Marla regarded him from the chaise lounge on their patio, where they sat enjoying glasses of lemonade and admiring the aqua water in their pool. Lucky and Spooks whined from inside the family room by the sliding glass door, but Marla had let them out earlier. After receiving no response, the dogs settled down.
“What about Francine’s messages to the guy?” Marla asked. “Did you get any vibes about the nature of their relationship?”
“The texts and emails seemed innocent enough, like two friends talking. It was more the frequency that tipped me off they might have a closer connection.”
“Take another look. You might learn which dates and times they got together.”
He finished his drink, put down the glass, and rose. “I’ll go get my laptop. Wait here.”
Marla glanced at her watch. She’d have to put the eggplant rollatini into the oven pretty soon. She’d assembled the dish but had left off baking it until an hour before dinnertime. Dalton would make the salad when they were ready to eat, and Brianna—who’d come home—had already set the table.
Marla rarely had time to relax, and here they were talking crime-solving again. Would it always be this way, or would their mindsets change if she and Dalton had a baby?
He returned and opened his laptop. “Hey, listen to this,” he said a few minutes later. “Abubakar’s last message to Francine mentions tonight’s date.”
She sat up straight. “How so?”
“It says, ‘Meet me at midnight by the Living Tree. All Hail Osiris.’”
“Osiris? Isn’t he one of the Egyptian gods?”
“Yes, he’s the god of the underworld. But what’s the living tree? I’m not familiar with that term.”
“Lots of cultures have a tree of life. Maybe it’s a banyan.”
“You could be right. There’s one at the local park with a hollowed-out central core. Let’s see if this tree relates to Egyptian mythology.” Dalton touch-typed on his computer keys. “The banyan is featured in Asian creation stories and fertility rites. It’s the national tree of India, where the biggest specimen covers more than four acres. In the United States, Thomas Edison planted the first banyan tree in Fort Myers in 1925. It grew from a seedling and now covers an entire acre of the estate.”
Marla had seen the big trees throughout Florida parks. Its branches wrapped around other tree trunks and strangled them. “I believe the banyan is also known as the strangler fig,” she mentioned.
Dalton continued reading. “The trees grow from seeds dropped onto leafy canopies by birds and mammals. The seedlings send down aerial roots. These woody vines encase and smother their hosts.”
“Does a banyan produce fruit?”
“Yes, it’s pollinated by a species of wasps that breed inside the figs. The trees need to produce on a continual basis to keep these pollinator wasps alive. As a source of fiber, vitamins, and minerals, figs support many species of wildlife. They’ve been an important food staple as far back as ancient Egypt. Pharaohs took dried figs to their graves to sustain their souls during the journey to the afterlife.”
“What about the tree of life? Was the banyan part of Egyptian mythology in that regard?” Marla sipped her drink, listening to birds warbling and the occasional squawk of a neighborhood duck. She and Dalton should relax on the patio more often.
“Here we go. According to legend, Osiris was born from an Acacia Nilotica tree, and so he’s believed to live inside the spirit of these trees. It’s also called the gum arabic tree. Supposedly, the tree that God set on fire in front of Moses was an acacia tree. Hebrews used the wood from these sacred trees to build their temples.”
Marla arched her brows. “You know the superstitious phrase, ‘knock on wood’? Early believers felt spirits dwelled in trees. By knocking on wood, you could alert them to help you. Today we use the phrase to ward off evil. Lots of cultures revere trees in their early myths.”
“Listen to this,” Dalton said, squinting at the screen. “The acacia tree is the source of a chemical compound called Dimethyltryptamine, or DMT. Amazonians use it in a drink for shamanic rituals to induce a mind-altering experience.”
“So this substance has psychedelic properties? Does the acacia tree grow in Florida?”
“Yes, but I’d say a banyan tree is more likely to be a meetup site, especially the one with a hollowed-out center at a local park.”
Marla finished her lemonade in one gulp and rose. “I have to start dinner. What do you plan to do with this information?”
He put aside his laptop, stood, and stretched. “If people are gathering tonight by this tree, I should talk to them. They might have known Francine.”
“You’re not going alone. I’ll come as your cover story in case you run into trouble. Who would question a couple out for a romantic stroll in the moonlight?”
“No way. It could be dangerous.”
“Exactly. You need me as backup. No arguments, Dalton. We’re a team, remember?”
He glanced heavenward, as though seeking guidance. “I doubt I’ll dissuade you, so you can join me, but you’ll head back to the car immediately if the situation goes south.”
Several hours later, the two of them drove silently toward the park. It was dead of night, but in this metropolitan area, the sky wasn’t fully dark. City lights gave the heavens an unnatural glow, obliterating all but the brightest stars. They’d left Brianna at a friend’s house with a ride to school in the morning in case they were late in getting home.
Marla, hands clasped in her lap, gave Dalton a nervous glance. “What if the park gate is closed? Could we be wrong about the location?”
Dalton set his mouth in a grim line. “We’ll find out soon enough. We might have to park down the road and go on foot. Are you sure you’re up for it?”
“I’m ready.” She checked the zipper on her black hoodie and the dark sneakers on her feet. She’d doused herself in bug spray before they left and hoped her chemical scent wouldn’t draw human predators instead. Her sturdy jeans should provide a barrier against mosquitoes.
Dalton, too, had dressed all in black. The evening had cooled, and it actually might be quite pleasant in the woods except for the darkness and whatever creatures lurked there. She shivered at the idea, hoping their foolhardy scheme wouldn’t be a bad choice.
Sure enough, the gate was closed for the night. They halted by the entrance, wondering which way to go.
“There’s another entry point,” Marla reminded her husband. “You know, the walkway over the ridge?”
“True, but I don’t recall any parking lot at that site. It leads past a housing development.”
“Let’s circle around. We might find something. If we’re right about the meeting, people have to park close by. And where do you suppose this tree exists? I don’t recall seeing a big banyan on our walks there.”
“That’s because we tend to stay on the designated trails.” He turned the car around and drove along the park’s perimeter. His headlights illuminated the darkened road ahead. No other cars plied the streets at this late hour.
They were nearly at the opposite end when Marla pointed. “Look at the cars parked by that playground. A trail leads toward the higher ridge above.”
“There must be a park entrance that way.” Dalton found an empty space and pulled in. Armed with flashlights, they headed along the curving concrete path on an uphill incline.
Marla marveled at the silence, broken only by crickets and the occasional bird cry. This grassy area led over the Pine Island Ridge. The archaeological site was twenty-nine feet above sea level, making it the highest natural elevation in Broward County. However, the scarcity of trees made her feel exposed. She hurried along the trail toward the forest in the distance. She’d always preferred walking under the tree canopy or strolling along the boardwalk across the wetland marsh to this sparser region. It could get blazing hot during the daytime.
After what seemed like an endless trek, they reached the northern entrance into the monitored park s
ection. The metal gate swung open at their touch. Somebody must have unlocked it. A park employee, perhaps?
A creepy hush descended as they entered the forest proper. Living things slithered under rocks and rustled the shrubbery, while Marla imagined bobcats waiting for prey to pass or snakes hanging overhead. The hairs on her arms stood up, while a prickle of unease tickled her nape.
“Could the banyan tree be over by the picnic tables?” she asked in a low tone. “It would make for a shady canopy, and we don’t usually go that way.”
“You could be right. I doubt it’s near the marina by the lake or the kiddie section. Let’s skirt the usual trails and head toward the picnic shelters. I think there’s an old campfire ring in that direction as well.”
Their feet crunched dead leaves underfoot until they reached a wood chip trail. She winced when one of Dalton’s boots creaked.
“They’ll probably hear us coming from a mile away,” she remarked. “What’s our excuse if we’re caught?”
His eyes gleamed in the light from a full moon. “We could be out for a romantic stroll as you suggested.”
“Let’s hope they believe us.” She scratched an itch on her arm. Despite the cooler air, she was sweating under her jacket. Her scent would attract insects, but hopefully most of them would be chased away by the insecticide.
A creature hooted nearby, making her jump. When a large rustle sounded to her left, she quickened her pace. Her heart pounded as she imagined all sorts of hidden terrors in the woods.
They came to the end of the trail and crossed a road. The picnic areas would be farther along. “Should we just follow the signs to the pavilions?” she asked, glad they could see better in the clearing.
“Yes, but let’s steer clear of the asphalt so we’re less exposed.”
After another long hike during which Marla wished she were back at home in bed, Dalton pointed toward a shady grove. “There, do you see the glow?”
She squinted, making out a barely discernable source of light ahead. “What is it?”
“I think it’s our group. Go quietly, now.” He paced forward like a panther, steady but light on his feet without making a sound.
Marla, on the other hand, stepped on a branch that made a loud crack. Both of them halted, waiting with bated breaths until the stillness of the night returned.
Finally, Dalton signaled for them to move on. As they neared the site, Marla could make out the distinctive light from lanterns. It seemed to come from inside a big spreading tree.
Voices chanted as they drew nearer. Marla could hear them more distinctly now.
“Hear us, Lady Isis, and receive our prayers. We invoke thee to awaken our souls. Speak to us and save us from the darkness. May our words be a spell and a link to thy great light, O Queen and Mother. Let your Divine goodness arise within us and bring thy truth.”
Their volume rose in unison. “I am Isis, and from my life come the suns and the moons, the rain showers and the streams, the living and the dead. I am the Mother and the Earth. All glories of the universe bow to me as I am the priest, the sacrifice, the shrine. I am thy queen enraptured by a love that shall encompass thee.”
Their pitch changed again, becoming more pleading. “Hear us, Lady Isis, and accept our prayers. We worship and invoke thy greatness. Hail to thee, Mother of our humble lives.”
“You there, stop where you are,” a man hollered from behind Marla and Dalton.
Great, the group had left a lookout. Marla would never have succeeded as an Indian scout. The Native Americans would know how to proceed through the forest with stealth.
Slowly, with both hands in view, they turned around. Facing them was a guy in a turban with a swarthy face. He glowered at them but didn’t carry any firearms that she could see.
“Oh hello,” she said. “We didn’t realize anyone was out here tonight.”
“You’re interrupting a meeting. Guys, we have visitors,” the man shouted. He ushered them towards an opening in the giant tree’s main trunk.
Inside, a circle of men and women stared at them. Each person had a lantern at their feet. They wore robes and had black streaks on their faces.
“Is this some sort of pagan ritual?” Dalton asked in an interested tone like a tourist.
One guy broke off and approached them. He had dark eyes in an olive complexion, thick lips, and a goatee. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”
“Actually, we’re looking for a man named Colin Abubakar.”
“What do you want with him?”
“We’d like to ask him some questions about his girlfriend.”
So much for our excuse of a moonlit stroll, Marla thought, wondering why Dalton was revealing their purpose so readily. Did he perceive these people as being harmless? Or did he hope honesty might produce quicker results?
A bearded man with beady eyes and a scowl stepped forward. “How did you find this place, Detective?” he said, evidently recognizing Dalton from their prior meeting.
“Mr. Abubakar, this is my wife, Marla. I have a few more questions to ask you about Francine Dodger.”
“And you couldn’t wait for my office hours at the university?”
“Your friends might have known Francine. Would you like to introduce us and tell me what you’re doing here... other than trespassing on park grounds after hours, that is.”
Marla heard the implied threat in his words and inwardly cringed. He shouldn’t rile these people. She pressed her lips tight and refrained from commenting.
Colin Abubakar’s eyes narrowed as he regarded them. “We’re not doing anything illegal. This tree is sacred. It’s where we hold our rites of renewal.”
“What kind of rites? Is this, like, where you worship some satanic deity and make human sacrifices?” Dalton asked.
“We celebrate the Entry of Osiris into the Moon with the Invocation of Isis,” Colin responded in a calm tone, while the others stood around in clusters, speaking to each other in low voices.
“What’s that?” Marla asked. “Isn’t Osiris the god of the underworld in Egyptian mythology?”
He swung his gaze towards her. “I see you’ve done your homework, young lady, but it isn’t complete. Isis raises Osiris from the dead. He is symbolically the sun as he enters into and unites with the full moon, which is Isis. Thus the moon is impregnated by the sun. Isis gives birth to Horus ten months later. She is our divine Mother.”
Understanding dawned. “This is a fertility rite, isn’t it?”
“Fall is a time of harvest. It’s celebrated in many ways by different cultures. Why don’t you join us and see for yourselves?”
He stomped off, and Dalton started after him. “Wait, we need to talk about Francine.” But the others closed in and drew the two of them into their reformed circle. A cup was produced and passed around. Carved from wood, it looked old and venerated, judging by the careful way the participants took it. Each one sipped the liquid inside before handing it to their neighbor.
When the cup reached Marla’s hands, Colin gripped her arm. “Not you,” he said. “Give it to your husband. It would not be wise for you to drink the sacrament in your condition.” He snatched the cup from her grip and reached past her to hand it to Dalton.
Marla didn’t have time to ponder his remark. It was Dalton’s turn to take a sip of the sacramental brew.
He sniffed the liquid inside and wrinkled his nose. “What is it?”
“The elixir of life. It brings rebirth during this season of harvesting and replanting. Drink now, and then I’ll answer your questions about Francine.”
Dalton raised the cup and took a tentative sip, rolling the liquid on his tongue. “Not bad. It tastes like fruit juice.”
Marla couldn’t tell if he’d swallowed much before he passed it on.
“Were you and Francine dating?” she asked, while the others began their chant again. Leaves rustled in the nighttime breeze, while moonlight filtered through the overhead canopy.
“Yes, we’d met
at a food and wine event. Doing tastings together was an interest of ours. Francine guarded her privacy and didn’t care to air her social life in public, so she didn’t talk about us.”
“Was she also interested in ancient Egyptology?” Dalton asked.
“Francine intended to do an article on seasonal rites. I invited her here to see what we do to celebrate the fall renewal. Unfortunately, she never made it.”
Marla shivered as robed individuals muttered their incantation in unison. It reminded her of a witch’s circle. Could this group’s aims really be so innocent?
“Did you attend the harvest festival at Kinsdale Farms the day she died?” Dalton added.
Colin shook his head. “I wish I had gone. Then maybe I could have prevented what happened. I was at a popular culture conference in New Orleans that weekend.”
“Do you know anyone who might have wished to harm Ms. Dodger?” Dalton swayed slightly on his feet as he spoke.
Marla gave him a sharp glance. Was the incessant chanting getting to him, or was it the drink he’d ingested?
Colin tented his hands together in prayer formation. “Francine did sound excited about an article she’d been researching. ‘Now I’ll finally get my revenge’ are the exact words she said to me. But when I pressed her for details, she wouldn’t say more.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I can’t believe she’s gone. We were good together, and now...”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Marla told him in a soothing tone. “Is there anything else you can tell us that may be helpful? I’m sure you want to see justice done for Francine same as we do. Even something seemingly irrelevant might be important.”
“Her colleagues might have more information, especially the lady who took over her job. Maybe she orchestrated the whole thing to get a promotion.”
“I’ve interviewed them,” Dalton said, “and no one seemed to bear Francine any ill will that I noticed. As for the topic she’d been pursuing for her alleged exposé, she was keeping it a closely guarded secret, same as her relationship to you.”
As soon as those words left his mouth, Dalton’s legs folded. He sank to the ground in a sliver of lantern light that illuminated his senseless form.
Trimmed to Death Page 13
