The Blood We Spill: Suspense with a Dash of Humor (The Letty Whittaker 12 Step Mysteries) (16 page)

Well, duh.

As I thanked Baara for her expertise, she
surprised me by heading to the dining hall.

“Isn’t there a fast?” Maybe it was all an evil
dream.

“Yeah, but we can have juice and water. If I drink
so much my tummy gets full, I don’t feel hungry. I pee all the time, though.”

No cooking smells greeted us as we pushed through
the door, and I got depressed all over again. Each table held three pitchers
and stacks of plastic picnic glasses.

Beth was there, looking particularly wan. Her mood
matched a few others who were tanking up. Unlike yesterday, no one lingered
over the meal, no groups gravitated together to share the minutiae of community
life. I noticed another difference.

“Why is everyone taking their glass?” My voice
came out high and whiny, as petulant as a three-year-old with no nap.

“Maranatha to you too, princess,” Beth said dryly.

The thing with those of us in long-term recovery
is we’ve given up so many illicit pleasures, we cling desperately to the measly
licit ones we have left. I didn’t care if it was only going to be a few hours
or a few days, I didn’t think I could live without food. I certainly didn’t
want to.

I asked the only thing that mattered any more.
“How long will this stupid fast last?”

“Father waits on the Lord’s will,” Beth answered.
Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Which translates to ‘who the hell knows?’
Cozbi told me the last fast was right after Enoch took off. To cleanse the
community of all sins, knowing or unknowing. Lasted seven days, because seven
symbolizes perfection and the Church.”

I think my legs gave out. I sank down on a stool.
“Seven days?”

Martha joined us. “I’m glad I caught you, Letty.
Maliah told me she assigned you to the restaurant as a server. I don’t usually
start someone out without training, but Priella asked off and Father granted
it.”

“Is she sick?” Beth asked.

Martha rolled her eyes in the female-code that
means “yeah, right.” “Heartsick, maybe. I think she’s in worse shape than
Maliah,” Martha said.

 There was a pause you could drive a truck through
as we mulled over the subtext.

“So, it’s true then?” Beth went on. “Priella and
Enoch were—”

“The bus leaves at three,” Martha said to me.
“I’ll get a uniform to you before then. Make sure your hair is tied back.”

I nodded. “I’ve waitressed before. I should pick
it up quickly.”

“Well, that’s a blessing, because we’ll need you
for tomorrow night too. People come for miles for our fish fry, and Fridays get
crazy.” She downed her juice and, still holding her glass, began to walk away.

“Hey, Martha? Why the glass?”

“Water,” she said. “Lots and lots of water.”

I
needed
something to take my mind off this fasting crap, so I headed for the office to
see if I could make myself useful. Maliah wasn’t there, thank goodness, but it
made me wonder where she was. And where Eli was too.

Rachel and Abigail were parked behind gun-metal
gray desks placed kitty-corner to each other. They looked up, surprised, when I
walked in and uncertain at my offer to help out, so I upped the ante and went
for endearing frankness.

“I’m really looking for something to keep me
busy,” I said. “I’ve never fasted before.”

Instant bonding.

“We can find something, I’m sure,” Abigail said.
Surprisingly, she seemed more open to the idea than Rachel.

Abigail hauled out a cardboard box stuffed to the
brim with thick files.

“Here.” After dropping the box in my arms, she
pointed to the row of cabinets behind Rachel’s desk. “None of us likes to file,
so it tends to get so out of hand that we avoid it even more.

“Okeydokey.” I hated filing, but it might give me
an overview of the business side of the Elect. Especially since it appeared
there were more files outside the cabinets than in them.

I sat on a metal folding chair and pulled the box
on my lap, trying to see if they had at least been alphabetized. Of course not.

Briefly, I considered striking up a conversation,
but decided I would learn more if I let myself blend into the background. Maybe
if they got used to me, they would resume their normal conversation and
activities sooner. It was worth a shot, anyway.

After forty minutes, they appeared to have
forgotten my existence. I puttered quietly back and forth along the row of file
cabinets. The tranquility of the morning was shot when we heard the crunch of
several cars in the gravel lot.

Abigail went to the window. Turning, she nodded
tensely to Rachel in some prearranged signal. While Abigail hurried back to her
desk, Rachel picked up the phone and dialed an inside extension.

“They’re back,” she said into the phone. As she
hung up, the two detectives from the day before entered the office. Before
either said a word, Rachel rose to her feet. 

“Abraham extends his welcome to you and your
officers,” she said with quiet dignity. “If you have a warrant, we are to
cooperate fully. Abraham would like to meet with you when you are finished.”

Tall Guy smiled wryly.

“Is there a reason we should need a warrant?” He
waited for Rachel to say something, but she merely stood, lips pressed
together. “We would, however, like to speak to several people, if they are
available. Perhaps Abraham could meet with us in the room where we met with
Mrs. Nichols?”

“Abraham is elderly, and this situation has been
very traumatic. He would prefer to meet with you in his private office,” Rachel
countered.

Tall Guy’s smile stretched a little thinner and
failed to reach his eyes. His partner snorted loudly, shaking his head as he
left the room. Tall Guy produced a short list of names and conferred with
Rachel regarding who might be available to speak with them.

“It would have been better if you had called,” she
said, looking over the list. “We could have had them ready for you. I’ll have
to call around and see who is available.”

He ignored her comment. He wouldn’t have wanted
people prepared for the interview, anyway.

“This will be fine; we can always come back.” His
smile was a mite predatory. “And what are your names?” Tall Guy pulled out a
notebook to record our information.

Rachel paled, then rallied and introduced us. The
detective copied our names down, checked the spelling, then turned to leave.

“Detective?” Rachel called him back. “What is your
name?”

“Detective Zandowski,” he said, surprise apparent
on his face.

She picked up a pen and message pad. “Spell it,
please?”

This time, his smile traveled the road map of his
entire face. After he complied, he stood looking at her a heartbeat longer then
was socially acceptable. For the second time in their battle of wits, Rachel
got flustered.

Still smiling warmly, Detective Zandowski bent his
head to her in a courtly, old-fashioned homage of respect. “I’ll be waiting in
the room next door.”

Blushing harder, she turned to the window. His
nods to Abigail and me were of the polite dismissive nature. After he left,
Rachel dropped heavily into her chair, making it squeak like she had sat on a
gassy mouse. Abigail and I burst into semihysterical giggles at the sound. For
a moment, it looked like Rachel might get pissed, but then she broke and joined
in.  

We spent the rest of the morning pretending we
weren’t enthralled with the events unfolding all around us. Rachel spent some
time tracking down the few people on Detective Zandowki’s list. Despite her
complaint about lack of notice, all three were available to speak with the
detectives. These included Moses, Baara’s husband, Casper—whom I remembered was
treasurer—and, finally, Maliah again. It wasn’t until the detectives crossed
the yard to meet with Father that the office started to calm down.

Before they left, I took advantage of the
distraction to sneak several peeks at Rachel and Abigail’s desks. Because her
desk was across the room, Abigail’s was more difficult to check out but
ultimately turned out to be less interesting. She was using a no-name computer
software program to edit a brochure. Looked like promotional material for the
Living Peace class.

Working in the area behind Rachel’s desk, I had a
fairly good overview of her desk and computer. She was working on financial
records, which meant she was completely safe from my snooping. Not only was I
unable to decipher anything from the brief glances I snatched walking back and
forth, but I was way too ignorant about finance in general to be a threat. I
had gone for a career in the mental health field precisely because adding or
subtracting with my socks on was a challenge.

Deciding I couldn’t pick up any clues from my
officemates, I focused on the files. I didn’t understand most of them, but when
I came to one labeled “deeds,” I stuck it underneath the bottom of the pile. I
needed to find out whether the Elect owned other properties where Maggie might
be stashed.

In my excitement, I almost missed the fact that I
wasn’t the only person with something to hide.

As Abigail brought me another stack of files,
Rachel flushed and, surreptitiously reaching over, switched her computer screen
to another field. If it hadn’t been for her furtive behavior, I would have
missed it completely.

Bookkeeping confuses me; body language I can read.

After Abigail returned to her seat, I watched
Rachel more closely. Bringing the original screen back up, she jotted notes on
a piece of paper while casting cautious glances at Abigail. She flipped to
another screen and copied more information down, then pulled her confession
journal from beneath yet another stack of files and stuck her notes inside.

Now I was interested.

I waited for a chance to peek at the journal, now
restashed, under the pile on Rachel’s desk. The dedication of these women was
annoying. Despite the gallons of water each swigged down, neither went for a
potty break.

As lunchtime neared, my impatience grew in direct
proportion with my hunger. When Rachel crossed the room to sharpen a pencil, I
swept up the stack of files on her desk, journal and all, and stuffed them in
my to-be-filed box. Not the best plan, since it was highly likely Rachel would
notice their absence within five seconds of sitting back down.

The phone had been ringing on and off all morning,
so I wasn’t paying attention when Abigail answered it during my desk raid. I
was all the more confused when she called my name and waggled the instrument at
me in the “for you” signal.

Me?
I pointed to my chest which was now
thumping madly in a delayed adrenaline rush from my raid. Who the heck would be
calling me?

You.
Abigail nodded irritably. Fasting was
getting to people.

Crossing the room, I picked up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Father will meet with you tomorrow at
one-thirty.” I recognized Moses’s voice. Before I could answer, he hung up.

Abigail was watching me. Rachel had returned to
her desk and was also looking at me expectantly. She hadn’t noticed my
pilfering yet.

“I’m supposed to meet Father tomorrow afternoon,”
I said. “Why would he want to see me?”

“He meets with everyone when they first come in,”
Abigail answered. “But usually it’s after they’ve been here longer and are preparing
for the Naming Ceremony.” She cast a bewildered glance at Rachel.

 “With all that is happening, he may not want you
to get the wrong idea about the community,” Rachel said. “There is so much
that’s good about our life here…” Looking disturbed, her voice trailed off.

She would be way more disturbed if she found out
I’d snatched her confession journal.

“Well, ladies,” I said. “How about I treat us all
to a hearty helping of juice?”

Groaning, the women rose and followed me out of
the office. If I could just get them out the door, Rachel might assume someone
had come in after us and taken the journal. Walking to the dining hall, I felt
a stab of exhilaration at the success of my secret agent spy techniques.

But it might have been hunger pangs.

Chapter Fifteen

L
unch brought
pangs of a different sort.

First thing that popped into my vision was the
sight of Eli sitting thigh-to-thigh, smack-ass next to some blond trollop with
a face full of mascara and spackled layers of eye goop.

What the hell?

Joining my usual group of women, I turned to
Rachel.

“I thought we couldn’t wear makeup?” My normally
gentle voice, currently powered with equal parts adrenaline and irritation,
projected a little louder than I had expected. The blonde swiveled in my
direction, and I saw Eli’s mouth twitch.

“That’s Tirza,” Rachel said, giving me a look.
“She’s an out-worker. A real estate agent. Father has given her permission to
wear makeup when she’s working.”

“She’s not working now,” Cozbi observed.

“Oh, she’s working.” Beth said. “Just not at
selling homes.”

Nothing unites a group of women more than bitching
about the one who steps out of rank and looks good doing it. We had a fine
time.

At least, I did until I caught Cozbi watching me
watch Eli. Luckily, a diversion occurred that cornered everyone’s attention.

Maliah, still dressed in head-to-toe black, swept
into the dining hall like an evil breeze. She must have known how good she
looked in black, especially since her outfit more closely fit the description
of sexy little black dress rather than widow’s weeds. She moved with the
confidence of a panther until she caught sight of Eli sitting with Tirza.