Knot of This World

by Mary Marks

  “So that was it? The whole FBI investigation?”

  He pulled a handful of chips out of the bag and dumped them on his empty sandwich plate. “Apparently so.”

  “Well, that’s no help. They could’ve at least deployed cadaver dogs or used ground-penetrating radar to see where St. Germain might’ve buried the bodies of those missing people.”

  “Babe. There was no probable cause to conduct a further search, especially after the agents interviewed the dude. Besides, what evidence do you have that St. Germain killed people besides rumors you heard from a psychic?”

  Crusher was right. I had no evidence beyond my gut feeling something was terribly wrong and my gut was seldom wrong.

  * * *

  The next morning, I called my best friend, Lucy, and told her what I’d learned from my visit to Paulina and Mansoor and added what Crusher’s FBI contact told him.

  When I was finished, she gasped. “I knew it! I got one of my bad feelings, right down to my bones, the moment Birdie started speaking. She and Denver are making a horrible mistake.”

  I used to ignore Lucy’s bad feelings and her claim to have ESP. However, despite my doubts, I came to respect her sharp intuition about things because she was frequently right. “I’ve got to find a way to speak to Denver alone. He’s more likely to be honest if Birdie’s not around. Are they home now?”

  “Just a minute, hon. I’ll look out the front window.” There was a brief pause. “Yep. They’re home. I see Denver in the driveway fiddling with the Winnebago. Since Birdie can’t drive, if Denver’s home, that means she is, too.”

  “Let’s pay a surprise visit. You keep Birdie occupied in the house, and I’ll talk to Denver outside. I’ll be over in ten minutes.” I ended the call and threw on my size sixteen stretch denim jeans, a white T-shirt, and a pair of navy blue Crocs. Then I grabbed my purse and car keys and drove to Lucy’s house, just a couple miles south of me.

  As I parked in front of Lucy’s, I was relieved to see Denver still in the driveway across the street working under the hood of their Winnebago. Lucy had the front door open before I had a chance to knock. She grabbed my arm and pulled me inside.

  Lucy always looked perfectly put together. Unlike me, she woke up early, along with her husband, made his breakfast, and packed his lunch. Also, unlike me, she put on makeup and dressed carefully in an outfit she’d selected the night before. Today she wore a grass green cotton sweater over a white shirt with matching green pants and yellow flat shoes. Her orange hair was carefully curled, and her brown eyebrows were expertly drawn. “Come on in, girlfriend, and let’s work this out before we go over there.”

  “Good idea. Let’s tell Denver we decided on the spur of the moment to say hi. Then you’ll go inside to talk to Birdie and keep her distracted.”

  “What’ll I talk about?”

  “Anything. Just don’t bring up the subject of Mystical Feather. We don’t want to be obvious about the purpose of our visit. Then, while you’re keeping Birdie busy, I’ll stay outside and strike up a conversation with Denver.”

  Lucy nodded. “Okay. Got it. Let’s go.” She walked quickly to the front door.

  “Wait, Lucy. We’ll look suspiciously like we’re on a mission if you walk that fast. Just be casual. Let’s saunter across the street and talk to each other as if we don’t have a care in the world.”

  We left the house and moseyed across the street, arm in arm, wearing big smiles. “Hi, Denver.” Lucy and I spoke at the same time.”

  The white-haired retired rancher sat on the steps of the RV with what looked like a greasy engine part in his hands. He looked up and a broad smile creased his weathered face. “Mornin’, ladies.” He stood to greet us.

  I poked Lucy with my elbow. “I came to visit Lucy today, but when I saw you across the street, I just had to come over and say hello. It’s wonderful to see you again.” I stepped forward and gave him a big hug. Then I looked at Lucy and inclined my head toward the house.

  She took the hint. “Is Birdie inside?”

  When Denver nodded, she turned and made her way up the porch and inside their Craftsman-style home.

  Once we were alone, I forced myself to smile. “Birdie told us Tuesday of your plans to sell your properties.”

  “Uh, yeah. Twink’s got a plan.” Denver’s pet name for his wife was short for Twinkle. Don’t ask.

  “Yes, I think she may have told us a little about it. You’re going to live on a commune?”

  He sat on the steps again, picked up a screwdriver with an oily blade, and began cleaning it with a red cotton rag. “Yeah. That’s right. It’s called the Mystical Feather Society. Up in Ojai. Very peaceful place to end our lives.”

  I shuddered at the possible double meaning. “End your lives? Is there something we should know? Are you ill?”

  Denver barked out a laugh. “Hah. Poor choice of words. It’s a peaceful place to live out the remainder of our lives, however long that may be.”

  He gestured toward the interior of the RV. “I feel a coffee break coming on. Why don’t you come on inside where we can sit comfortably and talk? Twink and I were up at six, and you know her. She just had to bake something. Today it’s cranberry scones.”

  I followed him into the interior of a surprisingly comfortable space, even though the walls were beige fiberglass and the furniture was permanently bolted to the floor. I sat on the sage green upholstered banquette, which wrapped around two sides of the dining table. Denver washed the grease from his work-worn hands. Then he placed a teaspoon of instant coffee in each of two mugs he pulled from an overhead cupboard and turned the flame on the propane stove under a stainless-steel kettle. “Just give it a few minutes, and we’ll have some nice fresh coffee. Meanwhile, help yourself.” He pointed to six scones sitting on a plastic plate in the middle of the table and handed me a paper napkin.

  I chose a round scone about the size of a dinner biscuit and placed it on my napkin. “Why did you choose that particular place in Ojai?”

  He rooted his hand under his shoulder-length white hair and scratched his neck. “I didn’t choose it, really. Twink did. We went to Sedona for the spring equinox because Birdie said she felt a calling. People up there were eating mushrooms and talking about their spirit guides. Birdie wanted to try it and asked me to take care of her while she went on her ‘journey.’ ”

  “Did you eat mushrooms, too?”

  “Naw. I wanted to make sure she came out of it okay. Anyway, the next day I woke up and found her talking to this Mystical Feather dude. That’s when he told us he was the son of Madam Natasha St. Germain. Twink knew all about her. Even had some of her books. The dude claimed his mother came to him in a vision and told him to talk to us.”

  “What did he want to talk about?”

  The kettle whistled, and Denver got up to prepare the coffee with cream. “He basically asked us a bunch of questions about how long we’ve been together, how we met, you know. That kind of stuff.”

  My BS radar started pinging. I was sure St. Germain wanted to suss out whether Birdie and Denver had money. “Did he talk about himself?”

  “Yeah, some. Mostly he talked about the commune. Asked us if we might be interested in starting a new chapter in our lives. Like joining the commune.”

  “So you said yes? Just like that?”

  “No, I said we needed time to think on it. Later that day, me and Twink hiked up this hill to watch the sun set. We walked slowly because of her bum knees. Twink told me about the amazing healing powers of Madam St. Germain. She supposedly could cure arthritis. When Twink spotted three white feathers on the path, she took it as a sign. After dark, we went back to our RV and found St. Germain waiting for us inside.

  “He broke into your RV?”

  “Naw. We never lock it. Anyway, he said he could tell from our Winnebago we were exceptional people.”

  He probably snooped around to discover whatever he could about their finances.

  Denver continued. “He said hi
s mother came to him in a new vision. She told Royal we were the ones he was looking for. We were the ‘Elect.’ ”

  “So it was then you agreed to sell everything just like that? Without seeing the commune?”

  “Not at first. He asked us some more questions, like did we anticipate any resistance from friends or families and were we willing to go all in. You know, give everything up in exchange for being welcomed into a loving community of like-minded people who would care for us even if we became ill or incapacitated. Become part of a spiritual family, like.”

  “Did you ask him anything, or did he do all the talking?”

  “He talked. We mostly listened. Twink and I discussed it that night after he left. She made up her mind. St. Germain assured her that her spirit guide would show her how to heal her arthritis. She said it would be a dream come true if we became members of Madam St. Germain’s Society.”

  More like a nightmare. “Since you’ve come back, have you visited the commune? Seen the people there? Talked to anyone else involved?”

  “Nope. I’m just going along for the ride. The only place I want to be is with her. Wherever she goes, I go.”

  “Denver, what if I told you Madam St. Germain’s son, Royal, has been investigated by the FBI? Would you still go?”

  He swallowed a mouthful of scone. “Investigated? I’m not surprised. Back in the sixties when we lived on that commune in Oregon, the Feds hassled everyone. Accused us of being subversive. Called us Commies. I’m not concerned about what the FBI thinks. It’s just the way the government treats people who prefer to live an alternate lifestyle.”

  “What if I told you there are rumors he killed some members of the society?”

  “Who said? The Feds, again? What evidence do they have?”

  What could I say? Mansoor the Magnificent heard rumors? Had visions? “I just want you to check out the place thoroughly. Go take a look before you commit yourselves. Talk to the people there. Selling everything you have and giving it away is nonreversible. If you change your minds, you’ll have nothing to come back to. You’d be virtual captives up there.”

  “Martha, I think you’re letting your imagination run away with you. But thanks for your concern. Like I said, whatever Twink wants. That’s what we’ll do.”

  Dear God. How can I stop this train wreck?

  CHAPTER 4

  Denver clomped over to the sink in his old brown cowboy boots, rinsed out our coffee mugs, and put them on the drainboard. Then we left the Winnebago and went inside their house. With the exception of the turquoise streak in her snow-white hair and silver rings on her toes, Birdie looked exactly as she always had: denim overalls made soft and faded over years of washing, a white T-shirt, and Birkenstock sandals.

  Birdie and Lucy sat on the sofa in the same places they had occupied over many years, countless Tuesday mornings, and dozens of quilts. I sat in my favorite easy chair, while Denver disappeared down the hallway toward the bedroom.

  I brushed my fingers over the fuzzy nap of the green chenille upholstery, remembering how I used to lay out my scissors, thread, thimble, and packet of needles on the broad arm in preparation for a few hours quilting. I missed those times together with my two friends Lucy and Birdie. Our lives were less complicated then. More intimate. Now things were different. Birdie had married Denver and Crusher and I were engaged and living together. Jazz Fletcher and Giselle Cole had joined our group, bringing the number from three to five. But if I couldn’t think of a way to stop her, Birdie would soon be gone again—maybe forever.

  “Martha, dear, what were you and Denny talking about for such a long time?” Birdie knew me well enough to know I wasn’t likely involved in mere idle chatter with her husband. “I saw the two of you going into the Winnebago.”

  “Yeah! He made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. Fresh coffee and cranberry scones. Which were, by the way, delicious. How I’ve missed your morning baking, Birdie. Especially your applesauce cake with raisins and your ginger cookies.”

  “Yes, I thought about that.” She reached into the pocket on the bib of her overalls and handed me two three by five cards with writing on them. “Since Denny and I are about to give away everything, I thought you’d be pleased to have my secret recipes for your two favorites. And, of course, you and Lucy have first pick of all my fabric and sewing supplies.

  Lucy gasped. “Not your fabric!”

  Birdie shrugged. “I’ll have no use for them where we’re going.”

  My heart sank. With every word she spoke, she seemed to slip farther and farther away. A quilter’s personal stash of fabric was like art, stamps, or coins to a passionate collector. She would never give away her fabric unless she lost her sight, the use of her hands, or had just heard the doctor give her a fatal diagnosis. “Are you sure you want to give up quilting?”

  “Quite sure, Martha.”

  “Well, thank you. Of course. But I wish you wouldn’t go. At least not before visiting the cult and seeing for yourselves how people live there and if they’re as happy as Royal St. Germain paints them to be.”

  My dear friend frowned. “Cult?” Her back stiffened. “Is that what you think we’re doing? Joining a cult?”

  I hesitated for a moment, wishing I hadn’t put that particular four-letter word out there. But I had, and now she knew exactly what I was thinking. How should I respond? I decided to be direct. There was little time for finesse. “Actually, Birdie, I’m not the only one who thinks Mystical Feather is a cult. The FBI put Royal St. Germain on their watch list.”

  Lucy spoke up. “Listen, hon. They suspect he may have, you know, gotten rid of some of his members.” She used her fingers to make air quotes.

  Birdie laughed. “Lucy, dear, all you have to do is meet him. If you did, you’d know he couldn’t possibly do anything like that. He’s very warm and spiritual.”

  “What a great idea!” I jumped on the suggestion. “Why don’t we all take a trip to Ojai? We could meet Mr. St. Germain and talk to him. We could also look around the commune and talk to the other members there. If you’re right, a visit could ease our minds and help us feel better about letting you go. We just want the very best for you.”

  Birdie studied our faces for a moment and shrugged. “Why not? If it’ll set your minds at ease, I guess we could go this weekend. We could easily fit in the Winnebago. That is, if Denny can fix that motor.”

  Lucy and I looked at each other. I could tell she was up for the challenge. “Great. How about we meet you here at nine on Saturday morning? We should reach Ojai in an hour and a half. Maybe Mr. St. Germain will invite us to join him for lunch. If not, we could eat in one of the many good restaurants in town.”

  Lucy stood to leave. “Great idea.” She embraced Birdie. “See you on Saturday, hon.”

  We didn’t speak on the short walk back to her house, but once inside, Lucy couldn’t hold back. “Martha! You and Denver were in the RV a long time. I thought I’d die being all alone with Birdie. She asked what you wanted with him. It was hard not to spill the beans. I’m not as good a liar as you are. Tell me what the two of you talked about for that long a time.”

  “Basically, he’s determined to go through with their plans to join the commune. Even after I told him about the FBI.”

  “Oh, my bad feeling is coming back.” She rubbed both of her arms and shivered. “What are we going to do once we get to the commune on Saturday?”

  “You’re right. We need to come up with a plan.”

  For the next hour we went over every scenario we could think of. Finally, we came up with a strategy we hoped was foolproof. Step number one was to call Paulina.

  “Hi, Paulina. It’s Martha, and I’ve got you on speaker so Lucy can hear as well.”

  Lucy leaned toward the phone and said in a loud voice, “Hi, hon.”

  “It’s lucky you found me between clients,” the psychic said. “What’s the deal with your friends. Have you warned them?”

  I sighed. “Yes, but they’re determined t
o go through with it. They’re starting the process of giving stuff away.” I told her about our planned trip to Ojai on Saturday. “The reason I called is we kind of need your expertise on, uh, spirit guides, auras, contacting the dead, and stuff like that. I mean, neither Lucy nor I have the knowledge to challenge anything St. Germain claims about the spirit world.”

  Paulina said, “I actually knew you were going to call on me.”

  Sure, sure. What else would a psychic say? “If that’s the case, do you also know what I’m about to ask?”

  “Yeah. Me and Mansoor will go to Ojai with you on Saturday.”

  Lucy poked my arm and whispered, “She’s amazing!”

  I rolled my eyes. “No, not Mansoor. He’s too obvious. Royal might feel defensive and refuse to talk to us.”

  Paulina said, “What if I tell Mansoor to lose the turban and wear jeans? We could pose as a couple who are followers of Madam St. Germain. Which isn’t far from the truth.”

  “I don’t know . . .”

  “Listen. Mansoor is genuinely gifted. Plus, he knows more about the Mystical Feather Society than all of us. This is a golden opportunity, Martha.”

  As much as I hated to admit it, Paulina was right. The two of them could prove to be very helpful. “How much is it going to cost me this time?”

  “You’re such a pessimist! When did you become so cynical?”

  “Since the age of seven when I was determined to meet the tooth fairy.”

  She laughed. “What happened?”

  “I went to bed, put out a thimble full of chocolate chips for her, and pretended to sleep. I can’t tell you how much willpower it took for me not to eat that chocolate. Anyway, after about a half hour, someone came into my bedroom. I could tell it was my Bubbie because I got a whiff of her Bengay. She crept up to my bed, took my baby tooth. Then she poured out the chocolate chips into her hand, and swapped them for a quarter.”

  “That was the going rate? I got a dollar for every one of my baby teeth.”

  “Anyway, that was the night the magic in my life was replaced by a healthy skepticism. Which, by the way, has served me well.”