five-fifteen.

She spoke into the van then walked toward me. When she reached out I gave her the lid with my card tucked inside.

Her eyes met mine.

“Call me if you’d like to talk.”

She turned without a word, walked back to the van, and got in. I could see Dom’s blond head silhouetted behind the wheel as they disappeared up Bay Street.

*   *   *

Ryan and I showed the snapshot at another pharmacy and several fast-food restaurants, then drove to Sheriff Baker’s office. Ivy Lee told us his domestic situation had turned into a standoff. An unemployed sanitation worker was barricaded in his house with his wife and three-year-old daughter, threatening to shoot everyone. Baker would not be joining us that evening.

“Now what?” I asked Ryan. We were standing in the Duke Street parking lot.

“I don’t think Heidi was making the night scene, so we’re not going to accomplish anything running around to bars and clubs.”

“No.”

“Let’s call it a day. I’ll drive you back to the Love Boat.”

“It’s the
Melanie Tess.
”

“Tess. Is that something you eat with corn bread and greens?”

“Ham hocks and yams.”

“Do you want the ride?”

“Sure.”

We rode in silence most of the way. I’d found Ryan
annoying all day and couldn’t wait to be free of him. We were on the bridge when he broke the silence.

“I doubt she’d go to beauty parlors or tanning salons.”

“That’s amazing. I can see why you made detective.”

“Maybe we should focus on Brian. Maybe he worked for a time.”

“You’ve already run him. There’s no tax record, right?”

“Nothing.”

“He could have been paid in cash.”

“That narrows the possibilities.”

We turned in at Ollie’s.

“So where do we go from here?” I asked.

“I never got that hush puppy.”

“I meant the investigation. You’re on your own for dinner. I’m going to go home, take a shower, and make myself a scrumptious plate of instant macaroni. In that order.”

“Jesus, Brennan, that stuff has more preservatives than Lenin’s cadaver.”

“I’ve read the label.”

“You might as well swallow industrial waste. You’ll mess up your”—he mimicked Kathryn—“genetic potential.”

Some half-forgotten thought started to seep into my mind, formless, like the morning’s mist. I tried to reel it in, but the harder I concentrated the faster it dissolved.

“—Owens better keep his skivvies up. I’m going to be on his ass like flies on a Tootsie Roll.”

“What sort of gospel do you suppose he preaches?”

“Sounds like some combination of ecological Armageddon and self-improvement through Wheaties.”

When he pulled up at the pier the sky was beginning to clear over the marsh. Streaks of yellow lit the horizon.

“Kathryn knows something,” I said.

“Don’t we all.”

“You can be a real pain in the ass, Ryan.”

“Thank you for noticing. What makes you think she’s holding out?”

“She said babies.”

“So?”

“Babies.”

I saw thought working in his eyes. Then,

“Son of a bitch.”

“We never told her Heidi was carrying twins.”

*   *   *

Forty minutes later I heard a knock at the port-side entrance. I was wearing the Hornets T-shirt Katy had left, no panties, and a towel fashioned into a pretty slick turban. I peered through the blinds.

Ryan stood on the dock holding two six-packs and a pizza the size of a manhole cover. He’d abandoned his jacket and tie, and rolled his shirtsleeves to just below the elbows.

Shit.

I released the slats and pulled back. I could turn off the light and refuse to answer. I could ignore him. I could tell him to go away.

I peeked out again and found myself looking directly into Ryan’s eyes.

“I know you’re in there, Brennan. I’m a detective, remember?”

He dangled a six-pack in front of me. “Diet Coke.”

Damn.

I didn’t dislike Ryan. In fact, I enjoyed his company more than that of most people. More than I cared to
admit. I liked his commitment to what he did, and the compassion he showed to victims and their families. I liked his intelligence and wit. And I liked the story of Ryan, the college kid gone wild, beaten up by a biker cokehead, then converted to the other side. Tough kid turned tough cop. It had a kind of poetic symmetry.

And I definitely liked the way he looked, but my better judgment told me not to get involved.

Oh hell. It beat noodles and synthetic cheese.

I dropped to my stateroom, grabbed a pair of cutoffs, and ran a brush through my hair.

I raised the blinds and slid back the screen to allow him in. He handed down the drinks and pizza, then turned and climbed aboard backward.