“Why should I sit tight?” he demanded. “I’m asking seriously. Why? I’m tired of hiding. Let’s push this thing wide-open.”
“Not until we know who’s running the show,” Derek said. “You want Emily safe, so we must go slowly. Until we have answers, you cannot be seen outside this house.”
“Nobody’s going to see me if I walk outside. There aren’t any neighbors for a thousand yards in any direction.” Max flopped back in his chair, clutching his wineglass. “And I can see from upstairs if any cars come up or down the hill. I think I’m pretty safe up here.”
“Maybe for a while,” I said. “But Solomon and Angelica both know me. They know my sister Savannah. They know you were friends with my brothers. So there’s a clear connection from my family to you. If they follow any of us, they’ll eventually wind up here. And God only knows what they’ll do to you when they find you.”
“Now who’s being paranoid?” Max said.
“It’s not paranoid if they’re really after you.” I laughed without humor. “I don’t want to be shot at again, and I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“All right, all right,” he said, waving his hands in surrender.
“Thank you.” I smiled briefly. “So Gabriel will go check on Emily tomorrow. And Mom and I made some progress with Crystal Byers and her sister today. We’ll find out tomorrow if Bennie Styles can give us some answers on ammo loading.”
“Sounds like a long shot,” Max said.
“It’s just a way of getting Bennie to talk about the people he knows in the gun community. The Ogunite church has some connections to the Art Institute. He might know someone who knows someone. You know how that works.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Max shook his head stubbornly. “I just have a hard time believing Solomon and Angie are still sitting around thinking about me. It’s been three years. Maybe they’ve moved on.”
“You know they haven’t.” I leaned forward with my elbows on the table and stared hard at Max. “Joe Taylor was killed four days ago. And yesterday someone took a shot at us. They haven’t moved on.”
He let out a slow, heavy breath. “I know. I just…Maybe I should’ve stayed at the farm and fought them on my own turf. Now that I’m here, I can’t do a damn thing. I’ve got too much time on my hands. I’m just sitting around waiting for something to happen.”
“Something will,” Derek said ominously.
“Yeah. That’s what I’m afraid of.” Max pushed his wineglass back. “Okay, I’ll hang tight. But be sure to check on Emily tomorrow. I’ll feel better knowing she’s safe.”
“Got it covered,” Gabriel said.
In the morning, Derek took off for the city. We’d already decided the night before that he wouldn’t drive back to Dharma tonight and I was sort of okay with that. But he wasn’t.
“I’m coming back tonight,” he said, changing his mind as he pulled the car door open.
I leaned in close to him. “It’s not necessary.”
“As long as Max is in hiding and we don’t know who’s after him, I need to be wherever you are.”
I gazed up at him. “I won’t argue or complain if you want to come back tonight.”
“Good.” He grabbed my sweater and yanked me up against him. “I like a docile woman.”
I laughed. “Then you’ve come to the wrong place.”
“Don’t I know it?” He grinned, kissed me thoroughly, then jumped into his car and drove off.
The Dharma farmers’ market was bustling by the time Mom and I arrived. After visiting Max the previous night, I’d decided to actively pursue the Crystal connection with some of the Ogunite members who loaded their own ammunition. I figured that connection would provide us with the fastest route to whoever gave Solomon those hand-loaded bullets-without having to confront the man face-to-face.
“I just hope we don’t have to buy a dehydrator to get information from them,” I whispered to Mom as we approached the Byers sisters’ booth.
“I’ve been using two old window screens to dehydrate my apples,” Mom said. “They still work like a champ after ten years.”
“Yeah, but can they make jewelry?”
“Hey, Brooklyn!” Melody chirped when she saw us.
We greeted them with hugs and congratulations on their new enterprise.
“Your booth is the prettiest one,” Mom gushed.
“I think so, too,” Crystal said, and did a little happy dance in front of us. Then she jutted her chin toward the next booth over. “But don’t say that too loudly. Mary Ellen Prescott over there thinks she’s the cat’s ass with her hair-product line.”
Mary Ellen stood surrounded by hundreds of long swatches of hair that were hanging from the crossbars of the booth. She worked as a manicurist in the Dharma hair salon, which explained her expertise with fake hair.
Mary Ellen was a shameless recruiter for the Church of the True Blood of Ogun, but they kept her on at the salon because she was a dynamite manicurist.
Interesting to know there was dissension among the Ogunite women.
“Is she selling hair?” Mom asked.
“She calls them glamour tails,” Crystal said, pursing her lips. “I just look away.”
Personally, I thought they looked like scalps. Which kind of gave me the heebie-jeebies.
“Try some banana chips,” Melody said, presenting me with a small bowl of dried brown discs.
I’d never been a big fan of dried fruit but I took a few chips and popped them into my mouth. “Mm. Yummy.”
“And if you think they taste good, just look how exciting they are as jewelry!” She flung her hair back to reveal her earrings, tightly overlapping clusters of thin, lacquered banana chips that ruffled and fluttered around her earlobes.
“Unbelievable,” Mom said.
“Stunning,” I whispered. I wasn’t kidding; I was stunned. They were…pretty. Light and flirty and feminine. Very clever. But, come on, they were bananas!
A customer came over and Melody turned to offer her banana treats and advice on fruit dehydration.
Crystal led me and Mom over to her jewelry display. “These rings are my latest creations,” she said, pointing to a display of dried fruit slices affixed to simple silver bands. “They’re made from plums and apples and sweet potatoes. Oh, and this little coral-colored one is made from apricots.”
Some of the wafer-thin slices fluttered straight up like a fan. Others were flat and layered, with ruffled edges. The dried-plum ring looked like a rich, dark red rose with its petals rippling gently in the wind. Many of the rings had the vintage look of a plump fabric rose pinned to a forties-era cocktail dress.
I picked up the plum ring and slipped it carefully onto my finger. It wasn’t my style, but I admired it against my skin. “It’s beautiful, Crystal. Where did you learn to do this?”
“I’ve always made jewelry for me and my sisters,” she admitted, suddenly shy. “My parents aren’t ones for spending money on frivolous ornamentation, so I found ways around them. The dried-fruit designs are my latest experiment.”
“Well, these are really unique. You should make a bundle on them.”
“Thanks,” she said. “I hope so. Enough to pay for my classes, anyway.”
Mom picked up on the conversation as she admired a green-speckled kiwi ring. “Where do you take classes?”
“Over at the Art Institute. I’ve been taking jewelry classes off and on for a few years.”
The Art Institute? I wondered immediately if Crystal knew Solomon. Or Angelica. Before I could grill her, her sister, Melody, still in conversation with the customer, flashed Crystal an impatient look.
Crystal got the message and scurried over to the table where a few more customers were lined up to sample the edible dried fruit.
I leaned close to Mom. “This jewelry is amazing, but I’m not sure I’m capable of hanging dried fruit from my ears.”
“I find it strangely compelling,” Mom whispered, and slipped a rose-tinged chunk of desiccated
fruit onto her finger.
After a few minutes Crystal turned back to me and Mom and held out a plate piled high with round and twisted dried stuff. “These are pineapple. They’re my favorites. Try some.”
I examined it first to make sure it wasn’t jewelry, then took a small bite of the overly sweet, chewy fruit. “Thanks. But that’s it for me. I’m starting to get full.”
“Dried fruit will fill you up, but in a good way,” Crystal insisted. “Much better than potato chips.”
I ignored that blasphemy as she forced several more types of fruits on me. Finally I grabbed my stomach and begged to take a break.
“She’s always had a delicate system,” Mom murmured to Crystal, who nodded sagely.
“It’s all delicious,” I lied, “but I think I’d rather wear your dried fruit than eat it.”
Pleased, Crystal clapped her hands. “I love to hear that.”
“OMG, we have our first dehydrator sale,” Melody whispered, surreptitiously waving a check at her sister before shoving it into her pants pocket.
“OMG,” Crystal whispered back, tittering with excitement. Then she somberly pressed her hands to her chest and gazed heavenward. “Thank you, great Ogun.”
“Congratulations,” I said.
“Dried fruit for everyone!” Melody cried, shoving plates out toward the people passing by.
After a few minutes of giggles and text talk between the sisters, my mother was finally able to corner Crystal to ask if she’d talked to Bennie about teaching her how to load ammo.
“Oh, I meant to tell you first thing,” she said. “Yes, we talked, and Bennie will be happy to show you how to do it. But he said he’d have to come over to your place.”
“It’s simple enough for me to drive out to his house,” Mom said. “I hate to inconvenience him when he’s doing me a favor.”
Crystal made a face as she held up her hand. “Let him come to you, Mrs. Wainwright. His place is always a mess. I’ve been there, so I know it’s true.”
“Crystal, do you think Bennie’s a good teacher?” Mom’s tone was confidential. “I don’t have a clue what I’m doing, so I don’t want him to get too frustrated with me.”
“You’ll be fine.” Crystal patted Mom’s forearm. “I know for a fact that he recently taught one of our church deacons how to reload ammo.”
“Well, if he’s patient enough to teach your deacon, he should be perfect for me.”
“Oh yes,” she assured Mom. “Our deacon is very demanding. A wonderful man, but demanding.”
“I’m not sure I know who that is,” Mom said artlessly.
“He keeps to himself so you probably don’t know him, Mrs. Wainwright.” Crystal arranged more pineapple slices on a plate and began to munch on them herself. “His name is Solomon and he’s a professor out at the institute. Have you heard of him?”
I just about fell over onto a plate of dried apricots, but I managed to keep my cool as I jumped into the conversation. “I taught a bookbinding class out there a long time ago and I met Solomon. He’s really something, isn’t he?”
“Oh yes.” Her sigh was close to orgasmic. “So you know how virile he is. I shouldn’t say such things about a church deacon, but I confess I’m half in love with him.”
“I remember he was very handsome,” I said, biting my tongue. “How did he and Bennie get to be friends?”
“Well, they’re both Ogunites, of course,” she said offhandedly. “But also Bennie and Stefan work in the stock-room of the Art Institute’s museum store, so they see Solomon every day.”
“That’s convenient,” I said lightly, but inside I was reeling from the revelation that Solomon was a member of the Church of the True Blood of Ogun. And he was a deacon. I knew the Ogunites weren’t particularly religious-they were more wrapped up in the worship of nature and earthly arts-but this was ridiculous. If what I suspected of Solomon was true, the man was a cold-blooded killer.
“Yes,” Crystal said, slipping another fruit slice into her mouth. “A number of our people work for the Art Institute and, of course, some of us take classes there.”
“That must be nice for you,” I said. “I remember there was a real sense of community at the institute.”
“I love taking jewelry classes there and I’ve sold a lot of my fruit jewelry to the other students.” Crystal smiled softly as her cheeks turned rosy. “And it doesn’t hurt that I get to see Solomon every day.”
I said with some surprise, “You really like him.”
Her eyelashes fluttered. “Is it that obvious?”
“Only to us,” Mom said with a wink. Sobering, she asked, “Is he a nice man, Crystal? Is he good enough for you?”
Crystal wiggled her finger at us. “Come over here and look at this.”
Mom and I followed her like two puppies.
“This is the Monarch 5000.” She ran her hand across the top of a boxy white plastic dehydrator. “It’s the very same model that Solomon bought last week. The top of the line. Deluxe. It’s got a timer and temperature gauge for all your food groups, and it comes in five- or nine-shelf models.”
“Nine shelves,” Mom said. “That’s impressive.”
“Isn’t it? Solomon took the nine-shelf unit.”
Mom nodded. “Of course he did.”
“It works with meat and fish, and makes the best squirrel jerky you’ve ever tasted in less than six hours. Nobody can touch that time. Solomon knew it and grabbed it. He’s smart, he’s strong, and he has the best taste in everything.”
Mom gave a thumbs-up. “He knows his dehydrators. That’s for sure.”
“He does indeed,” Crystal said, then flashed a smug smile. “I also sold him the newest water-filtration pen that all the Ogunites are excited about. My point is, Solomon will survive wherever he goes. And what woman doesn’t find that an attractive quality in a man?”
“The survivalist instinct,” Mom said, pondering the words. “It certainly speaks to our most basic needs as women.”
Cave women, I thought, but didn’t say it aloud.
“I know!” Crystal beamed. “I’m so proud to be a small contributor to his evolution. He’s a budding naturalist and, oh, such a deep thinker.”
“Well, he is a full professor,” I said.
“Exactly.” She sighed. “I can’t tell you how happy I am that Solomon’s taken Bennie and Stefan under his wing. I know he only befriended them to learn more survivalist skills, but that’s a good sign, isn’t it? Bennie’s taught him how to shoot and reload, and last week, Stefan showed him how to skin a squirrel.”
“How thrilling,” Mom said.
“Isn’t it?” Crystal nodded excitedly. “But, personally, I think the boys will learn so much more from having a man like Solomon around as a role model than he’ll ever learn from them.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’re right,” I said sincerely. I would warn her to stay away from Solomon later, but right now I wanted to keep her talking.
She leaned closer so she wouldn’t be overheard. “It’s sad, though, because Bennie and Stefan are so immature.” She laughed. “Seriously, I could live off the land better than those two knuckleheads ever could. And I can say that because they’re my brothers.”
“They are?” I didn’t remember them all being related.
“Oh, I mean they’re my church brothers. I’ve known them forever and, you know, they’re still boys.” She laughed and waved her hands philosophically. “They can be so juvenile.”
“I have brothers so I know what you mean,” I said, chuckling in camaraderie.
“But Solomon is a man.” She closed her eyes and breathed deeply.
Mom stepped forward eagerly. “I simply must have another taste of that pineapple.”
“You know, Crystal,” I said, rushing to change the subject, “it’s been a long time since I taught at the institute, but I distinctly remember one woman who taught there. What was her name?” I thought for a few seconds. “Angela? Angelina?”
“An
gelica.” Crystal nearly spat the word.
“That’s her,” I whispered triumphantly. “She was a piece of work.”
“I know it’s wrong, but I really hate her,” Crystal said in an undertone. “She’s horrible. Nasty. Brooklyn, I swear I never say things like this, but that woman is the B word.”
Whoa. The B word. That was some kind of serious condemnation coming from Crystal.
Her shoulders tightened and she busied herself by grabbing her fruit knife and slicing up fresh peaches to demonstrate the miracle action of the Monarch 5000.
“I didn’t like her, either,” I confessed.
“I’m so glad to hear that, Brooklyn,” she said. “I don’t like to speak ill of anyone, but she’s just a mean person. I don’t know what Solomon sees in her.”
“So they’re still dating?”
“If you want to call it that. But I’ve seen her with other men,” she whispered. “I call that cheating.”
“Have you had some run-ins with her?”
“Multiple run-ins,” she said, emphasizing every syllable. “I live in the Hollow, and my church members over there are my best customers. I’m always stopping by to drop off the latest updates on dehydrators and survivalist tools, plus I hand out free samples of my family’s orchard products. Everybody loves those.”
“I know I do,” Mom piped up.
Crystal grinned as she continued slicing up fruit. “Since Solomon is such a good customer, I’ve stopped by his place a few times, too. He’s been so nice to me, I like to bring him baked goods and things. The last few times I’ve come by, he’s told me I can come anytime and I think he means it in a special way. But Angelica is so rude. She actually threatened me once. I know it’s because she’s jealous that Solomon shows an interest in me. She chased me all the way out to my car the other day and said horrible things. It made me so mad, I wanted…oh.” She dropped the knife as blood spurted from her finger.
“Oh, goodness,” Mom said, grabbing a napkin and wrapping it around Crystal’s finger.
“Thanks, Mrs. Wainwright. I’m such a klutz sometimes.”
One Book In The Grave Page 14
