Paul said, “That’s a ‘z’, no an ‘s’. S-something.”
I scooted to the edge of the sofa. “Could it be Sasha?”
“Could be,” Paul said, tapping his lips.
WE TOOK THE LAST room in the inn.
Betty apologized as she led us to the third floor, which she called the penthouse. A fancy name for what looked like the attic to me. “Sorry, we’ve only got the one. It’s big, though, a suite really,” she reassured us.
Following the lumbering Betty to our “suite,” Jorn asked about the name of the B&B. “Paul proposed after a Pink Panther movie marathon,” Betty sighed. “He tied a big, fake diamond ring on the neck of a little stuffed panther with a note: ‘A woman is like an artichoke; you must work hard to get to her heart.’ It’s a line from the movie. Isn’t that romantic? Then he took my hand and said, ‘And, love, I am a very hard worker.’ I would have squeezed him to pieces if I hadn’t feared really squeezing him to pieces.”
“Sounds like a match made in the movies,” I smiled.
Betty stopped, leaned closer, and whispered with a wink, “I’ve always thought Paul looked like a little David Niven. Can you see the resemblance?”
“Maybe,” I said.
Betty showed us into the penthouse with a flourish. Although it was the attic, it was actually quite cozy: wood paneled, dormer windows, queen-size bed, sitting area with two over-stuffed chintz chairs and ottomans, and a dvd player with our own personal copy of the complete Pink Panther Film Collection.
After Betty left, Jorn and I stood looking at each other.
“We didn’t see this coming,” Jorn said, setting down my small duffel bag and his backpack.
“I like places with,” I paused, “personality.”
“You had to say you felt the vibes, didn’t you?” Jorn said, pulling out his computer from his backpack and plopping down in one of the easy chairs.
I crawled into the middle of the bed, folded my legs into lotus position, and waited. Jorn didn’t look up from his computer. “So Sasha has the diary,” I said. “And she’s probably coming here tomorrow.”
Jorn stopped typing and focused on me. “She’s hoping Betty and Paul can lead her to a vortex, although I still don’t see why that’s going to help anything. She doesn’t believe in vortexes anymore than I do.”
“She didn’t find what she was looking for in Pipestone. Maybe she’s getting desperate. Obviously, she’s not getting the information she wants from the diary. That means she can’t tap its power.”
“If there is power to tap,” said Jorn.
“We know Sasha is nuts, and if she’s in cahoots with the Evil Twins, she’s dangerous. Look what they did to Nico and how they terrorized the people at Whispering Spirit. What if they hurt Betty or Paul?”
“Betty could hold her own against the Twins.”
“Jorn. I can’t be responsible for bringing the wrath of Sasha and the Twins down on anyone else. This is a sweet place.”
“Okay, it’s got good vibes, although I’m not saying I feel them.” Jorn let his head fall back against the high cushions of the chair. “So we get Sasha away from here and then get the diary back. No confrontation in front of the llamas. No complications.”
Our eyes met, and the room fell quiet. Outside, the wind whispered sweet nothings in the pines. I cleared my throat. “What are you researching over there?”
Jorn took a moment to answer. “Llamas.”
I laughed.
He said defensively, “Well, I’ve never been around llamas.”
“So what did you find out?”
Jorn woke up his computer and scrolled down. “Hmmm. It says they don’t spit. I always thought they spat.”
“That’s camels, I think.”
“They spit at each other to establish hierarchy in the group,” Jorn read. “Descriptions range from cuddly to uppity. Pack animals. Woolly. They come from Peru, where they are mountain lion food. They have no defenses, no claws, no fangs, no hard shell, no stinging tails. They basically just run like hell.”
“Fluffy pacifists,” I said. “I like them already. Betty says they are healing animals.”
“Right,” said skeptical Jorn.
“And they have a calming effect on people.”
“I can’t wait.”
I pulled out Sasha’s map from the satchel that pretty much contained my life and spread it across the bed. The third circle was due east of here on the North Shore of Lake Superior. The North Shore was loaded with beauty: clear, cold waters; deep forests of pine and birch; winding roads that went all the way to Canada. After her stop here, Sasha could be heading to Split Rock Lighthouse, the cliffs of Tettegouche, the Superior National Forest, Gooseberry Falls, or any energy-soaked spot in between.
Gooseberry. That was getting a psychic tingle from me. I asked Jorn to Google Gooseberry.
He did so, but after reading a few moments, he didn’t look happy. “Doubt Sasha would go there. It’s closed for the next month. Spring floods took out some trails and a bridge. dnr has shut it down while it makes repairs.”
“So it’s empty.” I thought that was the perfect time to nose around a state park, no tourists, just a few Department of Natural Resources workers. “That’s where she’s going.”
“How can you be sure?”
I was silent. We stared at each other.
Jorn shook his head and sighed. “You’ve got one of those feelings, haven’t you? I’m beginning to hate that energy detector of yours.”
“So we go to Gooseberry next?” I pressed.
Jorn opened his mouth, probably to make another crack about vortexes and wild goose chases, but was interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone. He scanned the caller id and answered warily, “Jorn.” He listened for a few moments then said, “Will he be all right? You sure? Okay, tell him I’ll be there tomorrow.” Jorn hung up.
“What’s happened?”
“That was Ray Grayfeather’s son. Ray’s in the hospital.”
My hand flew to my throat. “Oh no.”
“He was attacked by two guys whose descriptions sound a lot like the Evil Twins. When he refused to take them to his quarry, they beat him up.”
“How badly is he hurt?”
“Bruises and a broken arm, but he’s spending the night in the hospital. He’s an old guy, and the doctors want to make sure everything’s okay.” Jorn frowned. “Ray insists he needs to see me.”
“He can’t tell you whatever it is over the phone?”
“No, according to his son.”
“What do you think he knows?”
Jorn shrugged. “We’ll find out tomorrow.”
I shook my head. “You go to Ray. I’ll stay here and talk to Sasha.”
Jorn snapped his computer shut, rose from the chair, and started to pace. He probably didn’t even realize he was limping. “No way. We should stay together. I don’t want you meeting up with the Evil Twins.”
“We don’t have time. We’re playing catch up, remember? Don’t worry,” I said. “I can handle Sasha.”
We argued, but I had a lot of stubborn experience standing up to know-it-all Heart and eventually Jorn gave in. “I’ll take the car, see Ray, and turn around and come right back. You stay here and wait for me.” He paused in his pacing and leveled a stern look at me. “Don’t leave with Sasha.”
Jorn estimated he’d be back by Monday night at the latest. In one day, he’d be going from the North Woods to the far southwest corner of the state and back, probably more than ten hours round trip.
It was settled that I would take the bed and Jorn would be just fine pushing the two big chairs together. But, he wasn’t fine. In the middle of the night, I woke to hear him moaning and whispering in his sleep. I couldn’t make out his mumblings. I swept back the covers, tiptoed over to the sitting area, and crou
ched down beside him. For a long time, I watched over Jorn, and when I couldn’t bear to see him like that any longer, I lightly placed my hand on his right hip and felt the warmth begin to radiate. He soon settled. The nightmares lifted, and he stopped fighting for a comfortable position. I crawled back into bed and closed my eyes.
The next morning we were up early and downstairs. Jorn thanked Betty but begged off breakfast due to a “family emergency.” As he stepped out the door, he lowered his voice and said to me, “I’ll see you tonight. Behave.”
I stood at the parlor windows, watching the tail lights of the Subaru disappear down the road. When I looked down, I realized I was standing at a puzzle table, like Ellen’s in the Strawberry b&b in Gabriel’s Garden. This puzzle was a collage of cats, from panthers and tigers to calico housecats. I picked up a piece but, after several tries, put it back down. I couldn’t seem to find the right match.
AFTER BREAKFAST, BETTY TOOK us to meet the llamas. It was me and the Halvorsens—a couple I met over Betty’s thick, golden French toast and Paul’s homemade maple syrup. Paul, apparently, had been up for hours: grooming the four llamas for the morning meditation walk. He smiled at us and led the llamas by the reins, two in each of his small hands. The animals towered over him.
“Here you are, love,” he handed two of the llamas over to Betty. “What we have here is Picasso, Cato, Starlight, and Fred. Now Picasso is the alpha, the leader, the number-one spitter. He keeps all the rest in line, but also protects them, stands guard, sends out the alarm when danger lurks.” Picasso was two hundred pounds of llama pride. He stood tall and still, staring off into the distance, regally ignoring us. He was white and painted with brown and black spots like an appaloosa pony. His well-brushed coat was silky to the touch.
Starlight, a lacy gray female, liked to flirt with Paul. She blew against his cheek, which apparently was a llama’s version of a kiss. Betty said, for all her flighty nature, Starlight could be quite goal driven. In my mind, I already had her paired with Sasha.
Cato, a warm brown animal with tan streaks, was “sneaky but lovable,” according to Paul. “You know, even though Cato the houseboy was always trying to best Detective Clouseau, he also took care of Clouseau. Our Cato is a caregiver, too.”
And finally, there was Fred. A solid black llama, he was the follower. “Fred doesn’t mind bringing up the rear on the trail or being the last to the barn or the food bowl,” Paul said. Fred had no aspirations; he just enjoyed being.
“So, now that you’ve met our little family,” said Betty, holding up Picasso’s rope. “Who’s going to lead?”
“I am,” said a familiar voice behind me.
I inhaled sharply.
Sebastian Winter.
OUR MEDITATION WALK STARTED at the gray barn and continued uphill on a trail lined by long-needled pines. We proceeded in single file: Paul first, then Sebastian with Picasso, followed by me with Cato, and the Halvorsens with Starlight. Betty and Fred, who was loaded down with packs, came last. We did not ride the llamas; we hiked beside them, keeping hold of their long, colorful leads.
I soon learned my llama, Cato, loved to run through the pines. Every so often, Cato tugged on his lead, veered to the side of the trail, and swept his body through the pine branches.
“Hey, Cato, what’s with the detours?” I said.
“Cato loves pine baths,” Paul explained. “They also like dirt baths. Once we get home, they’ll head straight to the dirt piles. Undoing all my bloody grooming.”
Sebastian glanced back at me with a smirk. His llama, Picasso, did not deign to bathe in pines. Neither did Starlight. She was all business as well once the hike began. Starlight attacked the familiar trail just like the graying yet spry Halvorsens, who were dressed alike in sage green hiking pants and scuffed boots, binoculars slung around their necks. All three trod with sturdy purpose. Each had a mission: the Halvorsens were heading for the next entry on their bird life list and Starlight had her big brown eyes on lunch.
As we trekked up the hill toward our picnic site, Betty chattered. “Llamas are like dolphins. Mystical, highly intuitive creatures. They are healers. I had a friend who swam with dolphins in Mexico, and it cured her Montezuma’s revenge like that.” Betty snapped her fingers. “Isn’t that so, Paul?”
“Yes, love,” Paul said. “Tell them about the bloke with the faulty ticker.”
“We met a man who had two heart attacks. Then he started working with llamas and now he’s dropped half his heart medications. So if you’re in need of healing, this is your lucky day.”
Staring at Sebastian’s back, my heart yearned to be healed. The anger inside of me was painful and mounting with every step. Sebastian and Sasha were in cahoots. There was no other explanation for why Sebastian was here. If Sebastian was working with Sasha and both were connected to the Evil Twins . . . my mind leapt to a burned-out house in the mountains of New Mexico.
As if on cue, Cato sneaked up and kissed me, a tiny puff of air on the cheek. It stopped me in my tracks. Suddenly, the tension I had felt ever since Sebastian walked up in his expensive leather boots drained from me. It was replaced by a sweet calm. I leaned toward Cato. He obliged with another kiss then dragged me through a pine bath.
We reached a clearing in the woods where Paul and Betty had built a platform with a wooden table and benches, a fire ring on one side, and a hitching post. A nearby brook plunged through the forest, its voice a steady rhythm under the flickering birdsong in the trees.
Betty and Paul tied the llamas to the hitching post. The llamas recognized the place. Picasso stood guard, while Cato and Fred immediately sank to the ground, their long legs tucked under them. Starlight nosed around the panniers on Fred’s back. Paul gently but firmly pushed Starlight aside, snatched the panniers, and hauled them to the table, out of Starlight’s reach. From the red packs, he pulled out human food, llama food, and water bowls for the llamas.
Betty began passing out bag lunches to us—each containing an avocado sandwich, an apple, a chocolate chip cookie, and a bottle of water. She encouraged us to eat and then spend some time in personal meditation. “This spot is extremely powerful,” she said. “Ley lines cross right under us. Let this vortex raise your spiritual energy. Become one with the llamas, the trees, the air, the water.”
The Halvorsens inhaled their lunches and wandered off, binoculars at the ready to spot some new bird species with extraordinary vibrational qualities, no doubt. Betty and Paul also disappeared along a path upstream. I settled in one corner of the platform next to the hitching post, crossed my legs in lotus, took a bite of avocado and sprouts, and closed my eyes. As I chewed, I smelled Sebastian sitting down beside me. He reeked of expensive cologne, the kind sold in crystal bottles by clerks in white gloves.
Sebastian rummaged in his lunch sack. “Are you going to eat your cookie?” he asked.
Without opening my eyes, I said, “Yes, every crumb.”
Sebastian crunched into his apple and said, “Where’s your sidekick?
“He doesn’t like llamas,” I said. My sandwich and apple were gone. I had hardly tasted them, which infuriated me.
“Probably afraid they’d spit on him,” Sebastian said. I ignored him.
Finally, I heard Sebastian crinkling the waxed paper from his sandwich. I sneaked a peek. He tossed the debris including apple core into the lunch bag and took a swig of water. Then he assumed a lotus position, his knee brushing mine, and closed his eyes. It was a perfect lotus, a pose many practitioners never achieved.
I jerked my knee away, pulled the silence around me, and breathed.
But it was impossible to meditate. Sebastian was responsible for the death of my best friend in all the world. I despised him for it. He had been lying from the moment we met. He and his goons had turned my world upside down, and I didn’t have a clue how to right it. How could I prove that they murdered Tum? How could I make Sebastia
n pay? How could I get the diary back?
“You intrigue me, Maya Skye,” Sebastian whispered.
I started.
“You see possibilities, and I need someone like that.”
I looked him in the eye. “Go to hell.”
“Don’t be too quick to turn me down.”
He was laughing at me. I tried to read the energy in the air around us. There was desire and something else—desperation. I had something Sebastian wanted. “The answer is still no.”
“Pity. I thought you’d be smarter than an old man wasting his life baking bread and doing Sudokus.”
Shock rippled through me. How dare he taunt me with Tum? I took a deep breath and tried to find my calm center.
“What do you want, Sebastian, that is worth causing so much pain?”
“This has been a little messier than I thought it would be,” he said. “Sometimes, Gunther and Eric enjoy their jobs too much.”
My eyes widened in disbelief.
“You’ll have to forgive them. They don’t follow the peaceful path.” Sebastian was watching me. “They are not like us. We both know it is better to let go. Isn’t that the yogi’s way?”
“You are asking me to just stand by and do nothing?”
“Isn’t that what they taught you in Whispering Spirit? Nice people, by the way.” Sebastian smiled as if we were old friends talking on a park bench. “But let’s talk about the diary. I have it; you want it. I might be willing to make a trade.”
“A trade?”
He shrugged. “I really want only one thing from the diary.”
I looked around. The others were still off exploring, recharging their energies, and chasing birds. The llamas were in their own serene bubble. And I was chatting with a murderer. “What? What do you want?”
“The Tree of Life.”
The diary held many secrets—from old family recipes to private confessions to notes about things I never wanted to know about. The shamans had recorded what was important to them personally. And in that stew of ramblings was something Sebastian wanted, some clue to everlasting life.
Down Dog Diary Page 16
