Under Cover of Darkness (44 page)

"There's not much to talk about."

"Let's go back where you feel safe, then. Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

She hesitated for an instant. Again, the real world was closing in around her. Truthfully, she didn't know. She gave the FBI's answer. "No."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure. I would know if I had brothers or sisters."

"Were you adopted, Kira?"

The insight floored her. He continued, "Do you sometimes wonder about your real parents?"

"I don't know what you mean."

His stare tightened. "The green eyes are a nice cover." "They're not a cover. They're mine."

"How does an Indian girl get green eyes?"

"What?"

You are part Indian, aren't you? I can see it."

Not everyone could, not even some Native Americans. But if he was on to it, there was no sense denying it. "Part, yes."

"Which part? Body or spirit?"

"I don't know how to answer that."

"What tribe are your ancestors from?"

"I don't know."

"You were adopted, weren't you?"

She suddenly regretted the I don't know. She should have just picked Cherokee or some other tribe that didn't have good recordkeeping, one that Blechman could never have verified. Not knowing your tribe was a red flag for adoption. "Yes, I was adopted."

He seemed to smile faintly, confident he was getting somewhere. "If I were to guess, I would say you're Yakama."

"Why?"

"The word Yakama means runaway. Are you a runaway?"

"No"

"You're running from something, Kira. Tell me what it is."

"I really don't know what you mean."

."Are you running from something you've hidden in your past? Or are you running from the fact that you don't know your past?"

"The past is just the past."

"No, Kira. Until you've transcended the human level, you are defined by the past. It's who you are."

He looked deeply into her eyes. "Who are you, Kira?" "What--what do you mean?"

"You're not who you say you are. Tell me who you are. Who you really are."

Her fear soared to another level. Either he knew she was a phony, or he was on verge of figuring it out. She broke from his grip and sprang from her chair, ready to run for her life.

"Stop!" he shouted.

Andie wheeled, ready to defend herself.

"It's okay," said Blechman.

Part of her said run, but she fought the impulse. Her cover wasn't completely blown yet. At least she didn't think so.

His voice and demeanor were unthreatening. "Kira, many of my most devoted followers lied to me at first about their pasts. Some were simply unable to talk freely about past abusive relationships. Others were afraid I would reject them if they revealed their previous life of crime, drug abuse, sexual promiscuity, or whatever."

She felt a wave of relief. He didn't even suspect she was FBI. Just another loner with a checkered past. "I'm sorry I lied to you."

"I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable. But to come on this journey, you have to break with the past. To break with the past, you have to confront your demons."

"That's what I want to do."

"Good. And don't be afraid. You won't go through this alone. Felicia will help you. I will help you. And as you progress from one level to the next, you will find others to help you overcome the human traits that torment you."

"I'm not really tormented by anything."

"Yes, you are. That's why you're here. Only when you rid yourself of those past vibrations can you vibrate at the next level. Do you want to reach the next level?"

"Yes. Of course."

"Then make that your sole objective for all your remaining days on this planet. Not to become a better human, as your parents and teachers instructed you. But to become more than human. As long as you are human, it makes no difference whether you are a prostitute or a scientist, a minister or a murderer."

She cringed inside at the mention of a murderer. "I understand."

He rose and stepped toward her. Andie took a half step back, but she was suddenly in his grasp. She stiffened with fear, but it was just a warm embrace. He held her for nearly a full minute, then whispered softly, "Your name is now Willow, and you belong to us."

Chapter
Fifty-Six.

Gus had his investigator tail him to the meeting with Meredith Borge, fully armed, just in case. Though it would be illegal to record their conversation without Meredith's consent, Dex wired him up anyway. No telling what direction this might take. He wanted it all on tape.

The coffee shop was nearly empty, just two men at opposite ends of the counter and a family of five sucking down the spaghetti special at a corner table. Meredith was alone in a booth by the revolving pie display. Gus arrived precisely at eight o'clock, as instructed.

"Got your call," he said.

She looked up from her coffee and gave a sideways glance toward the door, as if checking to make sure he hadn't been followed. "Have a seat."

The waitress poured him a cup and freshened Meredith's. After she'd gone, Gus asked, "Why the change of heart?"

"Why were you so stupid as to come to my front door in broad daylight?"

Gus wasn't sure how to respond, but after the message on his windshield this afternoon, it was a fairly astute question. "Guess I wasn't thinking."

"That's a dangerous way to live."

"I'm no stranger to danger. At least not lately."

"I know all about your situation."

He wondered if that included the alleged spouse abuse. "Don't believe everything you read in the papers or see on television."

"I don't. But my daughter was a very reliable source." Gus stopped in mid-sip. "Shirley told me she didn't even know if you were alive."

"We didn't talk for quite some time, that's true." "You mean after she conspired to kill you?"

His knowing surprised her. "That put a crimp in the relationship, yeah."

"So when did you get over it?"

"When she called and told me you were going to pay her a quarter million dollars."

"If she could help me find my wife."

"Which is precisely the reason she called me."

"I don't follow you."

She smiled wryly. "No way Shirley was going to find her without my help."

"Do you know where my wife is?"

"No"

"Stop playing games with me."

"It's not a game. It's a theory. Shirley's theory, to be exact. But she couldn't prove it without me. I know what you need to know."

Gus was tiring of her coyness. "Are you talking about the cult?"

"My, you have done your homework."

"What do you know about it?"

"You mean the one in the Yakima Valley, right? The on
e o
n ten acres of land with the old white farmhouse, bi
g b
arn, apple and apricot orchards? Chicken
. C
oop out back?"

"Either you're totally making this up or you've bee
n t
here."

"I lived there." "When?"

"Long before your wife started shoplifting and donating clothes to the Second Chance."

"Are you still . . . involved?"

"No. It's been years. Used to be a very positive environment. I got out when Blechman took over."

"Blechman?"

"Younger guy. Very ambitious. Likes to think he pioneered the cult's thinking, but he's just another egomaniac with a pulpit."

"How do you mean?"

"He wrote this manuscript he thought was going to sell fifty million copies and spend two years on the New York Times bestseller list. Over a thousand pages. I'm sure it's been rejected by every publisher on the planet. Not that there isn't a market for this secular evangelism stuff. You've seen all these books lately that tap into the wave of spiritualism and enlightenment without conventional religion. Anyway, Blechman thought he could parlay the book into a weekly. magazine, CD-ROMs, audiotapes, his own worldwide television talk show. So far the only place the philosophy seems to have caught on is on his farm."

"What's the philosophy?

"Can't say. Never read the book."

"I would think you would have gained some insights just from being around the farm."

"You would think," she said vaguely.

"What's the book's title?"

"His manuscript. There's no book. He calls it 'The Echoes."

"The echoes? What does that mean?"

"Maybe you should read it and find out."

"Can you get me a copy?"

"Sure. On sale. A mere fraction of what you offered Shirley. Twenty-five thousand."

"For a stinking unpublished manuscript?"

"You want to find your wife or don't you?"

"You're saying the book will tell me where Beth is?" Her sly smile was back. "I think it just might explain everything."

"Why should I believe that?"

"Why do you think my daughter was murdered?" "Your daughter's death was suicide, not homicide."

"Then why didn't they find any step stool or chair o
r a
nything like that around her? How did she suspend hersel
f f
rom the ceiling all by herself?"

"I don't know anything about that."

"You met Shirley. You really believe she hanged herself?"

Gus didn't answer, but the woman had a point.

She leaned closer, elbows on the table, her voice low. "This cult is like a fucking octopus. It's got arms that reach everywhere. Prisons. Thrift shops. Even perfect little neighborhoods like yours."

Gus met her stare. "How soon can I get my hands on that manuscript?"

"Just as soon as you can get me the cash."

"Tomorrow."

"I'll call you," she said. "Don't call me. Don't come by my house. And don't you dare tell anyone. we talked. I don't want to end up like my daughter. Understand?"

"Yeah," said Gus. "I'm beginning to."

They left separately, first Meredith, then Gus a few minutes later. Gus called his investigator from his car phone. "You heard?"

"Yeah," said Dex. His car was just a block away. "The wire worked perfectly."

"What do you think?"

"I think someone was watching you."

"What?"

"I had my eye on the green Mercury across the street from the hotel. It sat there the whole time you and Meredith talked and then pulled away when you did. Could be FBI. Could be someone else."

Gus checked his rearview mirror. Pairs of headlights scattered across three lanes behind him, but in the dark it was impossible to tell if any belonged to a green Mercury. "You think they followed me here or Meredith?"

"Depends on who they are. And whether Meredith is still part of them."

"Meaning she could still be part of the cult?"

"Think back to the last thing she said to you: 'I don't want to end up like my daughter.' Interesting coincidence that she used almost the same language that was in the letter you got on your windshield."

Gus stopped at the traffic light. "I don't think she's with the cult anymore, Dex. You heard her words over the wire, but only I could see the anger in her face. She hates this Blechman, the way she ridiculed his writings, emphasizing it wasn't a book, just a crappy manuscript. If you ask me, she's even forgiven her daughter for conspiring to kill her. I think she blames the cult for that."

"That's a lot of assumptions," said Dex.

"I don't think it's an outrageous assumption. Especially the part about Shirley's death being murder rather than suicide."

"I'm with you there," said Dex.

"Good. Because if Shirley was killed, that might even explain that note on my windshield this afternoon."

"How so?"

"It's in Beth's handwriting, so let's assume she wrote it. She warned that if I talk to Meredith Borge, she'll end up like Shirley. That makes no sense if Shirley committed suicide. But it makes total sense if Shirley was murdered."

"I would agree with you if she had signed it in her own name. But she signed it as Flora. That sounds like a cult name to me."

"That's my whole point. Someone in the cult forced
Beth to write the letter. It's a warning to me in Beth's own handwriting that my wife will be killed if I talk to Meredith. It means they're holding Beth against her will."

"Or it means Beth is happy being Flora in her new life with the cult and wants you to back off. Because if her husband keeps snooping around, she's afraid they might decide she's more trouble than she's worth."

"I like my theory better."

"Don't be so sure," said Dex. "If you're right, they'll kill her if they find out you're talking to Meredith."