The Blood We Spill: Suspense with a Dash of Humor (A Letty Whittaker 12 Step Mystery Book 4)

by Donna White Glaser

  Was he suggesting Eli had forced me?

  “That’s in the Bible?”

  “The book of Deuteronomy,” he said. “Evil must be put aside. ‘The lips of an immoral woman drip honey, but are as bitter as wormwood.”

  So, now it was my fault again.

  “‘An adulteress will prey upon a man’s precious life.’ You haven’t been with Father long enough to understand that our work here is about purity. You have to be prepared all the time. You have to be pure. The King could come at any moment, and if you are sinfully entangled with lusts of the flesh,” his face reddened again, “you will be cast into the pit of Sheol forever, instead of feasting at the banquet table of the Elect. The burning fires of hell… They will lick at your body. I know you don’t want that.”

  “No,” I agreed. “I don’t want that.”

  “You are getting ready to make a commitment to the Elect. You must be pure. You have to resist fleshly temptations.”

  “I will.”

  “There’s more than one after you. I’ve seen them. They flock to you like honeybees to blossoms.”

  Now we were quoting from the book of The King and I?

  “I got it,” I said, nodding like a bobblehead. “I do.”

  With my assurances, he seemed to calm down a bit. “We have to make sacrifices if we’re to be ready. We have to give up… sensual delights. They will lead us astray.”

  Apparently he was already being led astray, because his pants had tented over his crotch. Without warning, he made a fist, slamming it into his upper thigh.

  We both cried out.

  “It’s okay,” he said, looking at me. “Blows and wounds clean away evil, and beatings purge the inmost being. I beat my body and make it my slave.”

  “Oh.” Well, sure.

  Turning, he walked back up the path leaving me trembling in the wake of his storm.

  Once again, I was left wishing I had a Bible. Tracy’s warning to check for scriptural accuracy and context never seemed more important than it did regarding Moses’s diatribe. Some of his comments felt like he was quoting, but I couldn’t say for sure. Luckily, I knew someone who might.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The dining hall was hopping when I got there and the kitchen even more so. The atmosphere had a festive spirit at the return of ordinarily mundane oatmeal and dry toast. Jala would be too busy for a scriptural pop quiz, so I joined the crowd at the end of the food line. After facing a flesh-eating dog and a flesh-hating man, I hadn’t thought that I’d be hungry, but my stomach rumbled in anticipation. Even without white sugar or butter, a happy hum of oatmeal-induced praise bounced off the cinder-block walls. Brown sugar and raisins helped, too.

  After scraping up the last of the gray goo, I added the bowl to the growing pile of dirty dishes. Peering through the serving hatch, I spied Jala darting back and forth in front of the stove. Priella stood with her back to the dining hall, making a horrible racket as she loaded the industrial dishwasher. Talitha, manning the toaster, caught my eye and tossed a finger-wiggling wave in my direction. I finger-wiggled back and then stood confused as she pointed at me.

  What?

  Jabbing her finger back and forth, she added a pair of raised eyebrows and several grinning nods to the mimed message. I looked over my shoulder.

  Justus stood so close behind me I’m surprised my skin didn’t singe from his body heat. He was grinning, too, although unlike Talitha, his fell heavily into the seductive, flirtatious range.

  “How’s your legs?”

  “Fine. Thank you. For asking, I mean. Not for… well, I appreciate the massage, too but…” I was babbling like a high school chess-club member dallying with the varsity football captain. His clear-sky eyes crinkled in amusement, and I felt the heat of being stared at as both the kitchen and dining room took in the action. Most of the audience were delighted with the spectacle. Two notable exceptions zeroed in on us from opposite sides of the hall.

  Maliah’s irritation—balm to my wicked soul—was only marginally less heated and considerably more satisfying than the pair of flashing amber eyes trained on our little soap opera. Justus tossed a mocking smirk over his shoulder as if daring Eli to make a scene.

  “Letty?” A soft voice came from the kitchen. “Could you give me a hand back here?” Priella reached through the hatch and pushed a filled bus pan in my direction. She could just as easily have gotten it herself—that was the purpose of the hatch after all—but I picked it up with more gratitude for slimy dishes than I ever felt in my life.

  “Yes, of course. Happy to.” Apparently I hadn’t yet reached my dithering quota for the day. Unable to resist, I looked over at Eli. Assuming a nonchalant pose, he had turned to gaze out the window. Would have been more convincing if the windows hadn’t been five feet to his left, but hey, A for effort.

  How do ya like that, bud?

  The mood in the back could only be described as rampantly mirthful. I kept busy at the dishwasher until the hall cleared. The women fought a mighty battle and managed to restrain themselves until the last diner had left before starting in on me. Not surprisingly, Talitha leaped in first.

  “Looks like somebody’s on her way to being sought out.”

  “Oh, my! I haven’t seen that boy so smitten in a long time. Of course, with his good looks, he’s used to all the women running after him. Probably a little bashfulness is refreshing to him. Men are hunters, ya know.” Jala’s contribution to the ribbing was wrong on so many levels, I wasn’t sure where to begin.

  Before I could, Priella’s gentle voice chimed in. “Or maybe a better question is which hunter is smitten? Or maybe a better one is how many?”

  Both Jala and Talitha froze in their tracks, mouths open, as they took in Priella’s insinuation. More than one hunter? From their positions in the kitchen, they hadn’t seen the interplay between Justus and Eli and, of course, weren’t privy to the previous night’s little drama. With two little questions, Priella had upped the teasing potential and added a mystery. Jala and Talitha were in heaven.

  I, on the other hand, was in hell. In the last twenty-four hours, I had a near-miss romantic encounter with two different men, a weirdly creepy one with a third, and found the mangled appendage of a fourth. I didn’t feel up to girly chitchat. Besides, if I brought up Moses’s strange conversation now, I would only add fuel to the flames.

  It took me a while to extract myself, but once free, I headed for the office. I needed to sneak out the deeds file, as well as Rachel’s journal, and a few hours of mindless filing wouldn’t hurt, either. I thrive on order. At least, I used to think I did.

  The lodge felt dark and still, but as I stood to let my eyes adjust from the bright autumn sun, the soft murmur of women’s voices drifted down the hall. Still half-blind, I moved toward the voices. As I passed the den, a hand shot out, pulling me into the room. If it had been Moses, I probably would have wet myself. Instead, I found myself propped against Eli’s rock-hard chest, staring into his eyes. Not a bad place to be. My body went on autopilot, immediately ready to pick up where we left off the night before. Knees weak, breath short, skin tingling.

  When Eli distractedly set me aside, the disorientation nearly tipped me sideways.

  “What’s going on?” My voice sounded querulous, even to my own ears.

  Eli moved to the bookcase, standing with his back to me.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked again.

  “They killed a cow.”

  “What? Who did?”

  “Father. And the rest of us, I guess. Moses broke its neck.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He finally turned back around to face me. Except for his eyes. Those, he kept averted.

  “Last night, after the service, Father led us—the Seven—to the pasture. They had a heifer staked out there by the creek. Father read something from Deuteronomy about a sacrifice for an unsolved murder. Then Moses went up to it and just… broke its neck.” Eli closed his eyes against the memory.
“Father had us wash our hands in the creek, even though the water was so low only a trickle of water was running through.”

  “How could they do such a thing?”

  “They’ve done offerings before, like at prayer ceremonies, but then they used flour and olive oil, a little incense. This was just bizarre.”

  “And he actually said ‘unsolved murder?’”

  “Some Old Testament Bible verse. Yeah. I’m pretty sure it’s in preparation for declaring Maliah free from the marriage. She’s been on Father nonstop to release her from such an ‘unholy’ arrangement. Of course, we’re forbidden to talk about any of it.”

  “Oh, of course,” I said. Naturally. “Moses said something this morning about sacrifices and cleaning away evil. It was disturbing, to say the least.”

  “Good,” Eli said. “I want you to be disturbed. Don’t lose sight of who these people are and what they’re willing to do.”

  Before I had a chance to tell him about the grisly discovery in the woods, we heard a rustling of someone moving in the hall. After waiting for whoever it was to leave, we split up. Eli headed outside, and I walked to the office.

  I entered the room to find Maliah sitting at Rachel’s desk. Abigail stood behind her, digging through the file cabinet. For a brief moment, my heart contracted wildly, thinking she had discovered my cache of illicit documents. A glance at the cardboard box proved me wrong; if anything, there were even more files stuffed inside.

  “What do you want?” Maliah’s question sliced through the air. Over her shoulder, Abigail caught my eye and shook her head, finger over lips in the universal “keep it a secret” sign.

  “I… um… was looking for Rachel,” I said.

  “You’re looking for Rachel?” she smirked at me. “That surprises me.”

  “Why should it?” I responded impulsively, letting her see she was getting to me. Big mistake, but I was dealing with dead hands and slaughtered cows here.

  “Because you seem more interested in the men of the Elect than the women.” Smirking at my angry flush, she folded her hands on the desk and assumed a pious attitude. “As the highest ranking female, it’s my duty to instruct a sister—especially a new one—in the ways of modesty and decorum. A woman’s reputation is so easily damaged, and when she is seen chasing after several different men, it can be destroyed.”

  Lowering my eyes so she couldn’t read my expression, I took several deep breaths. “I’m so grateful for your advice, Maliah. I can tell you speak with wisdom”—here I raised my eyes to meet hers—“and experience. A woman on her own in this world is vulnerable, as I’m sure you discovered when your husband walked away from… the Elect. I appreciate you taking the time away from grieving to concern yourself with my business. But I don’t want you to worry about me. After all, it’s up to the man to seek out his choice in a mate. And if he gets confused, we all know Father will—” I coughed—”guide him. I’m just as content to submit my will to the Spirit as you are.”

  Maliah’s knuckles whitened during my little speech. She flashed a glance at Abigail who had wisely turned away to hide her smile and pretended to focus on the files.

  “Well, good then,” Maliah said. “We’ve had enough exposure to predatory, immoral women lately. It certainly doesn’t help us on the path to purity to have to deal with sluts and weak men. Father is a generous, merciful man, but even he agrees it’s time to ‘purge the evil from among us.’”

  Abigail turned back. “Maliah, what are you talking about?”

  Maliah’s face closed off. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one to have spoken impulsively.

  “Nothing,” she snapped. “I just don’t want our pretty friend here to risk being named Jezebel at her Naming Ceremony.”

  “No, that would be a bitter pill to swallow.” I kept my expression purposely bland as if unaware of the inherent meaning of Maliah’s chosen name. Abigail coughed, thinly disguising her laughter, while Maliah slit her eyes evilly.

  Time to go.

  As I headed to the exit, Abigail called out to me.

  “Letty, don’t forget your appointment with Father. It’s almost one-thirty.”

  It wasn’t going to take fifteen minutes to walk the two hundred yards to Father’s house, but Abigail had sounded especially emphatic, so I headed right over. I was early, so I sat on the stoop, looking over the compound and trying to prepare myself for the upcoming interview. Events were happening so quickly I didn’t have time to assimilate them. The only moments of solitude I’d had ended in the discovery of a mutilated hand.

  With a start, I realized I had completely lost track of my original purpose here. Where was Maggie? I had a feeling Reggie’s daughter—and her mysterious whereabouts—lay at the heart of it all.

  As usual, my time to reflect was short-lived. A scant five minutes after sitting down, the front door opened and Rachel walked out. Now I understood Abigail’s insistence. Rachel had been crying. She almost walked by without saying anything, then paused. I patted the stoop next to me and she sat down.

  I gave her the gift of silence, letting her find her own way if she chose. Eventually, she spoke.

  “Have you ever wished you could go back in time, Letty?”

  “Probably everyone’s felt that way at some point or other.” I kept my voice soft, so it wouldn’t distract from her own thoughts.

  “Is that a sin?”

  “A sin to regret? Gosh, I hope not.” That got a smile out of her, but she quickly turned serious again.

  “I wish I knew what to believe.” She spoke as if she expected me to understand her thought process or as if it didn’t matter if I did.

  “What are your choices?” I asked.

  After a pause, she said, “To believe in the past or accept the present, I guess.”

  “Is this the same past you want to go back and change?”

  Again, the fleeting smile. “Doesn’t make sense, does it? So many things lately don’t. Ever since…”

  “Ever since Enoch left?”

  “Enoch,” she said. “The police and all their questions.” She looked over her shoulder at the house. “It’s… frightening.”

  “What are you afraid of?”

  “I’m not the one who is afraid,” Rachel whispered.

  I lowered my voice too. “You think Father’s afraid?”

  A longer pause.

  “No, of course not.” Her eyes slid to the window again. “Why would he be? Father says my problem is that I place my faith in the wrong things. I seek safety from worldly things rather than trusting in the divine.”

  “Is there a conflict between the two?” I didn’t really understand the nuances of distress, but I recognized ambivalence when I heard it.

  Rachel sighed. “There seems to be. Father’s working with me in special sessions so I can sort out my faith issues. Oh well,” she said, pulling herself out of her brooding state. “I’ll figure it out. You’d better not keep Father waiting. He hates that.”

  Warm and fuzzy was back, at least on the surface. A closer look revealed that dealing with severed appendages and possibly a murder coming so soon after Enoch’s disappearance had made Father grumpy as hell. The vein throbbing at his temple was a tad more convincing than the smile that completely bypassed his eyes.

  Since our meeting had been scheduled days ago, I assumed it would be an extension of the orientation lecture. Wrong.

  “Well, child, you’ve certainly traveled a great distance to arrive where you are today,” Father began.

  His pronouncement was generic enough to apply to anyone. If the cult leader thingy didn’t work out, he could always get a job writing fortune cookies.

  “Yes, Father.”

  “The book of Romans tells us that ‘all things work together for good to those who love God.’ And in Ephesians we are told…” He snapped his mouth shut, teeth making an audible click, as soon as he realized he was repeating the speech he had given after rolling around in the bushes with me. I kept my eyes down, pret
ending I hadn’t noticed.

  After a strained moment, he cleared his throat and went on.

  “You are aware of the importance of the Naming Ceremony?”

  I had read up on it in the Handbook, but Tracy had warned me about the practice, too. Renaming a person had a deep psychological influence. To begin with, it separated her from her former identity, an erasure of history and a severance of past bonds. A primary response of losing one’s identity would be to automatically grasp for a new one. A ready-made Elect identity. Renaming would also be useful in slowing identification of Elect members, if that became necessary. So, yeah. I was aware.

  “It’s the first step for inclusion in the Elect,” Father said. “It’s a symbol of rebirth. But again, while it signifies your intentions, it’s only the first step.”

  I hadn’t read anything in the Handbook about a second step and I had gone through it twice.

  “What’s the next step?”

  “You must move from intent to commitment. At a certain point in your path, you must decide whether you are ready to commit fully—body and soul—to us. The book of Deuteronomy gives us the answer. It is called the Nazerite vow. Nazerite translates to ‘separate unto God.’ Only a few people throughout the Bible were pure enough to make this covenant with Jehovah. Only when you fully understand the enormity of this decision—the permanence of it—can you take The Vow. Normally, it takes a member months, even years, to progress to the point where I sense they are ready.

  “I believe,” he paused, drawing the moment out. “I believe, child, that you are at that point.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, indeed. I have felt the Spirit moving in you from the start. That is no small thing. Indeed, I have felt a connection with you from early on.”

  That might have happened when I was straddling him on the ground. Lots of guys feel connected then.

  I didn’t say that out loud.

  “I have witnessed you immersing yourself in the church. That in itself is a form of living baptism. More than that,” Father continued, “you have proven your willingness to submit your will by coming to me with matters too large for you to understand.”