by Mary Marks
“Did he close the padlock afterward?”
“I didn’t see, but I doubt it. That would’ve prevented us from leaving if he had.”
“Could anyone else see what he was doing?”
“Maybe Denver saw him in the rearview mirror. But that’s pure speculation on my part. You’d have to ask him.”
“Did you see anyone in the vicinity of the gate after you arrived? Maybe hear a vehicle in that area?”
“That gate is hard to see from here. But no, I don’t recall anything like that.”
While she scrolled down the screen on her iPhone, I looked through the glass walls out onto the mountainside and the Ojai Valley below. Thick scrub brush and oak trees provided a barrier around the compound, creating almost complete privacy. Using the vegetation as cover, anyone could easily come and go without being seen.
Detective Washington’s voice jarred me out of my reverie. “Your friend Mrs. Watson said only four of you were sitting together when you heard the gunshots.”
“That’s correct. Birdie, Denver, Lucy, and me.”
“Where were the other two? Paulina and Michael Polinskaya?”
I had to stop for a minute before I realized she was using Mansoor’s real name of Michael. “They were off somewhere looking for Royal.”
“So, at the time of the shooting, they weren’t with you and not within your eyesight?”
“No.”
“How soon after the shooting did you see them?”
“I don’t know exactly. Maybe twenty minutes?”
“When they finally reappeared, what direction did they come from?”
I didn’t like where this seemed to be going. “The parking area.”
“How long have you known the Polinskayas? What is the nature of your relationship?”
“I met Paulina a couple years ago. We collaborated on a couple of investigations.”
“And her brother?”
“I just met him two days ago. I didn’t even know until a few minutes ago they were related to each other.”
“Do you know anything else about their family or their background?”
“No. Why would I?”
Detective Della Washington gave me a half-smile out of the corner of her mouth. “I get to be the one asking questions right now.”
I ignored her. “Why were you so interested in the gate, anyhow?”
“Sergeant Diaz had to use bolt cutters on the padlock to get in.”
A chill ran up my spine. “Someone deliberately locked us in?”
Washington shrugged. “What do you think?”
CHAPTER 11
After giving our statements, Lucy and I joined Birdie and Denver on the bench once more and waited while the detectives interviewed Paulina and Mansoor inside the yurt. I lowered my voice and leaned toward the others, trying to keep the detectives watching us from overhearing our conversation. “Denver, when Mansoor opened and closed the gate for us, did you happen to see him shut the padlock?”
Denver pushed his brows together and scratched behind his ear. “No.” He wagged his head slowly. “I wasn’t looking. Why?”
I told them about the closed padlock.
Birdie seemed to sink into Denver’s side, as if seeking safety under the protection of his arm. Was that a sign she finally realized how dangerous it was to be in the Mystical Feather commune? She reached for Denver’s free hand. “For pity’s sake, Martha. Why would anyone want to keep us here?”
“I think the killer saw our arrival as an unexpected gift from heaven. Maybe he wanted to make sure we remained at the commune long enough to lure Royal to his death inside the RV. That way we’d become the focus of the homicide investigation.”
“Don’t make sense,” Denver said. “First of all, how could the killer know we’d be waiting on the bench rather than inside the Winnebago? The only people who knew we decided to wait were the six of us. Second of all, how did the killer lure Royal to the RV without being seen?”
“While we were being interrogated inside the yurt, I realized there is enough brush and trees on the mountainside surrounding the compound to provide cover. The killer could’ve been crouching in the brush nearby, listening in on our conversation.”
Lucy consulted her watch and looked at the female deputy. “We’ve been here for more than three hours, and I have to use the ladies’ room badly.”
“Me, too,” Birdie and I said together.
Regardless of how many Kegels we did, women of a certain age had to cope with the occasional failure of our pelvic muscles to keep us dry. We formed the Sisterhood of the Weak Bladder.
A sympathetic female deputy escorted us into the nearest small adobe house. The floor was paved with red Mexican tiles, which made the three-hundred-square-foot space feel chilly. On the whitewashed wall opposite the doorway, a lone window framed in dark wood faced east to welcome the morning sun. A double bed covered with a cheerful red-and-white Ohio Star quilt was pushed against the wall to our right. Two rolled-up yoga mats stood against the front wall next to the door. A tiny bathroom and closet finished the wall to our left.
“Sorry, Luce. I’m about to lose it.” I ran ahead of my friend and barely made it to the bathroom in time. When I was finished, Lucy took a turn. While she was occupied, I looked at the wooden table with two ladder-back chairs arranged precisely in the middle of the window. I said, “Birdie, look at how dismal this place is. It looks like a monk’s cell. Are you sure you want to give up everything and move here?”
“Not anymore. This place doesn’t feel spiritual at all. It feels oppressive. Thank goodness Denny insisted on bringing me here first to see for ourselves.”
Wait. What am I, chopped liver? It was my idea to check out the compound.
Next to use the facilities was Birdie. While we waited, Lucy gazed around the room, as if seeing it for the first time. She pointed to a framed photo on the wall above the head of the bed. A white-robed Royal St. Germain stood with a beatific smile and his arms outspread.
Lucy frowned. “What does that picture remind you of?”
I’d noticed one of these pictures also hung on a wall stud inside the yurt. Was it in every building? “It reminds me of the huge Christ the Redeemer statue on top of Corcovado Mountain in Rio de Janeiro. And hundreds of other statues and paintings over the last two thousand years.”
“Exactly!” My Catholic friend Lucy fumed. “How dare he compare himself to Jesus!”
“It takes a lot of chutzpah, I know, Luce. But it’s not uncommon for a cult leader to present himself as the Messiah.”
When Birdie emerged from the bathroom, the detective winked. “Wait here. I’ll be right out.” Another member of the weak bladder sisterhood.
Birdie gazed around the room and spotted a small framed photo sitting on the table under the windowsill. She moved to get a closer look, picked up the picture, and gasped. “I thought they looked familiar!”
Lucy and I joined her at the table and looked at the snapshot. A young blonde woman wearing a blue halter top and bell-bottom jeans held hands with a long-haired young man.
“Who are they?” I asked.
“Claytie and June Tolliver. I haven’t seen them since I left Aquarius all those years ago.” Birdie referred to the commune in Ashland, Oregon, where she and Denver lived in the 1960s. “They obviously recognized Denny and me. June looked like she really wanted to talk. I’m going to leave them a note. Do you have paper and a pen?”
I rummaged around in my purse until I found a small notepad and pen. She scribbled a quick message, folded the paper, and placed it on the table underneath the old photo.
Personal crises resolved, the deputy emerged from the bathroom, waved us outside, and closed the wooden door to the little house. Lucy and I helped Birdie slowly manage the uneven path back to the yurt, where Denver waited.
Birdie grabbed his hand. “We do know them, Denny.”
“Who?”
“That couple.” She told him about the Tollivers.
“Well, I left a note. In case they need a place to stay.”
Denver merely nodded his approval.
Deputy Willard approached us and pointed toward the driveway below the parking area. “Your rides have arrived. They’re waiting at the gate below. The four of you are free to leave.”
“Thanks,” I said. “But we can’t leave our friends Paulina and Mansoor. Do you know how much longer they’ll be in there?”
He glanced inside the yurt. “Not a clue.”
As we spoke, I noticed six of the white-robed cult members leaving the dining hall. I guessed they’d finished giving their statements. Two couples headed in our direction, including Birdie’s old friends. Claytie Tolliver nodded toward Denver but said nothing. He and June disappeared into their adobe house. The second couple entered another adobe. The other two members trickled in the opposite direction toward another long, low building. What had Mansoor said? The small houses accommodated couples living here permanently, while the single members and temporary visitors slept in dormitories.
My cell phone chirped inside my purse. I pulled it out and read the text.
Waiting at gate with Ray. R U done?
I responded: Waiting for Paulina and Mansoor. How pissed is Ray?
Less than ten seconds later, Crusher wrote: Very. Followed in his car.
Poor Lucy. None of this mess was her fault, but she did lie to him about where she was going and why. Ray wasn’t a control freak, but he was very protective of his wife. And once again, I’d dragged her to a murder scene. Would he try to end our friendship? Would she let him?
I looked at my three friends. “Yossi and Ray are waiting for us at the bottom of the driveway with two vehicles. I took the liberty of saying we were waiting for Paulina and Mansoor, but I don’t think Ray is happy. What do you want to do?”
Lucy looked up from her cell phone. “Yeah, I just got a text from Ray. I can’t leave him down below by himself. I need to go. She turned to Birdie and Denver. “Want to come with me?”
Denver pushed his cowboy hat up his forehead. “I reckon all this has been hard on Twink. She needs to get home where she can rest her poor knees.” He looked at Detective Willard. “Can you give us a lift down the driveway?”
Willard reached for my arm to help me off the bench, “If you’re done here, you need to leave, too, ma’am.”
“I’m waiting for my friends to finish their statements. Then we’ll leave together. I’m the only ride they have.”
Willard nodded once and led my three friends to one of the black-and-whites. They disappeared down the hill toward the gate.
Five minutes later, the tires of Willard’s car crunched slowly back up the driveway and parked near the other official vehicles. An unmarked SUV followed closely behind. The driver got out and shook hands with Willard before walking in my direction.
Crusher.
He closed the distance between us with a few huge strides of his long legs, sat on the bench next to me, and kissed my forehead. “You okay, babe?”
“Yeah. I just didn’t want to leave Paulina and Mansoor stranded without a ride. How’d you get past the guards?”
He flashed his ATF badge and grinned. “Professional courtesy. Tell me what you know.”
For the umpteenth time that day, I repeated everything that had happened since we arrived at eleven that morning.
When I finished, he said, “So, Paulina and Mansoor are brother and sister?”
“Yes, and I suspect there’s more information they’re keeping back.”
He pushed his brows together. “The circumstantial evidence so far seems to point their way.”
Crusher was right. None of us could vouch for their whereabouts at the exact time of the shooting. “But what would be their motive?”
We waited on the bench, and I told him about Birdie’s old friends. “She left a note inviting them to come and stay with her and Denny.”
“Yeah.” He ran his fingers through his beard. “If their old friends gave everything they owned to the Mystical Feather Trust, they won’t have anything to go back to if they leave. They’ll need all the help they can get.”
* * *
At four thirty, Paulina and Mansoor finally emerged from the yurt. He reached in his pocket and, without looking, tore open a foil packet. Instead of extracting an alcohol wipe, he unfolded a single long piece of latex. He quickly stuffed it back in his pocket and looked around to see if anyone had observed his mistake. Our gazes met. His face reddened as I smiled and gave him a thumbs-up.
The pair approached us, and I made the introductions. “This is my fiancé, Yossi Levy. He’s going to drive us back to the Valley.”
Paulina studied Crusher’s face. “I’ve met you before. At a funeral a couple of years ago. I never forget an aura. Yours is pure purple, the sign of a very evolved human being. That’s my brother Mikey.”
Crusher stretched his hand toward Mansoor, but Paulina patted his arm. “Don’t bother. He doesn’t like physical contact of any kind.”
I winked at Mansoor and mumbled, “Well, that’s not entirely true, is it?”
Mansoor had extracted another alcohol wipe and scrubbed the webbing between his fingers, acting like the last several seconds never happened. “They swabbed our hands with a chemical to test for gunshot residue.”
“Yeah,” Crusher nodded. “It’s called a GSR detection kit. It’s used at crime scenes to immediately exclude people as suspects.” He grinned. “How’d you do?”
Mansoor meticulously scraped the skin under his fingernails. “We both passed, of course.”
What had Birdie told Sergeant Diaz? That the shooter could’ve worn protective gloves and clothing and ditched them, along with the weapon. But I still had a hard time imagining either of these two killing Royal St. Germain. There was the problem of motive.
CHAPTER 12
I sat in front of the SUV with Crusher, and the two Polinskayas sat in the back seat. As soon as we drove off the mountain and turned onto Highway 150, I swiveled around to face them as much as my seatbelt would allow. “Mansoor, after we drove past the gate, did you close the padlock?”
“No. Why? The detective asked me that question at least a hundred times.”
“Because someone locked us in.”
Paulina gasped.
Mansoor said, “Well, that would’ve been stupid on my part. How would we have gotten out again?”
“Good question. While we’re at it, since you’re the expert on the Mystical Feather Society and Madam St. Germain, do you have any idea who wanted Royal dead?”
He glanced at his sister. “You saw those people. One of them probably did it.”
“Or,” Paulina piped up, “maybe the relative of a missing member decided to take revenge.”
“Yeah,” said Mansoor. “That’s probably what happened.”
Or, maybe one or both of you killed him. You certainly had the opportunity.
Crusher looked at him in the rearview mirror. “I thought you were a Seer.”
Mansoor picked off a piece of lint from his knee. “Some evil is too dark to penetrate.”
Crusher smiled out of the corner of his mouth. “Glad we cleared that up.”
Emotional exhaustion weighed on me like a heavy blanket. I sank back in my seat and closed my eyes. We mostly rode in silence for the next hour and a half. Finally, we pulled up in front of Lucy’s house in the gloaming just as the sun slipped under the horizon. Across the street, warm lights glowed in Birdie’s house, but Lucy’s place was dark. It was probably just as well. Now wasn’t the time to show my face. I’d give Ray a day or two to cool off.
Mansoor exited the vehicle and pushed the door shut with his elbow. Paulina opened the passenger door on her side of the SUV, slid off the seat, and planted her feet on the cement curb. “Thanks for the ride.”
I heard a faint chirp coming from her black BMW parked behind us,
indicating she’d unlocked the doors with a remote key.
My gut told me the brother and sister knew much more than they had told us. “Thanks for coming with us today, Paulina. I’ll be in touch in the next couple of days.”
She winked and smiled. “I knew you were going to say that.”
Almost as soon as we arrived home, Crusher asked, “Have you had anything to eat today?”
I became acutely aware of the hollow feeling gnawing at my stomach. “Now that you mention it, no. I’m starved.”
“Do you want me to get some takeout or order a pizza delivery?”
“Can’t wait that long.” I opened the refrigerator and took a survey. I removed a loaf of farm-style bread, jars of mayo and Dijon mustard, a package of Hebrew National beef salami, and a head of romaine lettuce. Five minutes later, I wolfed down my sandwich in between gulps of Coke Zero.
Crusher ate his sandwich more slowly. “Do you have any more ideas about who killed St. Germain?”
“Mfff.” I swallowed a large bite before speaking. “Not really. I was totally blindsided by Paulina and Mansoor’s relationship. I always thought she was weird but trustworthy. Now I’m not so sure. Why would she keep something like that a secret? Is there any way you can do a background check on those two?”
“Babe. I’m a federal agent. You know I can.” He gave a loud sigh. “Sometimes I think you love me just for my connections.”
Oh brother. “Well, how can I convince you otherwise?”
His eyes twinkled, and he grinned in response. I knew I was going to sleep well that night.
* * *
The shrill of the phone woke us up early on Sunday morning. Annoyed at the intrusion, I poked Crusher in the back. “Answer it.”
He mumbled and reached for the phone on his side of the bed. “Levy here.” The phone kept ringing. “Not my phone.” He grunted and laid back down.
The ringing stopped. “Probably a wrong number,” I croaked in a morning voice. Less than a minute later, the ringing started again. Oh crap. Who’s calling this early on the weekend? Eyes still bleary from sleep, I grabbed my phone from my side of the bed and slid the icon on the screen. “Hello?”
