Signs in the Blood (9 page)

How big
is
this thing?
Elizabeth wondered.
A hundred feet across? More?
A small sign inked in elaborate calligraphy requested that shoes be removed. Simple racks on either side of the door provided space for many shoes but were empty except for one pair of men's sandals.

Elizabeth hesitated at the entrance, peering around her. The only light was that which poured in shafts through the triangular skylights set in the upper curve of the structure. The floor beyond the tiled entryway was covered in rich blue carpeting. A circular dais, also covered with the blue carpet, occupied the dome's center. In the dimness, Elizabeth didn't at first notice the figure on the dais. Then a sudden shaft of light—a cloud passing away from the sun's face?—illuminated the white-bearded man who sat there with crossed legs and folded hands, eyes closed but obviously fully aware of her.

“Come in, daughter.” The low, resonant tones seemed, oddly enough, to come from all around her rather than from the seated figure. Elizabeth toed off her sneakers and put them on the rack by the door. Then, feeling faintly ridiculous, she approached the white-bearded figure.
Like a child at the mall going to sit in Santa's lap,
she told herself.
Or Dorothy approaching the Wizard.
The man continued to sit motionless, eyes shut, till Elizabeth had reached the edge of the dais.

Restraining the impulse to begin by saying, “O great Oz,” she cleared her throat and said, “I'm sorry to bother you, but—”

“We know of the transition of Cletus, Elizabeth Goodweather, and we grieve with you. He was a gentle spirit.”

So it was a cell phone,
Elizabeth thought.
Or a walkie-talkie. But maybe he really did see Cletus here.
Aloud, she asked, “Are you, uh, Polaris? Someone named Rigel told me to look for you here. I'm trying to find out where Cletus Gentry was two or three weeks ago. He was a small man, about five four, in his forties, short dark hair, and he would have had a shotgun—”

Polaris opened his eyes and turned their brilliant turquoise gaze full on her.
Those have got to be tinted contacts,
she thought, as Polaris said, “We knew Cletus well, Elizabeth Goodweather. Many times has he shared our evening-star meal. We knew him well and we cherished his simple wisdom. But he has not graced our table since the winter's solstice. And now we shall not see him for many circuits of the heavens.”

Polaris closed his eyes again. He began to hum, almost inaudibly at first, but then growing in volume till the sound seemed to fill the entire dome. Elizabeth stood transfixed as the unearthly tones swirled around her.
How does he do that? A hidden microphone or what?
Suddenly the humming ceased. Tiny echoes seemed to chase each other around the curving walls.

Abruptly Polaris rose to his feet and stretched extravagantly. Then he jumped lightly from the low dais to stand in front of Elizabeth, crossing his hands on his chest and bowing slightly. Only then did she realize that he must be much younger than the white hair and beard would suggest. His slim, muscular body, clad in loose trousers and a tunic of thin white silk, was that of an athlete in his early thirties. The pale, smooth skin around his eyes could have belonged to an even younger man.

“My meditation time is accomplished. How may I help you, Elizabeth Goodweather?”

Once again she began to explain, getting as far as “. . . and he headed up Pinnacle Ridge, right along my property line. My farm is on Ridley Branch—” Polaris smiled gently and held up both hands, palms outward.

“I know your farm, daughter, as I know all these coves and hollows, all the folds and hidden places of our dear foster-mother Earth. Many times have I journeyed in my astral body, gliding along the mountaintops, cherishing the sweet valleys and rivers, before voyaging outward to the stars. The creatures of these hills, the trees, the streams, the very rocks, all inform me as I travel, each one singing its own part in creation's many-voiced song.”

The full force of the turquoise eyes swept over her and Elizabeth stood there, mouth agape, for once, utterly and completely, dumbfounded.

CHAPTER 7

T
HE
R
UNAWAY
S
TAR
 (
M
ONDAY)

Y
OU'RE A BLEEDING NUTCASE,
THOUGHT
E
LIZABETH
, the quote
—Was it Monty Python? Douglas Adams?—
rising unbidden in her mind. Immediately the voice of political correctness within countered,
Now, Elizabeth, don't be so cynical. ‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophies,' or however it goes.
But aloud, she said only, “Then maybe you would have some idea of which way Cletus might have gone.”

Polaris shook his head slowly and his eyes darted to a slim, expensive-looking watch on his right wrist. “Each spirit must walk its own path, Elizabeth Goodweather. Be not troubled for the spirit that was Cletus; it has evolved into a higher sphere.”

Elizabeth doggedly persevered. “Cletus's mother wants me to try to find out what happened to the shotgun he had with him. I wonder if you could ask—”

Polaris smiled disdainfully and spread out his open hands in a priestly gesture, “We have nothing to do with the futile weapons of this world, my daughter. They have no power here in this sacred place. Yet, if you wish, I shall make inquiries. But now . . .”

Behind her, Elizabeth heard a rustle and murmur. She turned: Seven young women were removing their sandals at the door. Polaris continued, “But now I have a cluster to orient. Please return by the same way you entered our community; the area beyond is private. If you would like more information about Starshine Community, you may visit our Web site.” The young women, all wearing light sleeveless robes in shades ranging from creamy yellow to deep orange, were approaching with measured steps. Their heads were bowed and their hands were crossed on their breasts. Polaris bowed slightly, then turned and sprang back onto the dais. Elizabeth had been dismissed.

She returned to the door and contrived to stuff her feet back into her sneakers without untying the laces. The young women circled three times around the dais where Polaris stood, then sank gracefully to the carpet to kneel facing the tall white figure.
Like stars wheeling around the North Star,
Elizabeth thought as the dark purple doors closed quietly behind her. The picture of the yellow and orange robes puddled on the deep blue carpet stayed with her.
It's unreal,
she decided.
Everything here is so beautiful, like one of those movies where each frame could be a painting.

Driving back toward the gate, she wondered about Polaris.
How could someone with pure white hair look so young? Daughter, indeed! I could be his mother! Maybe he's an albino? His skin was certainly pale. But his eyes weren't pink, though that wild turquoise was probably courtesy of contacts . . . And what in the world, or out of it, are these people up to? I'd heard there was a “hippie commune” up here, but I sure didn't expect anything this organized. Someone's spent a lot of money here. Hippie communes are usually raggedy-ass poor, at least they used to be.

The women under the apple tree were gone now, and there was no sign of life in any of the little cabins or the yurts. It was like a fantasy village, tended by invisible gardeners and unspoiled by human squalor. She continued on down the road toward the entrance. The goats had moved higher up in the pasture to the shade of a grove of locust trees. Elizabeth slowed to look for Rigel but there was no one to be seen.
Dammit,
she told herself,
you didn't find out diddly. Polaris said Cletus hadn't been here recently, but—

She decided to drive up the left fork and see what the rest of the community looked like.
There's no sign saying not to,
she argued, and swung her car around.

The left fork led upward, zigzagging across a steep wooded hillside. The road was narrow and if she were to meet a car, she realized, there would be no room to pass. Elizabeth cursed her impulsive decision. Briefly she considered backing down, but quickly saw that it would be very difficult, if not impossible. She glanced at the abrupt drop-off, mere inches from her right tires, and doggedly drove on, praying that she would soon find a place to turn around.

The road grew even steeper; she shifted into low four-wheel drive. Old trees pressed in closer, the road grew narrower, and it began to seem as if she were caught in some endless nightmare. Higher and higher the jeep climbed. She was near the top of the mountain when at last a small clearing appeared to the left. A windowless building occupied most of the space with—
joy of joys
—a graveled area in front of it. There was just room to back her car in beside the shiny black pickup truck parked there and turn around.

As she was executing this maneuver, a door in the end of the building opened and two burly men emerged, both carrying rifles. They wore jeans and black T-shirts, and their eyes were hidden behind wraparound sunglasses.

“I got lost,” she said ingenuously, when the larger of the two men stepped to her open window. He leaned down and peered suspiciously into the interior of the jeep, then at her.

“Just some batty old broad,” she could hear him saying to his companion as he motioned her down the road.

“And I thought,” she said aloud, “that they shunned the futile weapons of the world.” Ollie's words,
They's a sight of mean people back in some of these hollers,
ran through her mind as she wound back down the steep road, one eye on the rearview mirror.

Near the entrance, her thoughts were interrupted by a piercing whistle and a shout. “Hey, ma'am! Can I get a ride out of here?”

A tall, thin man in his early twenties was jogging toward her from the woods. Like Rigel, he wore overalls. He had a bulging knapsack slung over one shoulder. Elizabeth stopped her jeep and, without waiting for an answer, the young man opened the door and jumped into the backseat, crouching down low.

“Please, just take me as far as the bridge. I can hitch from there. I've got to get out of this place.”

Elizabeth turned to study her strange passenger. Long red hair, pulled back in an untidy ponytail, a complicated tattoo like a Celtic knot on his left arm, a wispy little goatee, and pleading gray eyes—“Okay,” she said, quickly making up her mind, “I'll take you to the bridge if you'll answer some questions for me.”

“Whatever. Could we just get going?” The voice was agitated but not threatening and Elizabeth started the car. As she drove through the entranceway, she was surprised to see a sleek BMW coming up the road. She pulled over as far to the right as she could and the shiny black car rushed by her and through the gate. The driver wore dark glasses and did not even acknowledge her presence with a nod. Looking in her rearview mirror she saw that the car had an out-of-state license plate. New Jersey, she thought, but couldn't be sure.

“We don't see many BMWs out this way,” she remarked conversationally to her hidden companion as they continued down the road and past the junky trailers. The sofa was still smoldering on the fire; the goat in pajamas now stood on the roof of a car without wheels. All the children had disappeared and the clawfoot tub was tipped on its side, revealing a rust red interior.

“A Beemer?” the reply came from the backseat. “Black with real dark windows? Probably Mr. Dimato. He comes up every couple of months, him and his girlfriend. He's a real creepy guy but he's some kind of buddy of Polaris.”

Her rider seemed more at ease now as they turned onto the pavement and started down the road to the bridge across the river. He unfolded himself and sat up. “I'm Dabih—shit, what am I saying? I'm Trent Woodbern. Sorry about jumping into your car like that but I didn't know when I'd get another chance to get out.”

“Couldn't you just walk out?” Elizabeth asked, amused at the drama of the situation. “It's only a few miles to the bridge.”

“Yeah, I know, but they don't make it easy if you want to leave. They kind of surround you and talk about stuff; I think they kind of brainwash you. A few months ago when I told them I was thinking about going back to college, the Pleiades Cluster showed up and by the next morning I was calling my trustee asking for more money to put into the community.”

“What's a cluster?” asked Elizabeth, intrigued, remembering Polaris's words,
I have a cluster to orient,
as the young women had entered the dome.

“Well, the members of the community are divided into groups. When you first evolve, you're assigned to a constellation; I was in Capricornus. Everybody in a constellation lives together and works together and evolves mostly at the same time. But sometimes those who evolve faster get assigned to a cluster. Like the Pleiades; they're all super-evolved and totally close to Polaris.”

Trent informed Elizabeth that he had worked as a river guide the previous summer, and when fall had come he had decided to live at the Starshine Community. “I just wanted a place to stay and there were all these fine honeys; besides, I wasn't ready to go back to school yet.”

He was fairly vague about the inner workings of the community, saying only that he hadn't evolved far enough to be told everything. “I got as far as the rebirthing pool, that was okay, but then some things started to seem a little sketchy, like there are whole forbidden areas that only the most highly evolved can visit. And I'm pretty sure they monitored my phone calls. A couple of times when I was telling someone on the outside about some of the stuff that was going on, the phone would cut off and I wouldn't be able to call out again. We aren't allowed to have cell phones.”

“Trent, do you remember—did a local man, in his forties, carrying a shotgun, visit the community recently?” Elizabeth asked.

“Are you talking about Cletus?” he replied promptly. “Everyone knew Cletus. He'd just come walking down that road from the top of the mountain with that gun over his shoulder and that big grin on his face. Only the highest-evolved are allowed up to the top and no outsiders ever, but Polaris didn't ever seem to mind about Cletus. He always made this big deal over Cletus's ‘ab-original wisdom' and something he called ‘lateral evolution.'”

“I think I just drove up that road to the top,” Elizabeth told her passenger. “There was a building without windows and two men with rifles.”

“That might have been where they took me for occultation,” the young man said. “I was blindfolded but I could tell we were going up. But I don't know anything about guys with rifles.”

Trent explained that he didn't know whether or not Cletus had been at the community at any time during the weeks that had preceded his death. “I'd been put into total occultation. That's like being put in solitary for a month. Anyway, it's what you have to do before evolving another step; it gives you time to meditate and all. But it just made me realize that those guys are a bunch of Looney Tunes.”

By the time they reached the bridge, Elizabeth's curiosity was fully engaged and she offered to drive Trent on into Ransom, hoping to learn more about the Starshine Community. He was about to accept when he spotted a van in the parking lot beside the bridge. “Oh, great! You can let me out here. That's a River Runners van. You know, the rafting company I used to work for; I can get a ride with them.”

He was out of the jeep and loping toward the van with a hurried thank-you called back to Elizabeth. She watched as he was greeted enthusiastically by the van's driver and as he climbed into the passenger-side front seat. Wishing she could have heard more of his story, she turned back toward Ridley Branch.

Back at home after checking on Miss Birdie, who had gotten a cousin to come stay the night, Elizabeth sat on the front porch with a predinner gin and tonic and wondered what, if anything, she was accomplishing.
At least I'm learning more about who lives around here,
she mused.
I'd heard about the so-called hippie commune but sure didn't imagine anything like Polaris! My god! I've lived here twenty years and still don't know what's on the other side of the mountain. But Cletus did.

As she rocked and sipped her drink, Elizabeth reflected on just how much Cletus must have known about the nearby coves and hollows. Though unable to read books, he was an intuitive weather forecaster and naturalist. In a city he would have probably ended up portioning out fries in a fast-food restaurant, but here, on the mountain and in the woods, he was fully competent.

“Damn!” Elizabeth said, gazing out at the ever-changing, ever-beautiful view where the evening star hung in the pale sky above the violet mountains. Suddenly she knew, knew with a growing conviction that Miss Birdie was right. There was no way that Cletus would have tried to cross the railroad trestle in the darkness or, indeed, at any other time. Not with his lifelong fear of water. She had seen how strong his phobia was the time he refused to help Ben reset the rocks around the shallow goldfish pool.
No, it wasn't an accident,
she decided.
Therefore, he must have been killed somewhere else. I've got to help Birdie find out what happened. We can't let it be like the Little Sylvie story—just something that happened and it doesn't matter now what the truth is. The truth
does
matter
.

The image of Phillip Hawkins insinuated itself into her thoughts. Kind, competent, an experienced detective, and he had time on his hands just now. She groaned and shook her head.
Why the hell didn't I accept his invitation to dinner? I could tell him about the Starshine Community and get his opinion about all of this. I bet he would have helped. But now I don't even have his phone number. Oh, hell, Elizabeth!

Feeling frustrated, she tossed the remainder of her drink into the bushes and headed for the kitchen to find some leftovers for her supper. As she was opening the refrigerator door, a business card stuck under a flamingo magnet caught her eye.
Of course!
she thought,
Sallie Kate will know about the Starshine people.

Her friend Sallie Kate McCrady was a successful real estate broker who specialized in mountain farms and getaways. Sallie Kate could always be relied upon to know who had bought or was about to sell what property. She and her husband lived far back in a remote hollow, in an old house that they had been renovating for years. Having been one herself, Sallie Kate was particularly attuned to the needs and desires of idealistic young people moving to the mountains for the so-called simple life.