Blood Vines

CHAPTER THIRTY

Monday, March 8

6:40 P.M.

Alex spent the rest of the day in downtown Sonoma, introducing herself to some of the old-timers, asking questions and following leads. At the jewelry store Rachel had told her about, the owner had admired her ring and given her the name of an artist who’d been making original wine country-inspired jewelry for forty years. She’d thought it looked like his work.

Alex had decided to wait until the next day to contact him. She was hungry, tired, and needed to process.

As she approached her front door, she heard Margo mewing. Poor baby must be hungry, she thought, unlocking the door. As she opened it, the cat darted out.

“Margo!” Alex scooped her up. But instead of the passive animal she was accustomed to, the cat struggled in her grasp. Alex frowned. “What’s up with you, silly cat?”

Alex tightened her hold and carried Margo into the house. The moment they were inside, the cat leapt out of her arms and darted off.

She shut the door, wrinkling her nose. Maybe the smell was getting to her? It’d definitely grown stronger in the time she’d been out.

Alex flipped on a lamp and looked around, tired and annoyed. What was the deal? She’d eaten only a handful of meals since moving in and had taken the trash out.

She stopped in the center of the living room. Backed-up sewage was a possible answer. Or an animal that had gotten trapped in the attic or walls and died there. Alex followed her nose; the smell grew stronger as she headed to the back of the house.

She stopped outside the bathroom. Margo sat on the throw rug, staring intently at the cabinet located under the sink.

Alex studied the cat. She sat stone still, as if every fiber of her being was focused on that closed cabinet door. The way she did when hunting.

Suddenly, the cat yowled. Alex jumped, chill bumps racing up her spine.

Something was in that cabinet. Something Margo didn’t like.

Swallowing hard, Alex entered the bathroom, crossed to the cabinet and knelt in front of it. She reached for the knob and eased the door open.

The stench hit Alex hard. Her stomach clenched and she covered her nose and mouth with her hand. At least now she knew where the smell was coming from.

But what was causing it?

She peered into the cabinet. A plastic bag, she saw. Black.

She didn’t want to reach her hand in there. Her every instinct recoiled from the thought. But she had to.

Grabbing a hand towel to hold over her nose and mouth, Alex grasped the bag and dragged it out. She noticed the flies then. Dozens of them. The contents of her stomach rushed to her throat.

Choking sickness back, Alex opened the bag. An animal, she saw. Or what was left of one.

With a cry, she released the bag and stumbled backward. Getting to her feet, she ran for the front of the house and out onto the porch. She reached the edge, bent over the rail and vomited.

Trembling, she squeezed her eyes shut. But instead of forcing the image out, it filled her head. Matted fur. An eye winking up at her.

She breathed deeply and slowly through her nose, fighting for calm. To slow her thoughts so she could think.

Who’d done this? She searched her memory. The creature hadn’t been there when she moved in, she was certain of it. So when had it been placed there?

Saturday night. It must have been. While she was out? When she was sleeping? Sunday morning was the first time she’d smelled-

The drop of blood. On the vanity.

Not hers. Not Reed’s. The creature’s.

And then she realized: somebody was messing with her. Wanting her to be afraid. To run.

Sick bastard. She didn’t scare that easily.

Anger kicked in. Sucking in a sharp breath, she marched back into the house. She rinsed her mouth, then retrieved her cell phone and punched in Reed’s number. He answered right away. It sounded like he was eating.

“It’s Alex. Am I interrupting your dinner?”

“If you call a burger at my desk dinner. What’s up?”

“There’s something here I think you should see. Someone left a… someone was in my house and left a dead animal under my bathroom sink.”

For a long moment he was silent. When he finally spoke, he simply said, “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

True to his word, he pulled up thirty minutes later. She was waiting on the front porch, Margo in her arms.

“The bathroom?” he asked as he approached her.

“Yes. I’ll wait here, if you don’t mind?”

He said he didn’t and a few minutes later, he returned. He was on his cell phone. When he hung up, she looked at him in question. “One of the CSI detectives is on their way over to collect it.”

She nodded.

“Can you answer some questions?” When she nodded again, he said, “Tell me how you came to discover the animal.”

She did, starting with noticing the spot of blood on the vanity, then the subtle smell later that same morning, to arriving home tonight to find Margo acting strangely.

“The smell had gotten much worse and I started to search for what was causing it. When I found Margo in the bathroom staring at that cupboard I… knew.”

“That the smell was coming from in there?”

“Yes.” She rubbed at the chill bumps on her arms. “I saw the bag, pulled it out and-” She drew a deep breath. “What kind of animal was it?”

“A lamb. Very young.”

Her stomach rolled. “How did it… what happened to it?”

“It was sliced open.”

Alex brought a hand to her mouth. “A sacrificial lamb,” she whispered.

“What did you say?”

She repeated it and looked at him. “Why?” she asked. “Why hurt that poor creature and… why bring it here? I don’t understand.”

“You noticed the smell the first time Sunday?”

“Yes.”

“And the drop of blood on the sink, also Sunday?”

She nodded. “I remember looking at my hands, for a cut, then thinking maybe you-”

“I didn’t use the bathroom.”

“I didn’t think so, but I couldn’t remember for sure.”

“And then?”

“I wiped it away and forgot about it.”

He was looking at her strangely, as if he was trying to figure something out. “What?”

“You’re awfully calm.”

“Is there something wrong with that?”

“It’s a little surprising, that’s all.”

“I suppose I should be frightened and feel violated. Maybe I will later, but right now I’m pissed. Really pissed.” She looked away, then back. “The bastard wants me afraid. I’m not inclined to give him what he wants.”

He continued to look intently at her. “Him?”

She met his gaze. “Or her.”

“Any idea why someone would target you this way?”

“None.” He cocked an eyebrow and she made a sound of irritation. “You’re the detective, piece it together.”

The CSI unit arrived. Alex recognized the woman: Detective Tanner.

She greeted Alex, then she and Reed headed into the house. This time she followed them inside, opening windows as she went. She’d rather the cold than the smell.

She moved from the front of the house to the back. As she neared the bathroom, she caught snatches of their conversation.

“-a little odd,” Tanner was saying, voice low. “I find it difficult to-”

Reed murmured something she couldn’t make out, then, “to the site-reaction-don’t you think?”

As if aware of her proximity, they went silent. Alex hurried past, to the kitchen. She unlocked the single window above the sink and slid it up.

“Are you okay?”

She turned to Reed in the doorway. “Trying to get rid of the smell.”

“Tanner’s going to take care of the animal. Dust for prints.”

“Great.”

“There’s something I’d like to get your opinion on. It’ll mean taking a drive.”

“Now?”

“As soon as Tanner’s done. You up for it?”

She was, and thirty minutes later, they were in his Tahoe, traveling the narrow, vineyard-lined road. They had driven in silence for several miles when he spoke again. “A biker discovered a makeshift altar yesterday. I thought maybe you could tell me something about it.” He glanced her way. “Your area of expertise, right?”

“Right. Why tonight?”

“Why not? I was there, you were there-”

“Brought together by a dead animal found sliced open and stuffed into the cabinet under my bathroom sink.”

“Yes.”

“One I called a sacrificial lamb.”

“You did.”

“And you’re thinking the creature may have been used as a sacrifice on the makeshift altar we’re going to see.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But it’s a possibility.”

He didn’t respond, though he didn’t have to-they both knew it was true. They fell silent. Alex gazed out the window, her thoughts turning to the other night and their lovemaking.

Odd how she hadn’t thought of it until now. She wondered if he had.

They arrived at their destination. Reed opened the glove compartment and brought out a flashlight, then reached around to the backseat for a second. As he did, his coat opened and she caught a glimpse of his gun.

Her mouth went dry. They were in the middle of God only knew where. Pitch-black, the only illumination from the stars and slim crescent moon, the only sign of civilization a house they had passed a mile down the road.

He was a cop. She trusted him. Enough to have had sex with him, for Heaven’s sake.

So, why the unease?

He turned back and handed her the light. She took it and shook off the question and the crazy thoughts that had prompted it. She opened her car door and stepped out into the night. She snapped on the light. Its bright beam sliced through the dark, landing on the altar. She moved the beam over the site, taking a quick, visual inventory.

This site didn’t look that different from ceremonial sites she had seen over the years. And she had seen many. Been witness to many religious rituals, from the routine Catholic mass to the truly bizarre and sometimes frightening. Most she had attended as an academic, a chronicler of culture.

And as one with a thirst to understand. To figure out what drove the human animal’s search for meaning. What inside humans cried out for an overarching belief system.

She moved closer, taking in the scrawled symbols, the black candles, the evidence of animal sacrifice.

Reed came up to stand beside her. She glanced at him. “So, I was right about your reason for bringing me up here. You think the lamb in my bathroom could be the animal slaughtered here.”

“What do you think?”

“That it’s a crazy idea.”

“Why crazy?”

She looked at him. “Frame of reference. What possible connection could there be between this”-she swept her flashlight beam over the tableau- “and me?”

He didn’t answer. “Tell me about what you see. Who did this?”

“By that you mean who philosophically?”

“Yes. What group.”

She shook her head. “Don’t know if it was a specific group. What I see is more like a kitchen sink approach.”

She pointed her flashlight toward the ground, the series of stones that had been placed around the altar. “Let’s start here. The altar’s been placed in a ritual circle, also referred to as the sacred circle. The circle forms protection from evil. Pretty standard stuff.”

She moved the light beam yet again. “Look at the symbols. The pentagram is used in all forms of paganism but also, when inverted, in Satanism. The moon and stars we see in Wiccan ceremonies.”

She settled the light on double jagged lines. “In Satanism, the double Z symbol represents the destroyer. It could also depict thunderbolts, which were the weapon of Zeus. The cross is an obvious Christian symbol but also seen in pagan worship and Santeria, which absorbed many of the Catholic rituals, symbols and saints. An inverted cross is seen in Satanic worship.”

She indicated the clusters of foliage and grapevines arranged on the altar. “These represent a reverence for nature, which we see in all forms of paganism.”

“You’re avoiding the obvious.”

He meant the sacrifice. She corrected him. “Not avoiding. Getting around to it. It’s the deal breaker.”

“Deal breaker?”

“You simply don’t see it in paganism. That eliminates a whole slew of belief systems. Wicca, Shamanism, Odinism, Neo-Hellenism, among others.”

“Which leaves?”

“Santeria. Satanism. Early Christianity and Judaism. Like I said, you’ve got a kitchen sink here, Reed. Or a Louisiana gumbo.”

He frowned. “Why sacrifice an animal?”

“As an offering. In thanks. Reverence. As an atonement for sins. Or in a show of power.”

“You think this is for real?”

“What do you mean, for real?”

“Was whoever built this serious about… the whole thing? The ceremony, the offering? Or is it a gag? A stage set?”

A stage set, she thought. Interesting. She cleared her throat. “Some people believe all religion is a gag. A hoax perpetrated on the stupid and gullible. Some call all religious ceremonies a form of theater, with churches, synagogues and altars like these simply places to perform.”

He studied her, eyebrows drawn together. “What about you, Alex? What do you believe?”

She turned her gaze back to the altar and its symbols. “I believe worship is an intrinsic part of the human condition. That it’s as elemental as the need for food and drink.” She glanced back at him. “We’re hardwired for it, Reed. We’re hardwired for worship.”

“You’re saying I don’t even have a choice in that?”

She nodded. “The choice you do have is in what you believe. What or who you choose to worship.”

“And this? A single wacko or a group? Legitimate or not?”

She shoved her hands into her jacket pockets, suddenly cold. “There are cults and sects with only a handful of followers. Look at it this way, if I get the idea I’m the living God, or His chosen prophet, all I have to do is convince one other person it’s true and I have a following. I’m legitimized.”

“And there are people out there willing to believe anything.”

“Aching to,” she corrected. “Because of this basic, hardwired need.”

He seemed to digest that. “And the symbols, the animal sacrifice and black candles?”

“It’s not an assembly line creation, Reed. It’s somebody’s personal doctrine.” She motioned with her flashlight. “They’re incorporating it all.”

“The kitchen sink approach.”

“My opinion only.”

“This doesn’t scare you at all?”

“No. Should it?”

“You’re the expert.”

“And you’re the detective. Does it scare you?”

He smiled slightly. “Me? Scared?”

“There’s a reason you brought me out here.”

“Answers, Alex. And connections. That’s what detectives are always looking for.”

“You didn’t answer my question. Does this scare you?”

His smile widened. The laid-back good-old-boy.

“You’ve got this all wrong. Alex. Detectives ask the questions, they don’t answer them.”

Their gazes held. In that moment, it was there between them. The memory of their lovemaking, the remnants of their passion, still smoldering between them.

He lifted a hand as if to touch her, then dropped it. “Let’s get out of here.”

They climbed into his SUV. He started back down the mountain road. Moments ticked past. The silence felt awkward-elephant in the middle of the room awkward. She wondered if he felt it, too.

And if he was as aware of her as she was of him.

“Maybe we should talk about it?” she offered.

“It?”

“The other night. You don’t have to feel weird about it.”

“I don’t.”

“Good.” Alex laced her fingers together in her lap. “And I don’t expect you to say anything about it.”

“No?”

“That’s the only reason I’m bringing it up. I mean, it just occurred to me that you-” She made a fluttering motion. “It happened. We move on.”

“Very cosmopolitan of you. Nobody gets their knickers in a twist.”

“Exactly.”

His lips lifted slightly. “One problem. I want it to happen again.”

She hadn’t expected that. Had secretly wished for it. Maybe. But certainly not broached in that way. Alex searched for a response that wouldn’t totally blow her cover.

He beat her to it. Again.

“Thanks, by the way. I had a great time.”

She smiled. She couldn’t help herself. “Okay, so if we’re being embarrassingly honest, I did, too.”

A short time later, she stood on her porch, watching him drive off. He had insisted on walking her up, then doing a quick check of her home. They’d closed the windows; he’d helped her light a fire in the fireplace. Then he’d said good night.

So that was that, she thought. No more sex talk. No suggestion of when it might “happen” again. Not even a brush of his mouth against hers.

Frustrated, Alex stepped inside the house and locked the door behind her. She wished she had left the elephant unmentioned in the middle of the room; it’d be a lot easier to deal with now.

She changed into her pajamas, poured a glass of wine and curled up with it in front of the fire. She was emotionally and physically drained. Yet her thoughts raced. So much had happened in such a short span of time. It was overwhelming.

Gazing at the fire, she sipped the wine, holding it a moment on her tongue, enjoying its complex bite. Similar to the Reeds’ Bear Creek Zin, though not quite as good. A log dropped in the fireplace, sending a shower of sparks up the flue.

Suddenly, Alex remembered. She straightened, nearly spilling her wine. The Reeds’ trophy room, the scent that hung in the air. It had been familiar.

Woodsy and sweet. The same as the incense in the cave. The same as in her dream.

She set aside her wine and collected her phone. She dialed Reed; he answered immediately, sounding alert.

“It’s Alex,” she said, sounding breathless to her own ears.

“Is everything all right?”

“Yes. This is going to sound a little nuts, but in your family’s trophy room, what was that scent? It was subtle, but at the same time-”

“Sandalwood,” he answered. “It’s my mother’s favorite. Why?”

“That was the smell, in the cave that night.”

“Sandalwood? In the cave?” He sounded doubting. “I didn’t smell anything, Alex.”

He hadn’t. Nor had she after he found her. And that stuff didn’t dissipate in the blink of an eye. Maybe she had imagined it.

Crazy, crazy girl.

She ignored the quiver of fear the thought sent through her and pressed on. “Did your mother always like it?”

“As long as I can remember. She uses sandalwood-scented soap, too.” He paused. “What are you thinking, Alex?”

“I don’t know,” she answered truthfully. “Good night, Reed.”

She ended the call and sagged against the sofa back. What did it mean? she wondered. Could the memory of the scent have triggered the episode in the cave? And what of her dream? Was some long buried memory trying to emerge? Or was her subconscious simply playing a nasty trick on her?