A Cry for Self-Help (A Kate Jasper Mystery) (10 page)

- Eleven -

It was a scream that could have chilled jalapeño peppers. I turned and saw Pammy with her head bent back and her mouth wide open to the maximum effect. This young woman just might have a career in opera, I decided. Ogden had his hands mashed over his ears and was rolling his eyes in real or feigned pain. And Pammy just kept on screaming. What had he done to her?

Pammy took a breath and finished in the fullness of her screaming, “He splashed me, Daddy!”

Getting no immediate response from the onlookers at the dining table, she added in a mere shout, “With water!”

Orestes and Page jumped up from the table then, running to the aid of their respective siblings. Halfway there, they collided. Whether on purpose or by mistake, it was hard to tell, but in the next instant they were down on the kitchen linoleum in a writhing heap of brown and pink anger. Bits of words floated up like wisps of steam from a boiling cauldron.

“…picking on her…”

“…it’s you that…”

“…no way…”

“…moron…”

It didn’t take Pammy and Ogden long to appraise the situation. And then they were down on the floor too, trying to pry the two younger children apart. Or were they?

The pink and brown writhing mass got bigger and heavier. And more verbiage was added to the steaming cauldron.

“…don’t you call my…”

“…little retard…”

“…you’ll be sorry…”

When Ona and Perry got up from the table, Wayne and I were the only ones left.

“Um, maybe we ought to be—” I began. Leaving? Running away? Splashing cold water on all involved?

“Ogden, get up this instant!” Ona ordered.

Ogden stood and put his head into his hands, mumbling into his palms, invectives I wasn’t close enough to hear. Fortunately. Meanwhile, Pammy jumped up and ran to her father’s arms. Leaving Ona to deal with the other two children, which she did handily, pulling each child up from the floor and apart from the other with one hand apiece, and holding them there at arm’s length as they yipped at each other. She looked our way apologetically.

“Pammy, now,” Perry cajoled his eldest. “You know better.”

“Maybe this is a bad time,” Wayne tried.

“Just one more crappy day in our soon to be happy household,” Ona assured us. Then Orestes took a swipe at Page but missed.

“That’s it,” Ona announced, her voice now heavy with threat. “Time out for a Talk.”

Suddenly everyone looked cowed, including Perry.

Ona looked our way again.

I took my cue.

“Well, it’s been fun,” I said, pushing back my chair.

“Fun,” she repeated, laughing. “That it has been. Thanks, Kate. You’re a hoot. We’ll see you two later, okay?”

Wayne didn’t need any more urging. He jumped straight up from the table like an electrified deer. He didn’t even offer to do the dishes.

“Each of us will have a chance to share our feelings,” Ona began as Wayne and I made our way back through the living room. “One at a time. No interruptions. No horse hockey. Is that understood?”

I heard a low groan as I shut the door quickly behind us.

“I don’t envy them,” Wayne muttered once we’d reached the Toyota.

“At least they have their wedding figured out,” I replied and instantly wished my words had been on a leash and could be retrieved.

I peered up at Wayne, guilt flooding my bloodstream like a bad drug.

“I still don’t envy them,” he said gruffly and put his arms around me.

It was his arms that convinced me, not his words. I could still feel the lingering warmth of that embrace as I climbed into the car and Wayne asked me if it was “okay” to make our next stop the Skyler Institute for Essential Manifestation.

In fact, I could still feel the imprint of his arms even as I steered back down the highway and over the curving blacktop into Golden Valley. It was a quiet trip, though, each of us lost in our own thoughts. When we were almost there, I looked over at Wayne. What was he thinking about? Love? Commitment? Murder?

I got considerably more focused once we reached the actual gates to Sam Skyler’s domain. The Institute was a fortress.

“Are you sure it’ll be all right for us to sit in?” I asked anxiously as I drove my fifteen-year-old Toyota into the compound through the only opening in the encircling ten-foot-high redwood fence. And parked in the nearest space I could find, between a Mercedes and a BMW.

“Talked to Nathan earlier,” Wayne explained. “He said it’d be fine…”

His words faltered as we took in the Skyler Institute for Essential Manifestation in all its grandeur.

Yasuda hadn’t been kidding when he said the place was big. Three stories of rounded redwood with lots of glass and brass and skylights and solar collectors and strangely angled projections that might have been stairways. Or maybe something else entirely. The whole thing had a footprint extending over at least a quarter acre of land, shielded by ancient towering pines. It looked as if a spaceship had landed. Maybe it had. Or maybe the land of Oz had just found a new home.

It certainly felt like Oz when we walked through the electric-eye glass doors.

Wayne and I had collectively taken all of two steps inside when a well-muscled, well-uniformed security guard stopped us short.

“Names?” he demanded.

“Kate Jasper and Wayne Caruso,” I answered automatically, resisting the simultaneous urge to salute.

“Purpose?” he barked, scanning the clipboard in his hand.

“In life?” I shot back, automatic obedience on hold.

But he didn’t seem to hear me, having found our names on his list by that time. Or maybe mine was a normal response for someone visiting the Skyler Institute.

“Jasper and Caruso,” he announced, an abrupt smile cracking his stern face. “Mr. Skyler—Junior, that is—said for Alicia to take care of you when you got here,” he told us, all friendliness now.

And then suddenly Alicia was there by his side, like a rabbit popping out of a hole. A very attractive brown rabbit with a prominent set of gleaming white teeth. And a very un-rabbitlike scent of perfume. Expensive or cheap, I couldn’t tell you. But strong and sweet.

“Nathan is teaching the beginner’s class right now,” Alicia whispered earnestly. “But he said to just bring you on in when you arrived. You’ll love it. It’s so regenerative. And it’ll be over in about a half an hour, anyway. You can speak to him personally then. Will you follow me?”

So we followed Alicia. It wasn’t easy. Her high heels made incredibly rapid progress down the plushly carpeted hallway.

“Have a vitalizing day, now,” the guard shouted after us as we raced to keep up with our escort.

I waved over my shoulder. Alicia didn’t give us any time to slow down for a proper reply. If there was a proper reply.

We passed an open doorway and heard a familiar chant, “Anger into Achievement!” roaring our way.

I shivered, moving closer to Wayne.

“Which class is that?” I asked, nodding toward the doorway which was rapidly disappearing behind us.

“Oh, those are our advanced students,” Alicia whispered, barely slowing as she looked over her shoulder. “Very illuminated.”

“If someone called, asking to speak to a student, would you choose one of them?” I pressed her.

“Oh, yes,” she answered fervently.

“Do you take the calls—” I kept on, but we had reached our destination.

Alicia opened the door and showed us in. And then she was gone, back to her rabbit hole, leaving only her sweet scent behind. The room was impressive, ennobled by a vaulted white plaster ceiling and eight-foot-high windows. Platforms of various heights and colors vied for prominence in the center of the room, encircled by a zone of open space. The sides of the room were dominated by a series of curved, carpeted risers in bright turquoise. All and all, it had the feeling of a small theater…a small, experimental theater.

Nathan was standing in the open zone with a few dozen students, talking to a short young man who was handing out finger puppets.

Wayne and I exchanged looks before we made our presence known. His was a look of martyrdom. I’m not sure what mine was, but my body was sending me tingling fight-or-flight signals.

“Here’s your introductory set of puppets,” the short young man told me, at my side before I’d even heard him approach. Too late for flight. But not for fight.

“No, no,” I objected. “We’re just here to observe.”

“Wayne, Kate,” came Nathan’s calming voice. Somewhere under all the fur and glasses, he smiled. “Go ahead and take the puppets. You might enjoy the experience.”

Where had I heard that line before? But Wayne and I did take the puppets. They were cleverly made, each knitted so that it was elastic enough to slip on any size finger, color-coded, and two-faced. The anger and grief on one side were easy to recognize. The denial, control, and higher self were a little harder. The face on the opposite side of each was always the same, however, clearly the wise and happy face of a completely self-actualized finger puppet.

Nathan gave us instructions, and we all put on our puppets and sat on the turquoise risers. And I mean all of us, Wayne and myself included. Nathan Skyler’s puppy demeanor was just too appealing to resist.

But I didn’t chant. I just moved my lips, superstitiously avoiding the real experience. Because there was something too strange about the use of the puppets, something too close to religious, just as Perry Kane had said. I was trying to figure out exactly what it was that was so spooky, when Martina Monteil entered the room.

And I do mean entered, as in Grand Entrance. The light in the room even seemed to grow ever so slightly brighter as she came in. Martina was that impressive. She stepped up onto the highest platform, spine straight, head back and arms spread as if to embrace the room. That’s when I noticed Nathan behind her, his hand on a set of controls. Was that what the light was about? True or not, I was still impressed. Especially when she spoke. She began in muted tones:

“You have all come here today to experience your essential core issues,” she told us, rhythm and passion already flavoring her soft words. Her voice deepened and her body began to sway almost imperceptibly. “And you will. Those issues will manifest in a way that they never have before.” She brought her hand out from her chest, fingers first, as if extending her heart. Where had I seen that gesture before? Sam Skyler, my unconscious supplied in answer. Martina’s tone grew louder, a tremolo now a part of it. “You will be illuminated!”

“Yes,” breathed someone behind me.

She had them. I turned for an instant to survey the faces around me. They were rapt. Even Wayne looked hypnotized.

Martina continued to speak.

“And when you are empowered,” she went on, “when you are enlightened, when you are energized as you have never been before—”

“Amen,” someone interjected. But no one seemed to notice.

“Then you will be unstoppable…”

The content of Martina’s words seemed to me to lack substance, but her delivery made up for that lack in spades.

By the time she was finished, these people would have walked on fire for her. Maybe even taken out her garbage. She had It, whatever it was. The same It as all the great preachers and politicians. The same It that Sam Skyler had possessed.

Even the question and answer period didn’t throw her.

“I’m a word processor,” a red-haired young man began from behind me, a whine edging his voice. “If each finger has meaning, what happens when you type with them all day?”

“Very good,” Martina replied, leaning forward just a bit. “That is the precise reason for the puppets. They enable the manifestation of your essential self through your fingers. But when you’re not wearing them, your fingers will become mere fingers once again.”

“Which finger represents love?” a much older man wanted to know.

Martina brought her hand out from her chest again. The room grew a little brighter.

“Each and every one of them,” she answered, a tremolo in her deep voice once again. “Just as each and every one of us has the potential to be the very essence of pure love.”

And with that, she surrendered the platform to Nathan and left the room.

Nathan divided the class into smaller groups. Then they began practicing with their puppets. Suddenly, one young woman began to cry. Nathan was there in a flash, soothing her, bringing her back to herself like a father with a hurt child. He didn’t have the It that Martina and his late father possessed, but I’d rather have had him with me on a bad day any time. Or on a good day for that matter.

And finally the half hour was over and the introductory class was herded out of the room by two young women, both of whom bore an amazing resemblance to Alicia. It was something about the gleaming teeth. Maybe they all went to the same dentist.

At last, we were alone with Nathan Skyler.

“Would you like to come up to my office?” he offered diffidently, peering down through his thick glasses at the top of his shoes. I wondered if he had more confidence now, or less confidence than he’d had before his father’s training. It was hard to believe that he had more.