Signs in the Blood (27 page)

Hawkins looked at her. “I think I understand how you would feel that way . . . after losing Sam—”

“I didn't ‘lose' him,” Elizabeth snapped. “That would have been extremely careless on my part. He died in a fucking plane crash.” She pronounced the obscenity with deliberate precision. “I'd say that if anyone was careless, it was Sam . . . going flying with a friend who'd just gotten his pilot's license and who never had any sense anyway—”

She stopped abruptly. Then she brushed her hand across her eyes and said softly, “God, I sound angry, don't I? I guess the truth is that I just can't forgive Sam for dying. I've been so mad at him that I've never even been able to cry for him.”

Hawkins said nothing; instead, he reached out and gave her shoulder a brief squeeze. She straightened and said, “Thank you for telling me all this . . . about the militia, I mean. I hope you all can close them down. It's awful knowing there are people like that, people so full of hate, nearby.”

Grinning like a boy, he said, “I think I can promise you won't have that bunch of sickos for neighbors much longer.”

She watched him as he descended the steps, then called, “Wait a minute, Phillip. What you said about Janie wanting to join the Starshine Community? Was that part true?”

He turned, smiling. “Unfortunately, it was. But it seems she's changed her mind. She's just started dating a guy who's learning to build sitars, and she's decided to apprentice alongside him. Starshine is out. Sitars are in. At least for this week. Isn't that wonderful?”

It was a little after seven when the phone rang. She picked it up thinking it might be Laurel, and was surprised to hear Harice Tyler's deep mountain voice.

“Howdy, Miz Goodweather. You all right?”

“I'm good, thank you. Listen, I really appreciated what you did yesterday.”

“Glad I could help you. Sometimes a woman needs a man. You ever think about that?”

“Ah . . .” she stalled, “well, I'm lucky to have my nephew Ben working here, and Julio . . .”

“That ain't what I meant, Miz Goodweather. I been thinkin' about you a lot. Fine woman like you. And though you're a sinner, I know you felt the spirit movin' at church the other night. I believe you felt called. I was hopin' maybe you might come to church with me regular-like.”

Elizabeth hesitated. On one side was the memory of the flurry of warm emotions—the longings and the comfort, the feeling of belonging, of surrender—that she had experienced during the service at the Holiness church. On the other side was the cool, clear, astringent voice of reason. Finally she said gently, feeling very much like a character in a Victorian novel, “Mr. Tyler, I admire and respect you and the members of your church. And I
was
truly moved by the service and by the strength of your beliefs. But I don't believe in the same way that you do.”
Though I wish I could,
whispered the voice of what might have been. “I'm not saying that you're wrong and I'm right. It's more like what's right for you would be wrong for me.” She paused, struggling to articulate her feelings. “I guess I'd say we're walking different paths toward the same truth.”

“Fancy words, Miz Goodweather,” Tyler retorted. He sounded affronted. “But there'll come a time when you learn there's not but one way. You wait and see.”

CHAPTER 22

P
OLARIS
G
OES
N
OVA
 (
T
UESDAY)

E
LIZABETH CAREFULLY WEDGED THE MUSHROOM
quiche into the basket and covered it with a dish towel. Underneath it was a spinach salad with bits of mango and green onions. She had put in a little jar of homemade vinaigrette and a chilled bottle of white wine, as well as a thermos of coffee and some chocolate chip brownies. Today was Sallie Kate's fiftieth birthday, and Elizabeth had arranged to pick her friend up at her real estate office and take her for a picnic lunch down by the river. She grabbed the gaily wrapped package that contained the gardening book she had bought for her friend, picked up the laden basket, and headed for her jeep.

As the car crept down the bumpy road, slower than usual to prevent damage to the fragile quiche, she pondered the revelations of the day before. She was profoundly relieved to know that Hawkins was not a member of the militia; indeed, that he was part of an operation to shut them down.
And if the water sample checks out,
she thought,
he may find out who killed Cletus.

She felt lighthearted at the prospect.
Of course Birdie couldn't have murdered her own son. And even if she had, then how would you account for Dewey Shotwell? As soon as Phillip's buddy R.L.—
and her face blossomed into a grin at the thought of R.L.
—as soon as she analyzes that water sample, maybe a lot more things will fall into place.

She had reached the hard road now and, as she swung onto the pavement, she found that she was humming loudly—“Praise God from Whom All Blessings Flow”—the hymn called “Old Hundredth” she'd sung as a child. When Birdie's little house came into view, Elizabeth slowed and, seeing that Birdie's truck and Dorothy's car were both there, turned to cross the plank bridge.
Sallie Kate's not expecting me till noon—I'll just stop to say hi.
She hurried to the door, knocked, and without waiting for an answer, let herself in.

Miss Birdie was on the recliner, covered with a light blanket. The television flickered busily, but the sound was off and Miss Birdie's eyes were closed. Dorothy was evidently busy in the back of the house—vacuuming, Elizabeth decided, instantly identifying the loud roar emanating from the bedroom. She approached Birdie silently, noting with dismay how the once-plump cheeks were hollow and the busy pudgy hands were now thin and still.

“Lizzie Beth.” Birdie's eyes opened and she held out her hand. “I ain't doin' no good atall.”

Elizabeth took Birdie's hand and tried to speak but Birdie went on, “I heared you been back on Bear Tree. You find out anything about my boy?”

“Not really.” Elizabeth was unwilling to mention the water sample from the militia pond and to raise what might be false hopes. “But I haven't given up.”

“Well, I ain't either,” said Miss Birdie in a firm tone. “Belvy Guthrie's bringin' the preacher, that Brother Tyler, and some of them other Holiness folks over here this evenin'. They're going to lay hands on me and pray for a healin'. I'm thinkin' there ain't nothin' else can help me now.”

Back in her car and on her way to Sallie Kate's office, Elizabeth thought about Harice Tyler. She knew that she had made the right decision.
What do I have a brain for if I'm not supposed to listen to reason? I couldn't pretend that I believed in the Bible as the literal Word of God. And that's his whole life . . . No, it would never work.
She heaved a sigh at the memory of Harice's dark eyes and lazy smile.

The words from a melodramatic scene in
Auntie Mame,
favorite reading in her teenage years, broke from her lips, “‘I belong to one world, you to another. We might find happiness for one brief moment but then we'd hate ourselves—yes, and each other too, for what we'd done!'”

“Get a grip, Elizabeth.” She laughed humorlessly as she pulled into the parking lot of Sallie Kate's office. She took a moment to blot away the tears that so unaccountably blurred her vision.

The birthday girl was at her cluttered desk, a phone captured between her ear and her shoulder while she sorted through a bulging file folder. Her curly blond hair was untidy as usual, and several pencils stuck out of it at picturesque angles. She motioned Elizabeth to a seat and went on talking. “Yes, I had the listing twice before. I'm real familiar with the property.” She mouthed the words
in a minute
at Elizabeth and continued, “He did? When?” An agitated babble at the other end of the line escaped from the earpiece and Sallie Kate shook her head. “I could look at it this afternoon, I suppose. I guess there've been a lot of improvements since—” More babbling that elicited raised eyebrows from the realtor. “I'll do what I can to help with that; see you later this afternoon.”

She put down the phone and jumped up to hug Elizabeth. “I've been looking forward to this; I didn't eat any breakfast on purpose!”

The picnic area by the river was empty, and Elizabeth spread a bright blue-and-yellow cloth over one of the tables. As they ate the quiche and sipped the wine, Sallie Kate said, “Funny thing, remember you called me to find out about that Starshine place up on Hog Run? Well, honey, that call I was on when you came in was about that same property. Seems like it's gonna be up for sale again. The head guy was arrested two days ago and the other owners want out.”

“What!” cried Elizabeth. “I was over there just a couple of weeks ago. Was it Polaris who got arrested?” Sallie Kate, her mouth full of salad, nodded vigorously. “And that's where you're going this afternoon?” asked Elizabeth, full of curiosity about the sudden breakup of the New Age community.

“That's what I told them.” Sallie Kate cut herself another slice of quiche. “You want to ride along? It might be interesting.”

Elizabeth considered a moment then said, “Sure, I'd like to. It's pretty up there.” She poured out coffee and uncovered the plate of brownies. “So what was Polaris arrested for?”

“Omigod, are those the ones with the chocolate chips?” cried Sallie Kate. “I think the guy on the phone said baby-farming. And don't ask what he meant, honey, because I haven't a clue.”

As they drove up Bear Tree Creek in the realtor's sturdy little Subaru, Elizabeth told Sallie Kate about her recent investigations. “You remember I mentioned that Miss Birdie doesn't believe her son's death was an accident. She's had me trying to find out where Cletus was in those days before he died, and it looks like he was most likely over this way.” Elizabeth smiled wryly. “I've learned more about my neighbors over the mountain in a week than I did in all the time Sam and I've lived here.”

Sallie Kate nodded. “Things have changed a lot in the past few years. Used to be, a new family moving in was unusual and we all took notice. But now . . .” She turned up Hog Run Road. “God, this little squalor holler just gets worse and worse!” she exclaimed as they passed the wretched huddle of rusting trailers. Elizabeth noticed that the sofa that had been burning on a pile of tires had resisted the efforts of the fire. Its charred frame sat, faintly smoldering, in the middle of a circle of scorched and blackened earth.

The blue-and-gold sign that had read
STARSHINE COMMUNITY
was missing, and the roadsides were weedy and untidy. A single sandal lay abandoned in the dusty road before them. At the fork, the Visitors sign hung askew.

“The guy I talked to told me to follow that sign,” said Sallie Kate doubtfully, “but it's pointing straight down. Reckon that's some kind of message?”

“It was pointing to the right before,” Elizabeth told her. “Maybe you're meeting him at the dome.”

As they followed the right fork, Elizabeth was struck by the change that seemed to have come over this formerly idyllic place. It wasn't just that the grassy strips along the road were unmown; everywhere she looked she saw indications that the force that had held all this together was gone. The electric fence around the goat pasture was sagging to the ground and the goats were roaming free. As they passed the apple orchard, with its cluster of cabins and yurts, the change was even more dramatic. At one cabin a middle-aged couple was stuffing a car trunk with bags and boxes of clothing, evidently the property of the very pregnant young girl who stood to one side glumly watching. Another cabin stood deserted, its door flung wide open; a white goat poised on the threshold peered out inquisitively.

“‘. . . The center cannot hold; mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,'” Elizabeth said absently.

“What?” said Sallie Kate, “what's that?”

“A poem by Yeats—with Polaris gone, and he did seem to be very much the center of this place—things are truly falling apart.”

They were met at the dome by three blond, worried-looking young men who introduced themselves as Morton Banks, Robert Frye, and Eugene Findlater, co-owners with Ernie Hemick, previously known as Polaris, of the Starshine property.
No more star names,
Elizabeth realized, glancing at the signs in front of the silver Navigators in the parking lot. Algol, Altair, and Canopus were now just Mort, Bob, and Gene.

“We just want a quick sale,” Bob was telling Sallie Kate. “We had no idea what Polaris—I mean Hemick—was up to.”

“I think he must have brainwashed us all,” put in Gene. “I sure hope I can recoup some of my investment. My dad's going to go ballistic.” Mort said nothing, just glanced mournfully at his Rolex, reached in a pocket, and pulled out a brown prescription bottle. He shook out two green-and-white capsules and popped them into his mouth.

Elizabeth and Sallie Kate followed the young men into the dome. The central dais where Polaris had stood two weeks ago now leaned forlornly against the wall. Cardboard boxes overflowing with papers covered folding tables and were piled on the floor. The harsh light from two floor lamps on long extension cords revealed a mosaic of dirty bootprints on the once pristine blue carpet.

Gene looked around bitterly. “It was all so beautiful. It was just incredibly awesome to be a part of something so—so cosmic.”

“What happened?” Elizabeth asked him.

“Well, when the cops came after Ernie, they were looking for records about the adoptions. And drugs.”

The story unfolded in sad bits and pieces. Ernie Hemick, aka Polaris, had burst onto the New Age scene four years ago, proclaiming himself the emissary of a civilization from a distant galaxy. He had sought out disciples, first among the wealthy, then as he gained support, more and more among disaffected young men and women.

“The whole thing was that he said we were starchildren,” explained Bob. “Carriers of the star gene. He said that we were some of a special few in the world today who were descended from a group of travelers from his galaxy. They landed here thousands of years ago.”

“Yeah,” put in Mort, “they built Atlantis and when it sank, a few survivors eventually interbred with ordinary humans. That's who we're descended from.”

“And one of the ways he identified you was that you were all blond, blue-eyed hunks?” asked Sallie Kate innocently.

“Well,” said Gene modestly, “he said that the star gene usually—”

“So what's the deal on the adoptions?” Sallie Kate interrupted impatiently.

“Oh, that was to spread the star gene more fully throughout society. Pol—I mean Ernie said that by the next generation we could put an end to war and—”

“And it just so happens that healthy blond babies are hardest to find if you're trying to adopt. So he was selling the babies? Is that what it was? Jesus!” Sallie Kate went on without waiting for an answer, “And none of the mothers ever objected?”

Bob looked down at the dusty carpet. “Well, mostly they were happy to be part of the greater plan. But once Ernie left and wasn't here to bless the food—he used to sprinkle something he called ‘stardust' in every serving dish—well, that was when things got weird.”

Got
weird? thought Elizabeth.

As the young men told it, matters came to a head when one new mother was sick and unable to keep food down for several days. Suddenly she had become violently opposed to giving up her child at the end of the regulation six-week period.

“The babies always stayed with their mothers for six weeks,” Mort explained, “before being reassigned to their new parents.”

“Yeah,” said Gene earnestly, “so they could be breast-fed and absorb all the star immunities. But this chick had a cell phone, which was like totally forbidden, and she called her daddy—”

“Who is some political big shot.” Bob picked up the tale. “And the next day the cops were all over the place.”

“Well, honey, her daddy must know all the right people,” said Sallie Kate. “This story hasn't made it into the news. Daddy must be protecting his little girl.”

As the three men now admitted, investigation had shown that Polaris had kept the members of his community on a low-level dose of some euphoria-inducing drug which, coincidentally, kept them all in a highly suggestible state. “Man, it was like Paradise; we were all so happy and in tune with the cosmos. Then all of a sudden, here's this chick freaking out and totally destroying the vibe—”

“Yeah,” exclaimed Mort, interrupting Bob, “we had to put her into occultation, but then the cops came. . . . And after they took Ernie away, it all fell apart.”

Elizabeth listened to the account with growing disgust at the reckless credulity of the so-called starchildren. “Wasn't Polaris worried about this drug harming the babies?” she asked. “I can't believe someone would do something like that.”

The three ex-stars looked at one another blankly. “Jeez,” said Mort. “We just trusted that Polaris was doing the right thing. I mean, he was in tune with—”

“Ernie was doing the right thing for Ernie,” Bob said with bitter emphasis. “We might as well face it. He took us for all he could.”

Gene looked around again. His eyes were wet and his voice quavered as he said, “It was all so beautiful. How could it have been wrong?”

“So everyone's clearing out and you guys want to sell?” said Sallie Kate, making some brisk notes on her clipboard. “What about Hemick? He's a part owner, is he going to agree?”