I rang the doorbell.
“Welcome.” A voice answered, but no one opened the door, so I pushed it. It glided open on well-oiled hinges.
A young woman with dirty blonde hair braided and piled on top of her head sat in the center of the empty room on the bare hardwood floor. The room was hot—the electric heater on the far wall must have been working overtime. The woman on the floor needed the heat as she wore nothing but a long cotton camisole and a threadbare piece of silk over her lap. She looked too young and fragile to be the widow of a charismatic leader. “Boadicea?”
She showed no inclination to stand but held her hand out toward me. “Palms, tea leaves, or signs from the river?”
“None of the above.”
She nodded, her face serene. “Then sit and ask me what you will.”
“What can you tell me about Rafe Winter?”
Her face stayed exactly the same, no sign she even heard me. I waited.
“He is a beautiful, misguided youth.”
“After your husband died, he was made the head of the Universal Temple, is that right?”
“It is. They are doing what they can, with what they have. My partner, my guide,” she waved her hands toward the ceiling, “was a brilliant spirit trapped on this place too long. I pray to join him when the time is right.”
“I’m sorry for your loss. How long ago was it?”
“A lifetime, in the spirit. Between now and then I have become a different person. The Temple has become a different person. Rafe has become a different person. Nothing remains, but flows like a river, from one now to the next.”
I plastered a smile on my face. She was a thousand times worse than Rafe. In fact, she was even worse than Rick. “Did you know Adam Demarcus?”
“No.”
“Your spirit never introduced itself to his?”
She frowned. “I don’t know what that means.”
“He was a friend of Rafe’s. Went to the Universal Temple sometimes. You’re sure you didn’t know him?”
“I have heard his name in the wind, but I don’t know him.”
“He was murdered. It’s been all over the news.”
“Exactly.”
“But you never met? You weren’t involved with the committee to end homelessness?”
“What is homelessness? A body is the home of the spirit.”
“Yes, but the body needs a little protection from the elements.”
She nodded. “There is a place in the river where this is true.”
“I saw on your sign that you read signs in the river. Is that any river?”
“Yes.”
“What about the Columbia River about twenty nights ago, out on the gorge, right below Vista House?”
She closed her eyes and hummed.
I waited.
“That night was one of love. Of love made. Of love shared. Here in the temple. But the river says it was dark. And light. And dark. And light.” She dropped her face to her hands.
Dark and light and dark and light? Like flashing lights of murder? Could she have been reading Facebook before I showed up? “What do you mean?”
She stood, the fabric floating to the floor revealing a perfectly normal pair of booty shorts. “Rafe and I made love all night long. And the river hasn’t forgiven me.” Her face crumpled. “I was unfaithful.”
“Boadicea…did you release your husband’s ashes at the Columbia River?”
“Yes. And the river gave him back to me in spirit and wisdom.”
And mental illness, I added to myself. “How long have you been having an affair with Rafe?”
She didn’t respond.
“It started before your husband died, didn’t it?”
“He was sick a long time.”
“How much older than you was he?”
She looked up again, her eyes locked on my face. “The prophet was ageless, and I was his last bride. Rafe…” The clattering of dishes in the kitchen interrupted her.
A woman just old enough to be Boadicea’s mother stepped out. She was dressed in perfectly normal workout clothes, her hair in a ponytail. She may have just come in from a run. “Good afternoon. I think Bodie is done now.” She stepped softly up to Boadicea, placed her hands on her shoulders, and led her through the door to the kitchen. Then she came back.
“Bodie isn’t well. I’m sure you noticed. I have spoken with Rafe again and again about it, but he can’t seem to stop coming around. I think, in his own way, he really does love her.”
“This prophet Bodie was married to…how did he die?”
The woman grimaced. “Old age. He was ninety-five.”
“Ah.”
“It’s exactly what you think. Obviously Bodie has problems. She’s not well and hasn’t been for a long time. Rafe brought her to his church and the leader of it latched on to her so fast it would make your head spin. He had been married dozens of times, but as you can imagine, they never lasted. This time death caught up with him. At least it was a legal marriage. He had a good pension from his pre-cult leader life.”
“So Bodie is taken care of, at least.”
“Exactly. Her medical care is paid for and she owns this little house. Rafe...What can I say about Rafe? I hate him for bringing my kid to that cult, but he never abandoned her. As her symptoms made themselves clear he stuck by her side. Loved her. She was only married to The Prophet for six months.”
“Rafe said some of his church members followed her to her new temple.”
She laughed. “Much easier to believe a powerful leader stole your flock than to admit you are a pot head playing church and very few people want to keep playing it with you.”
“Was he really here all night with Bodie when Adam Demarcus was killed?”
“Yes. Her father and I went out of town for the weekend, just down to Eugene to catch a show at the college and have a romantic night. He came and stayed with her for us. Are they lovers? I don’t think I want to know!” She laughed again but it was a tired sound. “She’s an adult woman, despite the schizophrenia. And despite what I feel as her mother, even the mentally ill deserve love.”
“I’m really sorry to bother you.”
“Don’t be. You made her week, I think. She’ll ride the vibes of having done a “reading” for days.”
“Will you be sure to tell her that I don’t think having Rafe over caused Adam’s murder?”
“I was planning to. When she hasn’t been taking her medication, she gets very paranoid that The Prophet is punishing the world for her actions. I wish I could make the influence he had on her go away. Replace it with some kind of solid, eternal truth. But what is there to replace it with?”
I knew what Rick and Bruce and even Mac would say, but I didn’t say it. Replacing one religious mania with another didn’t seem like it would solve anything.
“Good luck with everything.” I put my hand to the door to let myself out.
“Thanks. And sorry about Adam. Don’t know what you have to do with it, but murder is a terrible thing.”
* * *
The rest of the day I ran errands, had a long lunch. Essentially put off going back to my home or my office for as long as I could. When I finally went back, the light was on in my office. It cast a soft glow down the dark hallway. I paused at the top of the stairs and considered best practices. On the one hand, I was tired and ought to just turn around and go home. Let the intruder intrude. On the other hand, Rick was at home, and I’d rather hang out with an intruder.
I pulled out my phone, finger hovering on the 9. If I barged in and they shot me, I couldn’t dial 911 fast enough to survive. On the other hand, if I got shot going into my office I’d get a comfortable bed at the hospital for several nights. My shoulder twinged, where I had been shot last time. I glanced up and down the hall. No other offices were lit. No one else was around.
It was probably just Rick. He might have found the spare key to the new doorknob. Or Ethan, coming in to report some new landlordian atroc
ity. I had left a key for him in his box. I rubbed my shoulder. Rick wasn’t planning on shooting me. And Ethan probably wasn’t either.
I took a shallow breath with each step, failing on all the self-care practices necessary for a person in a dangerous line of work. I stood to the side of the door and peaked through the window. A movement caught my eye—a dark shadow crossing the wall. The door to the bathroom was ajar.
I stood to the side and waited. The intruder had heard my steps and was probably waiting as well. He or she would have to show themselves before I did. The light in the office flickered. I jumped in my skin. Old light. Needed to be changed. Why was my back-up gun still at the house? There was no reason for me to be unarmed at this point of my life.
But I wasn’t completely unarmed. I stuck the phone back into my pocket and pulled out my pepper spray. An analogue solution in a digital world, but it was effective, and usually unexpected. I counted to five, centering myself, and opened the door.
I scanned the room. The doors that close over my bulletin board were still shut. The mess of papers on my desk looked the same.
Then the toilet flushed. I spun, stuck my arm out, finger poised on the spray trigger, I turned my head away from the direction of the spray, but kept my peripheral vision trained.
The door opened slowly inward, and a dirty foot in a Birkenstock sandal stepped out.
“Maura. How could you?” Rafe seemed to leak into the room, one lanky limb at a time.
I waited until his whole body was in view, then lowered the spray. He smelled like patchouli and weed. His eyes were limpid, his body lax. He shuffled to the sofa and sat down. “Why would you torment poor Boadicea the River? What did she ever do to you?” He looked toward me, but not at me. He knew I was there but didn’t at the same time.
“How did you get in?”
He pointed to a ring of lock picks on the floor.
“Wonderful. What do you need from me?”
“An apology for hurting her. The only true and pure person on the planet.”
“You’re high. Go home.”
“She called me, you know. She told me about how you came and called her a murderer and told her the Prophet was angry.”
“For crying out loud. She’s insane. I didn’t say any of that.”
A fat tear formed in one eye. “In some cultures, they venerate people like Boadicea. Here we call it a sickness.”
“Were you with her all night when Adam died?”
He nodded. He looked like a child.
“Why did you tell me she was your religious rival?”
“Because people are who the world believes they are.”
“And you want the world to believe that your girlfriend is a powerful figure and not a mentally ill young woman.”
“I want the world to see her the way I do.”
“Sure, why not? And I wanted everyone to believe Rick Styles was a hero of the Christian Faith.”
“You understand me so well.” He flopped back against the couch.
“Your church is failing.”
“But it’s doing good with the homeless thing. We let people sleep on the pews when it’s cold outside. That’s why we bought all the pews we could find on Craigslist.”
“That’s not a bad thing.”
“I only want to make the world a better place.”
“You only want to smoke a lot of pot and feel important.”
The fat tear slipped down his cheek.
“Go home, Rafe. You have an alibi for the night of Adam’s murder.”
“How could a guy like Adam get himself killed?”
I pulled my rolling office chair out from behind the desk. “It seems to me we are all believing something one person told us. Linda Smith is the only reason we think that Adam ‘got himself’ killed. Why was she in such a rush to blame the victim?”
“Linda is in love with your husband.” Rafe was staring at the ceiling.
“Who isn’t?”
“Should we blame you for his indiscretions?”
I didn’t answer. Should we? No. Do we? Maybe. Do I? Yes. I do. I had been a thorn in his side for years. Sure, Pastor Bob said that Rick had finally confessed to being a big fat lying hypocrite, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a man with a plan. And a devoutly non-believing spouse had always been a hindrance for his plan.
“The answer is no, Maura. We should not blame you. Rick is just another being on this planet trying to exist. What he does isn’t your fault. What you do isn’t his fault. Adam didn’t get himself murdered and whatever Linda is telling herself to make that sound true is a lie.” He stood slowly, as though he had to concentrate on each little muscle in the process. “Linda is lying to all of us because she doesn’t understand that she is just a single being on a planet with no one to blame but herself.” He gazed out my window even though the curtain was closed. Then he looked at me again, his voice, dare I say it, normal. “Please be careful with Bodie. I love her so much.”
“I promise.” It was an easy promise to make, as I had no intention of ever seeing his poor, sick girlfriend again.
After I ushered Rafe from my office I opened the doors to my large pin board and added a quick note to Rafe’s bio that he had an alibi.
It was depressing, and sad, but it was an alibi. Rafe wasn’t the killer.
Chapter Eighteen
Later that evening, at home, I considered the inconvenience of moving all my office furniture back in. The place had a great address, but it wasn’t huge. And the cellar steps were a pain. I wanted to discuss it with Christine, but I hadn’t heard from her since dinner at her house. I know she had work and mother and kids and whatever, but I was surprised she hadn’t called.
I hadn’t called her, of course, but she wouldn’t have expected it with the crisis in full swing. I mean, last time I left Rick it was a huge roller coaster. She knew.
But this time wasn’t like last time…I paced the kitchen. My house. Rick’s house. This time. Last time. Exactly what was different this time?
Last time I walked out because he had me arrested. It just made sense to leave. He had tried to destroy my career by giving me a record. And it wasn’t like I had attacked him unprovoked. He had literally dared me to.
He said he didn’t think I could.
Clearly, he had known I would. He had done it on purpose. When my parents bailed me out, I just went home with them.
But he had been sorry.
Had apologized.
Had quit drinking so much.
I went back.
This time was different. He hadn’t sabotaged my dream to make a point. To prove my anger was a real problem. To show me I needed to get help.
He was just an everyday normal cheating husband. I hated cheating husbands, but I knew how to handle them.
I still hadn’t called a lawyer though. No one ever wanted to be the one that put the final bullet in the marriage vows. No one I had ever worked for, anyway.
Christine hadn’t called. But she had texted, which was what had brought her to mind in the first place. I stared at her text, annoyed. World=tribulation/take <3/I overcome it.
Bible verses. I might not be able to tell you where to go to read this one, but I recognized it. God made a world full of tribulation, but God overcame the same world so I, with my cheating spouse and murder investigation, shouldn’t worry about any of it. Bull crap. I might as well have Boadicea the River tell me what my tea leaves said. What was the difference? One lie we tell ourselves versus another. At least Boadicea had the excuse of severe mental illness to explain why she looked the world in the face and thought she could understand it.
I stared at the phone. “Oh. Yea. Forgot because I don’t believe in God. Will remember next time.” I left off the profanity since I knew Christine wouldn’t like it. She didn’t respond.
Sometimes I wondered why she put up with me. I always wondered why I put up with Rick.
The refrigerator was covered in letters from women, and some men, who ha
d attended Rick’s conferences, his weekend retreats, his one night, standing room only events. Yes. He was that smooth.
At least religion paid well. I’d get a decent chunk of change with my half of the savings.
I turned the light off in the kitchen and moved to the living room. The old leather sofa had a spot shaped just like me and I nestled into it. Call the lawyer tomorrow. That’s all I had to do.
I closed my eyes and laid my head on the arm of the couch.
A heavy thud behind me brought me back to my senses. It sounded like a bird flying into the window.
I turned to the picture window. A small crack had formed at the corner. What kind of bird could crack a window? I went to the front door and looked up and down the street. The street lights were on, and evening traffic was a steady hum in the background. There weren’t any birds stunned in the front yard from mistaking our window for more sky, but there was a round object with a note rubber banded around it.
I grabbed it and went back inside, locking the door behind me.
The object was a hard rubber ball. I think the kind they used in squash. I was lucky the whole window hadn’t shattered. I set it on the coffee table, slipped the rubber band around my wrist and smoothed out the paper. The handwriting was not the same as on the note that had gone through my car window, but it was another verse from the Quran. Lucky me. Maybe I’d get an email from the book of Mormon next and have a streak of scripture harassment.
One read through was enough to know that this one wasn’t meant to encourage like Christine’s emoji-fied Bible verse, though. As for those of your women who are guilty of lewdness…confine them to the houses until death/4:15
I didn’t know if the Quran had book verse and chapter or not and decided not to google this one. The message was clear. I was lewd and should stay put until I died.
Interesting.
I half wondered if this was meant for Izzy, but of course not. She hadn’t worn a tight, V-neck shirt into a man’s world with the goal of compromising devout young men.
The Book of Judges Page 19
