Crazy in the Blood (Latter-Day Olympians) (6 page)

“Hello, I’m—”

“Casey?” the woman asked, all trace of reserve gone. “My god, is that you?”

“Um, no ma’am. My name is Tori Karacis. I’m a co-worker of Christos Karacis. I’m trying to get in touch—”

“I’m sorry,” she cut in quickly. “I can’t help you. I don’t know anyone by that name.”

“But—”

“I’m sorry, I’m—I’m waiting for a call. I can’t stay on the line.” And, sure enough, she didn’t.

I tried the number again. M. Olivieri certainly didn’t pounce on the phone when it rang…and rang…surprising for someone waiting for a call. In fact, I ended up in a perfectly lovely one-sided conversation with her machine, during which I left my cell phone and land line numbers, snail mail and e-mail addresses, and why I was calling. Any time, day or night, I said, she was free to call. I wasn’t going to hold my breath.
 

If I had to drive up to Napa to flash my PI license and Christos’s photo…well, I supposed I’d be paying for my own gas. Tina’s destination-Delphi wedding had to be costing a small fortune, and I didn’t think my expenses were in the budget. At least if I found Christos for her I could plead poverty to get out of going myself. I doubted I’d be missed.

But I wasn’t ready for a road trip just yet. Not, at least, until I knew what I was getting into. I had sources...okay, I had the Internet, but it was a start. I Googled M. Olivieri and came up with about a thousand sites, none of which seemed relevant. I tried
“Casey Olivieri”
hoping that whoever “M” had been so anxious to talk with shared her last name. The first article tagged Casey as the top scorer a couple of years ago on her high school field hockey team. The second was more enlightening: “Mother Cries Cult.” It was dated six months ago.

In a cry that echoes the still relevant question, “Where have all the young girls gone?” many California families are lamenting the loss of their children. Less than a year ago, the national Back to Earth movement swept into town, drawing to it many disenfranchised youth irate over the treatment of our planet and its resources. Many have moved into the Back to Earth cooperative, while others have a more casual connection.

One mother, who asked not to be identified, bemoaned, “We never see Joan anymore. They have no phone—at least, not that they let the kids use. Our letters are returned to discourage ‘raping the mother for her flesh,’ my daughter’s own words! I haven’t seen her in five months.” Another mother went so far as to call the Back to Earth movement a cult.

According to police spokesman Eric Denny, they’ve found nothing to support this claim. “The Back to Earth residents are all above the age of consent, and we found no evidence of coercion.”

A member of Back to Earth, Casey Olivieri, who asked to be called Narcissa, commented, “We’re pretty upset by all the fuss. What nobody gets is that
you’re
all living in a cult of convenience. Disposable everything—fast food, instant gratification. It’s all me me me, now now now. Back to Earth is all about renewal, replenishment, respect. Everyone else needs to get a grip and a clue before it’s too late.”

The group’s founder was unavailable for comment, but his California branch officer adds that, “Anyone interested can learn more about us and earth-friendly living on our website. It’s our one concession to modern life and a paper-free environment.”

Well
. I blinked. A cult. But, hey, if they were hooked in to the Internet, I should be able to hack them. Okay, not
me
exactly. That was illegal, and anyway, I was ill-equipped, but a friend of Jesus’s about whom the less I knew the better… For now, at least, I could check out the website, see what Back to Earth professed to be about, maybe get a phone number or address or something that a hands-on, young-in-body/old-in-spirit kind of gal like me could wrap my skills around. My foot was already beginning to tap with impatience at every hourglass icon.

Casey Olivieri had covered the basics in that article. Back to Earth’s home page was pretty tame. Lots of photos of dewy leaves, tree frogs and the like, vivid enough to warm the cockles of any nature geek’s heart. The rhetoric was all philosophy—reduce, renew, replenish, thinking long term, living off the land, leaving no trace, yada yada yada. There were links to organic farming sites, articles on mulching and natural fertilizer. There was a number to call for more info, but no street addresses, no officers’ names, just vague references to co-ops on which their policies were practiced in various states—Florida, Oregon, Utah and California among them.

Any group so stingy with contact information made me suspicious. But if they were up to no good, they had to be on someone’s radar. I picked up the phone to call Detective Beverly.

“’Lo,” she answered, sounding like two syllables were just too much.

“Wow, when was the last time you slept?” I asked politic-ly. Because I was known for that.

“What day is it?”

“Um, Sunday?”

“Already?” She sighed. “What can I do for you?”

“What do you know about the group Back to Earth?”

Dead silence. Not a cricket was chirping.
 

“Where did you hear that name?” she asked.

“So you do know it?”

“I asked you first.”

“Actually, I believe
I
asked you. You just chose not to answer.”

Another sigh. I almost wished I could feel the breeze through the phone. The office was like an oven. “Christos…might have mentioned it.”

“And you weren’t going to say anything to me?”

“Tori, there must have been a reason he called
me
. Whatever is going on, it might be too dangerous for you to go poking around. Too dangerous
for him
,” she added, before I could protest. “It might require more finesse than you tend to exhibit.”

Come on, my finesse ranked right up there with my politic-ness.

“You’re saying what? I’d go in guns blazing? Half the time I keep mine locked in my desk drawer.”

“I’m saying you should let the pros handle it.”

“Hello
, PI here.”

“Yeah, and how new is the laminate on your license?”

“Look, I got this far on my own. Either you can tell me what
you’ve
got on Back to Earth or I can just keep poking the turtle and see what snaps.”

“Turtle…really?”

“Snapping turtle. Very threatening. So, what’ll it be?”

She sighed again. Probably a personal best for me. “Fine, what do you want to know?”

“Only everything.”

Which wasn’t much. Back to Earth hadn’t tried to file as a church for tax-exempt status, but were incorporated as a single proprietorship. Owner: Dionysus Bach.
Dionysus
. I didn’t like it. Not one bit. There were far too many gods in my world already. Whether Dionysus was the real deal or just played him on TV, nothing about the name gave me the warm fuzzies. In fact, those bodies atop Mount Lee, the ones the Feds had questioned me about…those had been torn apart much the same way the big D’s obsessive followers were known to shred those unlucky enough to fall prey to them at his festivals. Only, the Feds had mentioned
inhuman
bite marks. No, of course the pieces couldn’t fall that easily into place. In a way, I was relieved. The thought of Uncle Christos all tied up with frenzied floozies…

“What’s that?” I asked, having lost the thread of the conversation about the time I started imagining Uncle Christos being torn limb from limb.

“I said they’ve more or less stayed away from L.A., for reasons we suspect begin with Scient- and end with -ology. They don’t exactly encourage competition.”

“And you think Christos is on the run from this Back to Earth cult? Or trapped inside?”

“I don’t know. We—our phone call was cut off. But he’d definitely seen something, and it had him scared.”

Christos scared. The two didn’t even belong in the same sentence. He hadn’t left the circus because he was afraid of heights and couldn’t bring himself to join the family acrobatic troupe, like me. (Or been asked to leave because he couldn’t keep his snooping to a minimum and unearthed dirty little secrets no one wanted brought to light.) He’d left because it was too tame.

“Well, damn,” I said, because that about summed it all up.

“My thoughts exactly.”

Chapter Four

“So, which is it? Are you crazy by nature or nurture?”

—soon-to-be-ex boyfriend to Tori Karacis just before she decked him

A trip to the San Francisco area was definitely in order. But first, I had some snooping to do here. Those bodies atop Mount Lee hadn’t shredded themselves. I had to know what I was dealing with. I didn’t know what I’d find that the Feds hadn’t. It didn’t seem likely they’d left any evidence behind. But maybe the Oracular powers Apollo had given me would kick in at the site. They had to be good for something besides lost sleep…right? I hoped so anyway.

Before I could so much as grab my car keys, my cell phone rang and “Yiayia” come up on the display in all her hirsute glory. Yiayia—grandmother—was the Rialto Brothers’ bearded lady. And a damned good one at that. All natural. Nothing added. Legend had it that our family line had begun when the god Pan had beer-goggled one of the gorgons. I’d recently learned that it was all the gods’ honest truth. At least we’d so far managed to avoid tusks and serpent-hair—cousin Tina’s aggressive overbite and my unruly curls aside.

One ignored Yiayia at their peril.

“
Kalimera
,” I said.
Good morning
. I forced cheer into my voice.

“You have been holding out on me.
Again
,” she accused in answer.

Well, crap. I was in for it now. I could almost see my snickerdoodle train leaving the station. Yiayia’s hobby (*cough* obsession) was running
Goddities
, a tell-all website/gossip rag about the Greek gods. Think WikiLeaks for Olympians. What I learned, I was expected to pass along instantly. Or else.

“Um, what do you think I know?”

“
Anipsi
,” she said, disappointment in her voice, “the chats are all abuzz. They say you’ve opened up a portal to the underworld!”

Geez, did everybody know about it except me? Wait,
Goddities
couldn’t be Apollo’s source, could it? Surely not.

“Um, well, not
me
exactly. I’ve actually only just learned of it.”

“
And
?”

“And what?”

“Tell me more,” she ordered, like it was obvious.

Hermes’s hairy heinie
. Well, any search engine would probably turn up the story about the bodies I was soon headed to investigate, so it wasn’t like I was giving away state secrets. Only…what if, as I’d feared during the worst of my paranoia, the Feds or the police or
someone
really was listening in on my calls? I thought back on what we’d said so far. Probably enough to get Yiayia committed to a nice mental facility. Maybe we could get adjoining padded cells.

“Well, you’ve heard about the bodies found on Mount Lee?” I asked.

“No-o-o,” she said slowly.

“Check them out.”

“Are you with someone?” she asked, clearly wondering why I didn’t give her the goods myself.

“Yes,” I answered. It seemed easiest.

“Is it your sexy cop?”

I smiled. “No.”

There was a pause. “Tell me it is not Apollo. I thought you were through with him. Remember what happened to Cassandra.”
 

Ah yes, the prophetess of Troy, who had the power to see but not be believed.
 

“I know.”

“Or Daphne.” Who was turned into a laurel tree to escape Apollo’s advances.

“
I’ve got it
. Listen, it’s not him, okay. What else is the rumor mill saying?”

A shiver of alarm shot through me, and I knew that whatever she was about to say I wouldn’t like. I hoped Apollo’s god-granted gift didn’t start me jumping at shadows. I had enough troubles.

“They say that Persephone has used the path you’ve opened to flee Hades…for good.”

“I didn’t think that was possible. I thought Persephone
had
to live a certain amount of time in the Underworld or she’d wither away.”

“Maybe it’s come to that. Maybe it’s a small price to pay after all this time…or she’s found some other way. But, this global warming kick that’s all over the news right now? They say that’s Demeter…gloating.”

“Well, crap.”

“If Hades blames you for his big brothers’ jailing, even if they weren’t on the best of terms, or for Persephone’s betrayal…you’d better watch your back. I—I’m worried about you,
Anipsi
.”

I was worried about me too. I had to think pissing off the god of the underworld was a hundred times worse than crossing Apollo, the god of music and light.

“I’ll be fine,” I lied. “But…if you hear anything more, you’ll tell me?”

“As long as you promise to keep me in the poop in return.”

“That’s
in the loop
, Yiayia.”

“Fine, whatever. What about coming on for a guest chat at
Goddities
?” she asked, shifting gears fast enough to give me whiplash. “You’re practically a celebrity. The group would go gaga.”