by Mary Marks
“Yeah.”
We left the small room and rejoined the others in the bookstore. Just before class ended, Little Fawn had laid out tea and pastries. As everyone mingled and chatted near the plates of scones and cookies, I contemplated what I’d just seen.
Little Fawn was wrong about Freddy. The embezzlement had started long before he came to Mystical Feather. Was he protecting someone else or gathering information in an investigation of his own? Time to find out.
CHAPTER 22
I hung around in the bookstore with Jazz and Giselle until we were alone with Freddy. Once he saw he could no longer avoid us, he walked over to where we were sitting and plopped down in the empty purple chair. He surveyed our little group and sighed. “I hope I’m not going to regret talking to you.” He reached for the leftover plate of sweets in the middle of the low table and took a thumbprint cookie filled with strawberry jam.
“Well, since you’re psychic, what do our auras tell you about that?” Giselle’s voice dripped with sarcasm.
Freddy stared at the area around her head and neck. “Interesting. You have a red aura. That means you say what you think, consequences be damned.”
Is the Pope Catholic?
Freddy continued. “You also have a competitive nature and a great drive to succeed. You prefer to be the boss. It’s hard for you to surrender your authority to another.”
I had to admit Freddy was right. My sister was the CEO of a successful oil company. She was used to being numero uno. Consequently, she often had a hard time letting me take the lead.
Giselle shrugged. “Anyone who knows me could’ve said the same thing.”
Freddy turned to Jazz with a charming, crooked smile. “You, on the other hand, have a green aura. You’re highly creative, generous, and like to surround yourself with friends.” His eyes flicked up and down for a nanosecond. “You also take good care of your body.”
Jazz blushed.
Duh. Anyone looking at Jazz can see he’s in great shape, especially for a man in his fifties.
“If you possess any flaw, it’s that you tend to work too hard. Your saving grace is you also crave balance. Am I right in saying you’re quite capable of relaxing and enjoying all the friends who tend to gravitate toward you?”
Jazz fluttered his eyes and grinned. “I do? Oh, how kind of you to say so. Really. You just made my day.”
“Well,” Freddy smiled, “it takes one to know one. I have a green aura, too. I totally get where you’re coming from.”
Jazz’s shoulders did a slight shimmy. “Yes, I believe you do.”
Was that some kind of gay code? “Wait, Freddy. Didn’t you tell me earlier your aura is blue?”
He lowered his eyelids. “It changes.”
Definitely gay code.
Freddy turned his attention to me. “Martha, your aura is a bright yellow. You’re highly intellectual and intuitive. You can read people easily and are a good communicator.”
Hmm. Maybe Freddy is psychic after all.
“You’re drawn to the unorthodox. Your major fault is in your cynicism and tendency to be critical of others.”
“As far as I’m concerned, those aren’t faults. Those traits enable me to see past the bull. Like now. Let’s get real, Freddy. Earlier today you mentioned there was ‘other stuff’ going on at Mystical Feather. What did you mean?”
“I’d rather not talk about it until I know for sure.”
“As I see it, you have a choice.” I crossed my arms. “Talk to me or talk to the police.”
“Don’t worry,” Jazz crooned. “Her bark is worse than her bite.”
Freddy glanced at Jazz and gave him a wry smile. “Okay. Okay.” He took a deep breath and sat up straight. “When I first came to the mountain, I spent a lot of time floating from one job on the commune to another. One day, as I was straightening out the shelves where my grandmother Natasha’s books were displayed, I sort of went into a trance and her spirit appeared before me.”
Of course she did.
“How do you mean ‘appeared’?” Giselle asked.
“A vision. Like in a black-and-white film. It only lasted for a few seconds. Long enough for her to tell me I should keep working in the bookstore and she would guide me to the answers I sought. Sure enough, after I’d been in the bookstore a month, Claytie Tolliver asked if I would help out by managing the place.”
“How did Royal feel about that?” I asked.
“If someone else wanted to do the work, the lazy bastard was more than willing to step aside. I’d seen where Royal kept some accounting stuff in his house. I waited until he went on one of his tours that took him away from Ojai and slipped into his empty house late at night. The moment I got a look at those accounting books, I realized they were in a terrible mess. The bookstore records were often mixed up with the general accounts for the whole Mystical Feather Society. So, I decided to establish the bookstore and teahouse as a separate revenue center with its own set of ledgers. I made sure nobody saw me. I worked in his empty house almost every night for a week.”
Giselle leaned forward, eyes narrowed. “How did you know how to do that? Are you an accountant?”
“Degree in finance from Princeton.”
Where his father, Andre Polinskaya, Sr., taught political science. I reached for one of the cookies on the table. “Did Claytie know what you were doing?”
“Are you kidding? My whole purpose in coming here was to find out as much about Royal and Mystical Feather as I could without anyone knowing my true identity. I figured if I could find proof of a crime, it would help us take back Mystical Feather for our mother.”
“Were you looking for any crime in particular?” Jazz prompted gently.
“I knew I had stumbled across financial crimes the moment I saw those books. So, I secretly began to tease out the data for the bookstore accounts and discovered major fraud going on. Money was being paid to vendors that didn’t exist.”
That explained the Excel document Little Fawn had just shown me. “On whose authority were these bills paid? Who wrote the checks?”
“That’s what’s so frustrating.” He wrinkled his face. “They were automatically paid by direct transfer from the Mystical Feather general accounts. I was in the process of confirming Royal had authorized those transfers when he was killed. That kind of stopped everything.”
“Couldn’t you just sit in the lotus position somewhere and ask Natasha who was responsible?” Giselle scoffed. “Or did she only talk to you when you dusted her books?”
“She decides when and where to appear. I don’t. The next time I heard from her was when I stood in the buffet line at the dining hall. We were making our own burritos and I got as far as the bowl with tofu ground meat substitute when she showed herself. She said my case would become even stronger if I kept digging. She said I was ‘about to discover much more wrongdoing’ if I continued my search incognito.”
“How exciting.” Jazz leaned forward, clearly hooked.
“How convenient.” Giselle rolled her eyes. “What happened with the burrito?”
Freddy ignored my sister and blessed Jazz with that same charming smile. “From the first time I set foot on the mountain, I sensed there were a few wretched spirits hovering around the property.”
Paulina and Mansoor had said the same thing when we first came to Mystical Feather. Not that I believed them...
“I thought the spirits might’ve been victims. I quietly asked around about previous members who’d gone missing. Nobody seemed to know much or, if they did, they wouldn’t say anything. But I didn’t give up. I figured if I could locate any graves and prove foul play, that would be the end of Royal.”
“Didn’t Natasha come to you in the shower to tell you where they were buried?” Giselle asked.
Freddy didn’t respond to her constant digs. “Natasha’s spirit did appear again. One evening when I was meditating inside the yurt. She instructed me to search the mountainside but not to tell anyone what I was reall
y up to.”
“Didn’t people suspect something odd going on when you disappeared into the wilderness?” I asked.
“Not really. I told people I was going on a ‘meditation hike’ to get in touch with my spirit guides. One of the women, Anna, always asked to come with me, but I made excuses why I had to be alone.”
He must mean Anna from Savannah. The Southern girl in Birdie’s kitchen who said she was partial to men in beards. Clearly, she didn’t decipher gay code.
“Each time I left, I explored another part of the mountain looking for possible grave sites. I thought I found one a week ago, but I haven’t been able to go back and dig it up.”
“Well, for God’s sake, why didn’t you go to the police?” Giselle wagged her head in disbelief. “They have all kinds of equipment to locate graves, like ground-penetrating radar and specially trained cadaver dogs.”
“I didn’t want to blow my cover before I had solid evidence. Think about it. Suppose I did call the police? And suppose they came and searched? What if nothing turned up? Royal would’ve thrown me off the mountain. Plus, once he knew my real identity, my whole family would be in danger.”
“After all your hikes,” I said, “you must really know your way around the mountain.” Just like Royal’s killer, who used the scrub brush and trees to hide in.
He nodded. “Probably more than most.”
“So, where is this so-called grave site?” Giselle gestured vaguely to the great outdoors. “Why don’t you show it to us now? There’s still an hour of daylight left.”
Freddy blinked rapidly. “All of you? I’m not sure that’s a good idea. A group this size would be sure to attract attention.”
“Is it in an area that is easily seen from the compound?” I asked.
“No, but . . .”
“So, we’ll hike quietly. How long will it take for us to get there from here?”
Freddy glanced around uneasily and licked his lips. “If all of us go, about ten minutes.” He surveyed our shoes. Giselle wore suede flats, Jazz wore leather loafers, and I wore sandals. “Martha, the ground is uneven and rocky in places. Plus, we might come across some poison oak or a rattlesnake. Do you really want to risk hiking in those sandals?”
“Rattlesnakes?” Heck no, I didn’t want to take the risk. But what was the alterative? Staying in the bookstore and waiting for them to return? “I’ll be fine. Let’s get going while there’s still daylight.”
“I gotta lock up first. Meet me out back.”
Giselle, Jazz, and I walked through the tiny kitchen/office and exited down the three concrete steps in back to the dirt below. I noticed a narrow trail leading downhill through the brush I hadn’t seen before. Freddy soon joined us and grabbed a thick walking stick leaning against the back of the building near the door.
He headed toward the path. “Follow me. Step where I step.” He held up the walking stick. “This is for beating the bushes to scare off any critters that may be lurking.”
“Critters?” Giselle took one step backward and bumped into Jazz.
“Mountain lions are pretty shy and don’t like people. But if we do encounter one on the trail, don’t run, whatever you do. They’ll think you’re prey.”
“That’s food for thought,” Giselle snarked.
“If we come across a snake, stop moving. I’ll take care of it.”
“Oh, yuck!” Jazz made a face.
“Likewise, if you see a tarantula or large trapdoor spider, stay put. I’ll use my stick.”
I gasped. “Tarantulas?” Eww. Every molecule in my body wanted to race back to the safety of the Jaguar and wait for the others.
As we moved into the brush, I said a little prayer. Dear God, please don’t let there be any spiders. Especially not a big one. Amen.
After two minutes of marching down the mountain single file, the only sounds we heard were the crunching of dry leaves under our feet and the swishing of vegetation as we made our way past low-growing coyote brush, purple sage, and native grasses. We used our arms and hands to fend off the dry branches of the tall scrub oak reaching out across the path. The only other sound was the squawking of dozens of crows gathering for happy hour in the tallest trees.
Freddy stopped abruptly and raised his arm. We all froze in place; Giselle stood behind Freddy and clutched his arm. Jazz stood behind Giselle, and I brought up the tail end. Freddy swiveled his head so we could see him place a finger on his lips. He mouthed the word deer and pointed toward the left at eleven o’clock. Grazing on the tender leaves of an elderberry bush twenty feet away was a female mule deer with a pregnant belly ready to pop.
Jazz whispered, “Ooh, isn’t she cute?”
The deer’s head snapped to attention, ears twitching. The black tip of her tail stood straight up as she sniffed the air. Then she turned and leapt away through the undergrowth.
Jazz made a face and whispered, “I’m sorry.”
Freddy beckoned us onward. After another two minutes we made a sharp left turn off the trail. We continued crossways along the mountain through California live oak and buckbrush until we came to a small clearing, about three hundred yards below the Mystical Feather compound.
Freddy stopped and turned to face us. “It’s safe to talk now if we keep our voices low. We don’t want to take the chance of our voices carrying up to Mystical Feather.” He pointed to the soft ground beneath our feet. “This is it.”
Jazz looked down and stepped to the side. “The grave?”
Freddy nodded. “Notice how there’s no old growth in this spot? And the dead leaves are not as thick here.”
Only small plants poked through the thin layer of mulch covering the ground.
He cleared a spot and dug his fingers in the soil. “The dirt is not packed and hard here. I’m sure at one point it was disturbed.”
“When?” Jazz gasped.
“Hard to say.” He shrugged. “Maybe six months, maybe a year, according to one old guy who remembered something about it.”
“Why didn’t Natasha tell you in a dream?” Giselle jabbed him one last time. “That’s the least she could do for her grandson.”
Freddy growled at my sister. “If you’re such a skeptic, ask yourself why you came here in the first place. Was it only to mock the paranormal or does a part of you believe what I’m saying?”
Giselle pulled her head back, as if dodging an imaginary blow. Then she took a swing of her own. “I think all this talk about dead spirits, auras, and tarot is a bunch of bull.” Her voice took on volume as she spoke. “I think you’re full of it.”
“Easy...” Jazz hushed. He put a restraining hand on her arm.
“But if I’m right, what then?” asked Freddy. “How will you explain the fact I found the grave of one of the poor souls haunting the mountain?”
“Let’s find out.” I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket. “Let’s call the sheriff and see who’s right.”
“No!” Freddy put a frantic hand over mine, dark eyes pleading. “Not yet. I already explained I don’t want to blow my cover until I have solid proof. You’re coming back tomorrow for the last day of class, right? I’ll stash a couple of shovels by the back door and end the session early. Then we’ll have plenty of daylight to come back here and dig up the body. Being the lazy slug he was, Royal probably didn’t bother to go very deep.”
CHAPTER 23
As we drove down Sulphur Mountain Road to the highway below, a gray Prius pulled out from a narrow driveway and followed us, keeping some distance back. Was that Nkwa’s car, the one that had been parked next to the bookstore this morning? When we reached the bottom, we turned right, and the Prius turned left.
Get a grip, Martha. The world is full of gray Priuses. Besides, why would she be spying on us?
On the way back to the Valley, we talked about what we would do if we did find a body buried below the Mystical Feather Commune.
Jazz rubbed his stomach. “I’ll probably throw up. You remember how queasy I got when we disco
vered poor Dolleen’s body a year ago?”
“I’ll take pictures of the body with my cell phone,” said Giselle.
“I’ll call Della Washington right away,” I said.
“Who’s she?” My sister briefly took her eyes off the road to look at me.
“The sheriff’s detective who’s investigating Royal’s murder.”
“How are you going to explain why we decided to look for a body in that exact spot?”
“Don’t worry, G. We won’t have to explain. Unfortunately, that will be Freddy’s ‘Come to Jesus’ moment. He’ll have to admit who he really is and why he’s been poking around Mystical Feather.”
I’d also have to call Director John Smith at the FBI if I was going to keep my word about exchanging information.
During our drive, the sun set over the ocean in a brilliant blaze of orange and pink, and we arrived at my house in Encino in the dark. My sister parked the Jag but didn’t turn off the engine. “I’ll be here at the same time tomorrow morning.”
I opened the car door. “Wear clothes and shoes suitable for digging.”
Jazz slid across the seat and opened the door on his side. “I’m not looking forward to getting Zsa Zsa from the dog sitter. She’s going to have a hissy fit for being left alone.” He walked to his blue Mercedes with the personalized license plate JAZZ FW. The FW stood for Fletcher-Watson, the combined last name he and the late Russell Watson secretly shared.
Crusher’s Harley sat in the driveway and welcome home lights shone inside my house. I found him in the kitchen, chopping veggies for a salad.
“Babe. How was the class today? Can you tell my fortune yet?”
I laid my purse, tarot deck, and books on the hall table and joined him in the kitchen. He set the knife next to the wooden cutting board and turned to hug me. “I picked up some eggplant Parmesan from Tony’s. I figured we both needed a break from cooking.” A pan of the warm Italian delicacy sat in the middle of the stovetop.
“You know me well, Yossi.”
He tossed the salad with our favorite Italian dressing and removed slices of a French baguette from under the broiler. The edges were lightly browned and melted butter with chunks of fresh minced garlic and grated Parmesan sizzled on top.
