One Book In The Grave

Chapter 14

“You should talk to Savannah if you want the scoop on Angelica,” China said after we told her what we were looking for. “She would know a lot more about those people than I would.”

“Why do you think so?” I asked.

China gazed at me as if I’d lost part of my brain. “You don’t remember that Savannah took her first cooking classes at the institute before going off to study in Paris?”

“Um, I know she did, but…so what?”

China shook her head. “She used to party with that whole crowd. Don’t you remember she called Angelica a bitch with attitude?”

“She should talk,” I muttered. Savannah could be prickly when she wanted to be.

“I know, right?” China glanced quickly at Mom, who was on the other side of the shop, comparing skeins of neon purple yarn. Only God knew what she planned to knit with that.

“I heard that,” Mom said mildly. “Be nice.”

China and I exchanged glances. Had we really thought we could get away with saying anything negative about our siblings? Mom had the ears of a desert fox.

I frowned at China. “How do you remember all that stuff about Savannah and Angelica?”

“I was younger than you two so I hung on your every word.” She held up her hand instantly. “And no, I don’t do that anymore.”

“Too bad,” I said, grinning.

“Anyway, I remember everything Savannah used to say when she’d come home from the culinary school. I thought being a chef would be the most exciting thing ever. I mean, food everywhere, right? I was captivated by everything she told us about her training.”

“Huh. I just tried my best to ignore her.”

“Like we all do with London,” China whispered.

I snorted and we both whipped around to see if Mom had heard. She didn’t brook any disparaging words uttered about her youngest and most darling daughter, London. After all, our little sister led a charmed life in nearby Calistoga with her gorgeous, wealthy doctor-cum-oenologist husband and twin babies.

A bell tinkled prettily to alert China that the door to the shop had opened. We turned and saw Crystal and Melody Byers, two sisters who’d gone to high school with us.

“Yoo-hoo, China,” Crystal said, as she rushed over to hug my sister, then me. “Brooklyn, it’s so good to see you. We saw you coming in here and thought we’d stop in to say hello.”

“Hey, Crystal,” I said, smiling. “How are you?”

Mom walked over to greet the sisters, then said, “You girls look so cheery today. Melody, that color is perfect on you.”

Melody preened in her golden yellow jumpsuit. It was a good color for her blond hair and lightly tanned skin, but lately when I saw a jumpsuit, it reminded me of a prison uniform. If hers were slightly more orange, she would fit right in at the county jail.

Crystal was my age and we’d been in the same classes all through grammar and high school. Melody was a year younger. Both were pretty, blue-eyed blondes, tall and big-boned, who were strong from years of working in their parents’ orchards, where they grew olives, walnuts, and apples. Thanks to the two Byers sisters, our high school women’s basketball and baseball teams had held the state championship for five years running. The sisters were popular with the girls at school, but most of the boys were afraid of them, probably because the two girls could beat them at almost any sport.

“What are you ladies up to today?” Mom asked with a smile. “Shopping?”

“We’re always up for shopping,” Melody said, and everybody laughed.

“We’re in town on business,” Crystal said, efficiently straightening the jacket of her perky blue seersucker suit. “Just stopped by the chamber of commerce to pick up our very own street-fair permit.”

I knew they both worked in their parents’ booth at all the different street fairs and farmers’ markets in the county. They sold their apples and olives and walnuts, along with all sorts of oils and soaps they made on their farm.

“Are you setting up shop on your own?” I asked.

“Yes.” Melody could barely contain her excitement. “We found this fabulous new line of fruit dehydrators we’ll be demonstrating and selling.”

“That’s wonderful,” Mom said. “Will you be selling the dried fruit, as well?”

“Oh, you mean to eat? That’s a great idea, Mrs. Wainwright,” Crystal said. She looked at Melody with her mouth wide-open. “OMG, why didn’t we think of that?”

“LOL, I don’t know,” Melody said, laughing at their silliness. She gazed back at us. “Crystal uses the dried fruit to make jewelry. She’s a genius. Show them.”

Crystal pulled back her hair and flicked her earring, a shiny, round red disk hanging from a silver post. “Don’t you love it?”

Curious, I looked closer at the glittering red circle. China leaned in next to me. “What is that?”

“It’s a strawberry slice,” Crystal said gaily. “I dry them and shellac them and turn them into earrings.”

China and I exchanged glances. “Wow.”

“Aren’t they chic?” Melody said as Crystal beamed. “Wait till you see her dried-apple necklaces. They’re true art. If you’re around tomorrow, stop by our booth.”

China raised her hand. “I’ll be there.”

“We’ll be selling our other products, too,” Crystal added.

“I’ll come by, too,” I said. I wanted to pick up more of the olive oil-based cuticle cream they sold. The stuff was golden, especially for me and my propensity for paper cuts. Seriously, if they sold this cream at Bloomie’s, the Byers sisters would be millionaires in a few months.

“Girls, I wonder if you could help me,” Mom said, glancing from one Byers sister to the other.

“We’ll try,” Crystal said, and Melody nodded with enthusiasm.

“I’m looking for someone in the area who reloads their own ammunition cartridges.” Mom leaned in to add confidentially, “I’d like to learn how to do it and maybe cut a little something off our annual hunting budget.”

“I didn’t know you hunted, Mrs. Wainwright,” Melody said.

“Oh yes,” Mom said, waving in an offhand way. “Well, not around here, of course. Jim and I take a trip up toward Yuba City every year and do a little dove hunting.”

“Oh, I love dove,” Crystal said, then blinked and turned to Melody. “Love. Dove. Get it?”

“You’re a poet and didn’t know it, LOL,” Melody said, slapping Crystal’s arm.

“LOL,” Crystal agreed, giggling.

“Girls?” Mom said softly.

“Oh,” Melody said, shaking her head to get back on track. “Sure, we know lots of people. Most of the men in our church have reloading presses. The Ogunites go through a lot of ammo every year. It just makes good sense to load your own.”

I’d forgotten that Melody and Crystal were members of the Church of the True Blood of Ogun, a local church whose members believed in honoring the creative spirit of the earth. That was their story, anyway. Most of the members tended to be shameless proselytizers with borderline survivalist mentalities.

A few of Guru Bob’s fellowship members referred to the Ogunite church as a cult because some of its teachings were downright bizarre, but I figured the Ogunites probably felt the same way about Guru Bob’s followers. People tend to mistrust anything they don’t understand.

Years ago, my mother had taken us to the small Ogunite church, a charming wood and adobe structure the followers had built themselves from material found in the canyons and valleys of Sonoma. It was part of their teaching that their place of worship reflected the earth on which it stood. They’d fashioned the stained-glass windows from smooth chunks of glass and minerals they’d found in the Russian River nearby. I was young enough at the time of our visit that I held up my hand, thinking I could catch the rainbow of colors streaming through the windows.

Melody and Crystal had never been blatant about trying to convert any of us, so my sisters and I had always been friendly with them.

“Doesn’t Bennie have a new Lock-N-Load?” Melody asked her sister.

“He’s got everything.” Crystal turned to Mom. “He might be willing to teach you, Mrs. Wainwright.”

“Bennie?” Mom said. “I’m not sure I know a Bennie.”

“You know him, Mom,” China said. “He went to school with London.”

“Bennie.” She thought about it. “Benjamin Styles?”

“Yes, that’s him,” Melody said. “He and his friend Stefan have a place halfway up Moon Valley Ridge Road.”

“Stefan’s cute,” Crystal said, and winked at me.

“Really cute,” Melody said, nodding emphatically.

“Moon Valley Ridge isn’t too far,” Mom said. “I could drive over to see him.”

Moon Valley Ridge Road skirted a wide, rocky canyon that some of the locals referred to as the Hollow. A number of the Ogunites had built homes in the area. There was a fast-moving stream running through the canyon that provided plenty of fish and attracted a lot of wildlife, so many of the Hollow residents prided themselves on living off the land. Me, I liked my Frappuccinos.

Melody wrinkled her nose. “Wouldn’t you rather have Mr. Wainwright load the ammo for you? It can get kind of dirty.”

“Oh no,” Mom said in a rush. “He’s so busy working. And besides, I want to surprise him.”

“You can load ammo yourself, Mrs. Wainwright,” Crystal said, casting a look at her sister. “I do it all the time.”

“She does,” Melody conceded. “Crystal is a wiz at so many things.”

Mom leaned closer to Crystal. “We ladies do it all, don’t we, sweetie?”

Crystal laughed. “It’s true. So I’ll tell Bennie to call you. I see him every morning at church.”

“You would do that for me?” Mom said.

“Oh, Mrs. Wainwright, you’ve always been so good to us.” Crystal wrapped her arm around Mom’s waist. “Of course we would.”

“You’re a sweet girl, Crystal.” She reached over and patted Melody’s arm. “You, too, Melody.”

China grabbed a store business card and wrote Mom’s phone number on the back, then handed it to Crystal.

She glanced at the card and smiled. “I’ll call you as soon as I’ve talked to him.”

Mom squeezed Crystal’s arm lightly. “Thank you, sweetie.”

“We’d better get going,” Melody said, and her voice rose with excitement. “We’re driving over to Sonoma to pick up ten new dehydrators. OMG!”

“TTYL,” Crystal said, waving as they left the store.

“Hasta la vista,” China said.

“Whew,” Mom said when the door closed. “Those girls always had more energy than ten of you two.”

China’s shoulders slumped. “I’m exhausted.”

“Good thing they played for our team,” I said, then grabbed Mom for a quick hug. “You were awesome, Mom. You lied like a real pro.”

“Watch and learn, sweetie,” she said, stepping back and patting her hair.

“OMG,” I muttered.

We dropped by Savannah’s and caught her racing around, preparing for the dinner crowd.

She stopped for a minute to answer my questions about her time at the Art Institute and about Angelica and Solomon.

“I hated her. What else did you want to know?”

“Did you know Solomon?” I asked.

“Well enough. I went to parties at his house.”

“Did Solomon use guns?” Mom asked, going off script. Apparently she was running her own investigation. I guessed I would watch and learn.

“Oh, God, Mom,” Savannah said, pressing her cheeks with her hands. “You just reminded me of this really creepy thing that happened one night.”

She told us of a party she attended with the usual gang of institute partygoers at Solomon’s place out in the woods somewhere. It must’ve been two or three o’clock in the morning when the host came out of his bedroom with a couple of guns and a box of ammunition. He announced that he wanted to play Russian roulette.

“I got up to leave right then,” Savannah said, “and Angelica sneered at me. ‘What? Are you scared?’ And I said, ‘Yeah. You people are sick,’ and I walked out.”

“That’s my girl,” Mom said, with a sharp nod of approval.

“They really were sick,” I said, feeling chills skitter up my arms.

“Completely,” Savannah said.

“Did they really play Russian roulette?” Mom asked, her face showing her shock and worry.

“I asked a girlfriend later,” Savannah said. “She told me that somebody threatened to call the cops, so Solomon kicked everyone out. He said they all needed to lighten up because he was just kidding around. But I know they weren’t kidding.”

Savannah’s cell phone beeped and she checked the text message. Her mouth dropped open. “It says the Chronicle will be publishing a three-star review of Arugula in tomorrow’s paper.”

“Oh, sweetie,” Mom whispered in awe. “I’m so thrilled for you. You’ve worked so hard. You deserve every wonderful accolade you get.”

I could see tears in Mom’s eyes as we all hugged and laughed. Then we laughed harder as Savannah screamed and ran back into the kitchen to check the cabernet reduction sauce she’d left simmering.

“It’s still alive,” she cried out.

“Hallelujah,” Mom said, and we left Savannah to her cooking.

Mom got in the car, but didn’t start the engine. Instead she turned to face me. “I want to see Max.”

“Yeah, I was afraid of that.” I’d had an itchy feeling all morning that she’d bring it up at some point.

“I’ll go by myself if you’d rather not come along.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just that it could be dangerous.”

“Do you honestly think these people are watching us right now?”

I sighed. How could I answer without giving her a heart attack? I decided to keep it light. “It’s just that they’re tricky, so we have to be trickier.”

She pursed her lips, thought about it for a minute, then started the engine. “Okay, I’ll take care of it.”

She took off toward home but passed the turnoff that led up the hill to our house. A half mile later, she passed the street that would’ve taken us to Jackson’s house, where Max was staying.

Meandering a few more miles out of town, she suddenly turned left into a gas station. Stopping at one of the tanks, Mom got out and bought two gallons of gas. I could see her watching every car that passed.

We drove off again, this time heading down the old two-lane road that ran parallel to the highway. She turned off again and took back roads, skirting Dharma’s downtown district completely, until she finally came back to the road that led up to Jackson’s house.

You know, my mother would’ve been a great spy. Just like my dad apparently was.

“Nice job, Mom.”

She checked the rearview mirror for the hundredth time as she stepped on the gas and zoomed up the hill. “I don’t think we were followed.”

“I doubt it.” I was still nervous, though. I had a sneaking suspicion that yesterday’s bullet had been aimed at me. What if they took another shot? What if they hurt my mom? That thought made me so sick to my stomach, I immediately shoved it away.

I’d thought a lot lately about buying a gun and carrying it with me. The flaw in that plan was that I wouldn’t use it, and if I did, I’d probably shoot myself in the foot. Guns freaked me out. But at times like these, when I felt threatened or intimidated, I thought it would be kind of nice to whip out a big-ass weapon, strictly to intimidate the bad guys.

Since I didn’t have a weapon, I sort of wished Derek were here with us. I know, I know-a woman can take care of herself. Who needs a man? Well, I don’t know about you, but I liked having a gorgeous, dangerous man around when I was scared. Call me a sellout to the feminist cause. Right then, I could live with it.

Mom parked in Jackson’s driveway, and we ran to the front door. We knocked; then I used my key to open the door and we walked inside.

“It’s Brooklyn,” I called, as we headed into the living area.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Max shouted from above us.

I flinched, then looked up. He stood gazing down at us from the office loft above the living room. In his hands was the high-powered rifle he’d brought from home.

“You’ve got to stop aiming that thing at me,” I said calmly, although my heart was thumping a thousand beats a minute. “Put it down. There’s someone here to see you.”

Mom moved out into the living room and looked up. “Hello, Max.”

Max stared for a long beat; then his shoulders slumped. He lowered the rifle and disappeared from the railing. A few seconds later, I heard his footsteps on the stairs. Then he was in the room and hugging Mom as if he were her own long-lost child.

Mom had tears streaming down her cheeks when she stepped back. I could see Max’s eyes glistening a little, too.

“Well, it’s good to see you’re alive and well,” Mom said, sniffling between words.

“It’s good to see you, too, Becky.” He hugged her again, then found us all some tissues to dry our tears.

“Robson was here earlier,” he said.

“I thought he might come by to see you,” Mom said, smiling.

“Did anyone see you drive up here?” he asked.

Mom waved off his worry. “I drive up here several times a week to see Jackson.”

“Well, Jackson isn’t home,” he said, pacing in front of the windows.

“Nobody knows that,” Mom said. “And even when he’s home, I come up to water his plants. Lord knows he won’t remember to do it.”

Max sighed. “I don’t want to put you in danger.”

“Oh, Max,” Mom said softly. She walked up to the man, who towered over her, and patted his chest. “Don’t you know there’s nothing we wouldn’t do for you? Everyone in Dharma feels the same way. I just wish you’d trusted us more with your problems all those years ago. We could’ve helped.”

He glanced at me sideways. “I’ve heard that a few times now. Believe me, as soon as this nightmare is over, you’re stuck with me. I’m never leaving again.”

“Good.” Mom smiled. Then, without warning, she punched him in the stomach. “Make sure you don’t.”

“For God’s sake,” he said, doubling over. “What’s with you Wainwright women?”

“You pissed us off,” I said, grinning. “Don’t do it again.”

“Jeez, I won’t,” he muttered, rubbing his stomach. He looked at me and jerked his chin toward Mom. “She’s got a stronger right hook than you.”

“Don’t I know it?” I said, smiling fondly at my mom.