Blood Vines

by Erica Spindler

“Great wine starts with good fruit. The right amount of sun and water, temperatures that are neither too hot nor too cold. Soil that has just the right combination of minerals.” She laughed. “You see why I don’t have children; every year I give birth.”

  Alex smiled. “What happened to the Two Brothers vineyard? Didn’t they find the grave while ripping it up?”

  “We had no choice. The vines became infested with phylloxera.” At Alex’s expression, she explained. “It’s a louse that attacks the root of the vine. You don’t know you have a problem until it’s too late.”

  Alex frowned, recalling something from a wine tour she had taken years ago. “I thought the phylloxera problem had been solved?”

  “Mmm. After nearly totaling California’s wine industry.” She drained her glass. “Now, they graft a phylloxera-resistant root stock to the scion. But these were century-old vines.”

  A note of reverence in her tone hinted that ripping up those vines had torn a piece from Rachel’s heart-as if she was physically attached to them.

  She’d said it a moment ago: the wines were her babies.

  Rachel reached across the table and caught her hand. “But if the vines hadn’t had to be torn out-”

  “The grave wouldn’t have been found.”

  “Yes. And we may never have seen each other again.” She paused. “Would you like to see it? The vineyard where the body was found? His grave?”

  Even as “No” sprang to her lips, she said, “Yes.”

  Rachel insisted on paying for their lunch. It occurred to Alex as they buckled into Rachel’s work truck that they’d polished off the entire bottle of wine and that Rachel shouldn’t be driving.

  They took Sonoma Highway north to Moon Mountain Road. The road gently snaked upward, and Alex partially lowered her window to let the spring air blow against her face. For all her worries about Rachel’s driving ability, she handled the road with what seemed like effortless expertise.

  Twenty minutes later, Rachel eased to the side of the road. They climbed out of the truck and silently crossed into the vineyard, stopping beside an area that had been staked off. It wasn’t a neat, clean hole, the way Alex had imagined it would be. Instead, it had the look of an eruption. As if something violent had taken place here, as if the earth had rejected the tiny body and forced it out. A sort of reverse birthing process.

  “Ugly, isn’t it?”

  Alex couldn’t find her voice and nodded.

  “I think the body… that it was Dylan,” Rachel whispered, answering Alex’s earlier question. “I just do. I guess I feel it here”-she pressed her fist to her stomach-“deep in my gut.”

  They fell silent. Alex gazed at the grave, tears welling in her eyes, swamping them. The breeze ruffled her hair and a crow flying overhead screeched.

  Her brother. Why couldn’t she remember him? She’d loved him desperately. Even without his memory, she knew it was true.

  “I wish I could remember,” Alex whispered.

  “I wish I couldn’t,” Rachel said, voice thick. She looked at Alex. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Silently, they returned to the truck and climbed in. Alex saw that Rachel was crying and reached across the seat and caught her hand.

  Rachel curled her fingers tightly around hers. “No one should have to go through that. No one.”

  Alex wasn’t certain whether Rachel was talking about what Dylan had endured-or what she had. In the end, she supposed it didn’t really matter. The pain was the same.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.

  Rachel looked almost startled at the sound of Alex’s voice. She glanced her way, shook her head. “Nothing was ever the same again.”

  Not for any of them, Alex realized. All their lives had been violently, irrevocably altered.

  Rachel freed her hand and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Maybe your mother had the right idea. Bury it all. Forget about it.”

  Some things couldn’t be buried or forgotten. They made themselves known, coming out twisted and foul.

  “No,” Alex said. “It destroyed her.”

  “I think it destroyed us all.” Rachel made a face. “I didn’t plan for this to become a sobfest.” She flipped down her visor and peered into the mirror. “Look at me! I’m a mess!”

  “Raccoon Woman,” Alex said. She lowered her own visor, peered into the mirror and laughed. “And her sidekick.”

  Rachel handed her a tissue and they took a minute to clean themselves up. They rode in silence back into town. Alex had walked to the restaurant, so Rachel dropped her at her rental.

  “I’m really glad you’re back, Alex,” Rachel said. “I think you being here is going to help us all heal.”

  Tears stung Alex’s eyes. She blinked against them, uncertain what to say. Rachel reached across the seat and squeezed her hand. “I know that’s pretty heavy, but you’re a piece of the puzzle from that time. And you were taken away from us.”

  Moments later, Alex watched her stepsister drive off. It was like a puzzle, she thought. But because of the individual frame of reference, everyone’s piece was overlapping but unique. She wondered where hers fit in.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Monday, March 8

  6:40 P.M.

  Alex spent the rest of the day in downtown Sonoma, introducing herself to some of the old-timers, asking questions and following leads. At the jewelry store Rachel had told her about, the owner had admired her ring and given her the name of an artist who’d been making original wine country-inspired jewelry for forty years. She’d thought it looked like his work.

  Alex had decided to wait until the next day to contact him. She was hungry, tired, and needed to process.

  As she approached her front door, she heard Margo mewing. Poor baby must be hungry, she thought, unlocking the door. As she opened it, the cat darted out.

  “Margo!” Alex scooped her up. But instead of the passive animal she was accustomed to, the cat struggled in her grasp. Alex frowned. “What’s up with you, silly cat?”

  Alex tightened her hold and carried Margo into the house. The moment they were inside, the cat leapt out of her arms and darted off.

  She shut the door, wrinkling her nose. Maybe the smell was getting to her? It’d definitely grown stronger in the time she’d been out.

  Alex flipped on a lamp and looked around, tired and annoyed. What was the deal? She’d eaten only a handful of meals since moving in and had taken the trash out.

  She stopped in the center of the living room. Backed-up sewage was a possible answer. Or an animal that had gotten trapped in the attic or walls and died there. Alex followed her nose; the smell grew stronger as she headed to the back of the house.

  She stopped outside the bathroom. Margo sat on the throw rug, staring intently at the cabinet located under the sink.

  Alex studied the cat. She sat stone still, as if every fiber of her being was focused on that closed cabinet door. The way she did when hunting.

  Suddenly, the cat yowled. Alex jumped, chill bumps racing up her spine.

  Something was in that cabinet. Something Margo didn’t like.

  Swallowing hard, Alex entered the bathroom, crossed to the cabinet and knelt in front of it. She reached for the knob and eased the door open.

  The stench hit Alex hard. Her stomach clenched and she covered her nose and mouth with her hand. At least now she knew where the smell was coming from.

  But what was causing it?

  She peered into the cabinet. A plastic bag, she saw. Black.

  She didn’t want to reach her hand in there. Her every instinct recoiled from the thought. But she had to.

  Grabbing a hand towel to hold over her nose and mouth, Alex grasped the bag and dragged it out. She noticed the flies then. Dozens of them. The contents of her stomach rushed to her throat.

  Choking sickness back, Alex opened the bag. An animal, she saw. Or what was left of one.

  With a cry, she released the bag and stumbled backward. Getting t
o her feet, she ran for the front of the house and out onto the porch. She reached the edge, bent over the rail and vomited.

  Trembling, she squeezed her eyes shut. But instead of forcing the image out, it filled her head. Matted fur. An eye winking up at her.

  She breathed deeply and slowly through her nose, fighting for calm. To slow her thoughts so she could think.

  Who’d done this? She searched her memory. The creature hadn’t been there when she moved in, she was certain of it. So when had it been placed there?

  Saturday night. It must have been. While she was out? When she was sleeping? Sunday morning was the first time she’d smelled-

  The drop of blood. On the vanity.

  Not hers. Not Reed’s. The creature’s.

  And then she realized: somebody was messing with her. Wanting her to be afraid. To run.

  Sick bastard. She didn’t scare that easily.

  Anger kicked in. Sucking in a sharp breath, she marched back into the house. She rinsed her mouth, then retrieved her cell phone and punched in Reed’s number. He answered right away. It sounded like he was eating.

  “It’s Alex. Am I interrupting your dinner?”

  “If you call a burger at my desk dinner. What’s up?”

  “There’s something here I think you should see. Someone left a… someone was in my house and left a dead animal under my bathroom sink.”

  For a long moment he was silent. When he finally spoke, he simply said, “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

  True to his word, he pulled up thirty minutes later. She was waiting on the front porch, Margo in her arms.

  “The bathroom?” he asked as he approached her.

  “Yes. I’ll wait here, if you don’t mind?”

  He said he didn’t and a few minutes later, he returned. He was on his cell phone. When he hung up, she looked at him in question. “One of the CSI detectives is on their way over to collect it.”

  She nodded.

  “Can you answer some questions?” When she nodded again, he said, “Tell me how you came to discover the animal.”

  She did, starting with noticing the spot of blood on the vanity, then the subtle smell later that same morning, to arriving home tonight to find Margo acting strangely.

  “The smell had gotten much worse and I started to search for what was causing it. When I found Margo in the bathroom staring at that cupboard I… knew.”

  “That the smell was coming from in there?”

  “Yes.” She rubbed at the chill bumps on her arms. “I saw the bag, pulled it out and-” She drew a deep breath. “What kind of animal was it?”

  “A lamb. Very young.”

  Her stomach rolled. “How did it… what happened to it?”

  “It was sliced open.”

  Alex brought a hand to her mouth. “A sacrificial lamb,” she whispered.

  “What did you say?”

  She repeated it and looked at him. “Why?” she asked. “Why hurt that poor creature and… why bring it here? I don’t understand.”

  “You noticed the smell the first time Sunday?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the drop of blood on the sink, also Sunday?”

  She nodded. “I remember looking at my hands, for a cut, then thinking maybe you-”

  “I didn’t use the bathroom.”

  “I didn’t think so, but I couldn’t remember for sure.”

  “And then?”

  “I wiped it away and forgot about it.”

  He was looking at her strangely, as if he was trying to figure something out. “What?”

  “You’re awfully calm.”

  “Is there something wrong with that?”

  “It’s a little surprising, that’s all.”

  “I suppose I should be frightened and feel violated. Maybe I will later, but right now I’m pissed. Really pissed.” She looked away, then back. “The bastard wants me afraid. I’m not inclined to give him what he wants.”

  He continued to look intently at her. “Him?”

  She met his gaze. “Or her.”

  “Any idea why someone would target you this way?”

  “None.” He cocked an eyebrow and she made a sound of irritation. “You’re the detective, piece it together.”

  The CSI unit arrived. Alex recognized the woman: Detective Tanner.

  She greeted Alex, then she and Reed headed into the house. This time she followed them inside, opening windows as she went. She’d rather the cold than the smell.

  She moved from the front of the house to the back. As she neared the bathroom, she caught snatches of their conversation.

  “-a little odd,” Tanner was saying, voice low. “I find it difficult to-”

  Reed murmured something she couldn’t make out, then, “to the site-reaction-don’t you think?”

  As if aware of her proximity, they went silent. Alex hurried past, to the kitchen. She unlocked the single window above the sink and slid it up.

  “Are you okay?”

  She turned to Reed in the doorway. “Trying to get rid of the smell.”

  “Tanner’s going to take care of the animal. Dust for prints.”

  “Great.”

  “There’s something I’d like to get your opinion on. It’ll mean taking a drive.”

  “Now?”

  “As soon as Tanner’s done. You up for it?”

  She was, and thirty minutes later, they were in his Tahoe, traveling the narrow, vineyard-lined road. They had driven in silence for several miles when he spoke again. “A biker discovered a makeshift altar yesterday. I thought maybe you could tell me something about it.” He glanced her way. “Your area of expertise, right?”

  “Right. Why tonight?”

  “Why not? I was there, you were there-”

  “Brought together by a dead animal found sliced open and stuffed into the cabinet under my bathroom sink.”

  “Yes.”

  “One I called a sacrificial lamb.”

  “You did.”

  “And you’re thinking the creature may have been used as a sacrifice on the makeshift altar we’re going to see.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “But it’s a possibility.”

  He didn’t respond, though he didn’t have to-they both knew it was true. They fell silent. Alex gazed out the window, her thoughts turning to the other night and their lovemaking.

  Odd how she hadn’t thought of it until now. She wondered if he had.

  They arrived at their destination. Reed opened the glove compartment and brought out a flashlight, then reached around to the backseat for a second. As he did, his coat opened and she caught a glimpse of his gun.

  Her mouth went dry. They were in the middle of God only knew where. Pitch-black, the only illumination from the stars and slim crescent moon, the only sign of civilization a house they had passed a mile down the road.

  He was a cop. She trusted him. Enough to have had sex with him, for Heaven’s sake.

  So, why the unease?

  He turned back and handed her the light. She took it and shook off the question and the crazy thoughts that had prompted it. She opened her car door and stepped out into the night. She snapped on the light. Its bright beam sliced through the dark, landing on the altar. She moved the beam over the site, taking a quick, visual inventory.

  This site didn’t look that different from ceremonial sites she had seen over the years. And she had seen many. Been witness to many religious rituals, from the routine Catholic mass to the truly bizarre and sometimes frightening. Most she had attended as an academic, a chronicler of culture.

  And as one with a thirst to understand. To figure out what drove the human animal’s search for meaning. What inside humans cried out for an overarching belief system.

  She moved closer, taking in the scrawled symbols, the black candles, the evidence of animal sacrifice.

  Reed came up to stand beside her. She glanced at him. “So, I was right about your reason for bringing me up her
e. You think the lamb in my bathroom could be the animal slaughtered here.”

  “What do you think?”

  “That it’s a crazy idea.”

  “Why crazy?”

  She looked at him. “Frame of reference. What possible connection could there be between this”-she swept her flashlight beam over the tableau- “and me?”

  He didn’t answer. “Tell me about what you see. Who did this?”

  “By that you mean who philosophically?”

  “Yes. What group.”

  She shook her head. “Don’t know if it was a specific group. What I see is more like a kitchen sink approach.”

  She pointed her flashlight toward the ground, the series of stones that had been placed around the altar. “Let’s start here. The altar’s been placed in a ritual circle, also referred to as the sacred circle. The circle forms protection from evil. Pretty standard stuff.”

  She moved the light beam yet again. “Look at the symbols. The pentagram is used in all forms of paganism but also, when inverted, in Satanism. The moon and stars we see in Wiccan ceremonies.”

  She settled the light on double jagged lines. “In Satanism, the double Z symbol represents the destroyer. It could also depict thunderbolts, which were the weapon of Zeus. The cross is an obvious Christian symbol but also seen in pagan worship and Santeria, which absorbed many of the Catholic rituals, symbols and saints. An inverted cross is seen in Satanic worship.”

  She indicated the clusters of foliage and grapevines arranged on the altar. “These represent a reverence for nature, which we see in all forms of paganism.”

  “You’re avoiding the obvious.”

  He meant the sacrifice. She corrected him. “Not avoiding. Getting around to it. It’s the deal breaker.”

  “Deal breaker?”

  “You simply don’t see it in paganism. That eliminates a whole slew of belief systems. Wicca, Shamanism, Odinism, Neo-Hellenism, among others.”

  “Which leaves?”

  “Santeria. Satanism. Early Christianity and Judaism. Like I said, you’ve got a kitchen sink here, Reed. Or a Louisiana gumbo.”

  He frowned. “Why sacrifice an animal?”

  “As an offering. In thanks. Reverence. As an atonement for sins. Or in a show of power.”