The Blood We Spill: Suspense with a Dash of Humor (The Letty Whittaker 12 Step Mysteries) (18 page)

“How do we know it was an unbeliever?” I said.
“There’s no telling what his religious beliefs were by just a hand.”

“Of course, it was an unbeliever!” He glared at me
over his shoulder. “Do you see any of us missing a hand?”

Obviously, the argument that a person could be a
believer and not be a member of the Elect was not under consideration. Nor was
Father willing to consider my implication that Enoch’s going AWOL and the
appearance of a mutilated appendage might be connected.

“But maybe—”

Eli shook his head at me, warning me off. I
stuttered into silence.

“But
what
?” Father turned, the evidence I
was pushing him nearly to the edge was written all over his face.

I shivered. I had gotten so wrapped up in refuting
Father’s absurd reasoning that I had forgotten the only “reality” that counted
in this place was the leader’s own. That might be a very dangerous thing, now
that I thought about it. After all, the last person known to do that…

I needed to backtrack.
Fast
.

“I, um, I guess, coming so soon after hearing
about Enoch’s… betrayal, I kind of connected the two together. In my mind.”
Which made no sense. I looked up at Father, eyes big and wide. “But that’s
silly, isn’t it?”

Both Eli and Moses stiffened and I held my breath,
waiting for his response. Emotions darted across Father’s face: anger or maybe
fear, at first, then a sly wariness. All, immediately covered by that fake
benevolence. Father’s smile was a marvel of paternalistic kindness—from the
eyes down.

“Yes, that is silly. How could there be a
connection?” Father’s dark eyes tracked my face, watching for me to give myself
away. “I doubt if it was even human. It was probably a deer leg some poacher
left behind.”

As far as I knew, deer didn’t accessorize. An
image of the hand, lightly dusted with dark hair, torn cuticles, gleaming
braided ring and all, flashed through my brain. I swallowed the rising bile,
and took a deep breath.

“My first thought was that it was a Halloween
trick,” I said. “You know? Like you buy in stores?”

“There you go.” Father said, eyes all atwinkle.
“I’m sure that’s exactly what it was.”

I smiled, aiming for sheepish. From Eli’s
expression, I may have just looked gassy. “I’m sorry I caused all this trouble.
I just got so scared. And, uh, I knew I should come to you.”

“That’s all right, child. I want you to come to me
when you are frightened. That’s why I’m here.”

I rose to my feet and struggled mightily against
the urge to drop a curtsy. I settled for a continuing stream of obsequious
apologies. I nearly made it to the door when Father spoke again.

“You are, of course, forbidden to speak of this to
anyone.” His words dropped like rocks into the room. “Absolutely forbidden.

I wanted to get hold of Eli or Beth before leaving
for work, but Martha stopped by my room to drop my waitress uniform off and I
ran out of time. The uniform was a typical waitress getup in contrasting, and
not very complimentary, shades of blue and apparently had been designed by a
drunken, horny Smurf. The top, with puffed sleeves that were stylish two
decades ago, had a neckline that dipped sinfully low and was a size too small.
My boobs runneth over. The skirt, a wraparound with a string threaded through
the side to hold it together, was too big. Still battling a queasy stomach, I
kept my eyes shut as I dressed and vowed to avoid mirrors.

At three o’clock, I joined the group loading into
the cargo bus. Beth, dressed in a similar blue horror, clamored aboard. She sat
next to me.

“I didn’t know you were working tonight,” I said.

“I switched with one of the girls. She didn’t
think she could stand the temptation of food, so I offered to take her place.
She thinks I’m a saint.”

Jazzy, climbing noisily into the bus, masked my snort.
Justus got in next, taking his place behind the wheel, and Martha followed,
riding shot gun in the seat next to him.

“I need to talk to you,” I whispered to Beth.

M
artha kept us
running all night. I spent the first hour memorizing the specials and finding
my way around the kitchen, waitress stations, and bar area. Someone loaned me
an apron to hold the order pad and any tips I made. Although I was told that
the tips would be turned back in to Justus at the end of the night. The other
waitresses were busy with prep work: folding cloth napkins into flower shapes
to stick into the water goblets, scooping balls of butter into tiny bowls,
filling the salad dressings and so on.

I had expected to catch most members snitching food
here and there, but surprisingly most didn’t. There were two glaring
exceptions. I discovered the first, Beth of course, emerging from the cooler
reeking of pumpkin breath and brushing pie crust crumbs off her blue vest. 

Martha assigned me three tables to start with. By
six-thirty, the restaurant had filled and she gave me two more.

I had waitressed my way through college, but that
was many years ago. My shoes pinched, I didn’t know the menu, and visions of
severed body parts kept invading my thoughts.

Not only that, but the Elect served liquor. It had
been a long time since I had wrapped my hand around a martini glass, and the
smell bothered me almost as much as Gunner’s treat had.

Midway through the night I had to take a drink
order to the bar and caught Justus snarfing down peanuts and Maraschino
cherries.

Gotcha
.

“That’s not exactly a balanced meal,” I said.

“Martha counts the bags of chips or they’d be gone
too.” He winked as he poured out the drink order. Dressed simply in black pants
and white button down shirt, he looked good and knew it. Eyes riveted to my
boob overflow, he said, “Hey, maybe you could find me something hot to munch
on?”

Now what’s a Smurf supposed to say to that?
Luckily, Jazzy trotted up with a drink order, and I got away without having to
reply. I didn’t want to encourage him—frankly, he didn’t seem to need it—so I
pretended his remark hadn’t been a sexually charged, double entendre. But I
liked the idea of his owing me a favor. Provided he would honor it, of course.

In the end, I slipped him two dinner rolls. I may
have neglected to mention they had come off some people’s plates. Too much
information and all that.

I never found an opportunity to talk to Beth; the
restaurant was too busy and too public. By ten o’clock when we were loading
into the van, I was limping mentally as well as physically. The only benefit
was that first busyness, then exhaustion, made the horror of the afternoon seem
fuzzy and distant.

By the time we pulled into Megiddo, I was so tired
I propped my hand under my chin to keep my mouth from sagging open and adding
drool to my now-filthy uniform. Everybody piled out of the van and into the
lodge leaving me behind, still fumbling with the seatbelt. Almost everybody,
that is. As I yanked on the van’s sliding side door, a flicker of white caught
my eye.

Justus stood leaning casually against the porch
post, monitoring my slow progress.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

He smiled. “You look rough. You gonna make it?”

“I’ve been worse.” I began a tender-footed climb
up the stairs. The soles of my feet were hot and swollen, and my knees ached
from the sideways dip needed to shift the serving tray from shoulder to the
tableside stand without letting my breasts fall out. My lower back hurt too.

Justus grinned wider as he held the door open.
“Cheer up. You get a good night’s sleep and you can look forward to breakfast
tomorrow.”

Breakfast
. I spun on blistered feet to look
at him. If he was lying, Gunner would have more body parts to munch.

“Yep. The fast ends tomorrow after Father speaks
to us again. They’re not usually so short, but then again, we usually have more
time to prepare mentally.”

“I’m sure preparing for you means stockpiling
food.”

“You’re kind of sassy, aren’t you?” Justus moved
closer.

I screamed in his face, and couldn’t even enjoy his
look of surprise. Twin Charley horses from hell had gripped my calves, nearly
pitching me to the floor. Justus half dragged me to the den and dropped me into
a leather armchair. Sitting on the footstool, he kneaded my calves like bread
dough. I braced so hard against the chair’s back, I’m surprised it didn’t
catapult over. Justus’s fingers dug into the muscles, working at the clenched
mass, sharpening the pain even more until one by one, the cramps relaxed.

Now the mortification of finding my feet in his
lap and his hands massaging my bare flesh began to compete with gratitude. For
the second time in two days, my skirt had ridden up to my hips, and I was
panting like the lead in a porno flick. The moon cast a sensual light over the
room. From his seat on the stool, he smiled up into my eyes, fingers rubbing
and moving slightly higher with each stroke.

Oh, boy. I tugged at my skirt, pushing his hands
back, but my relief was short-lived. Shifting off the stool, he half knelt,
half hovered over me. If he’d had a ring, he could have proposed, although his
position between my legs was a mite informal.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” I put my hands out to stop his
advance. Unfortunately, they landed on his chest causing confusion between my
just-say-no brain and my let’s-think-about-this nether regions. The internal
conflict between smarts and lusts was distracting. I didn’t hear the door open.
A split second after Justus tensed under my fingers, a voice growled out at us.

“What the hell’s going on here?”

Eli flicked the overhead lights on, leaving Justus
and me squinting like amorous moles, increasing our disadvantage. Justus jumped
to his feet, but he was standing so close to me that I had no choice but to
stay seated or crawl crabwise over the arms of the chair. I finally got my
skirt untwisted and realigned.

It didn’t matter. Neither man was aware of my
existence. They stood facing one another in a conflict as primitive as the sex
instinct that drove it. Aside from physical appearance, they were mirror
images—each balanced on the balls of the feet, fists clenched, eyes locked. The
air was thick with testosterone, and for all my training in crisis
intervention, I froze. Again it didn’t matter. It was a situation where I was
at once the issue and also beside the point.

Justus backed down first. Breaking from the stare,
he looked at me and dredged up a faux-nonchalant smile. “Guess I’d better say
good-night.”

My throat was too dry to answer. Eli shifted away
from the door, eyes tracking Justus’ every move. Justus slid past and out,
never breaking his stride.

Ignoring my wobbly, still-aching legs, I rose as
Eli finally turned to me. We stared at each other for several heartbeats.

“Eli…”

He crossed the room in a blur, pulling me against
his body, simultaneously pushing us back into the depths of the room. My butt
ran up against the desk where Maliah had given her lecture and suddenly I had
another man situated between my legs.

This one, I let stay.

Our mouths hunted for each other’s, devouring,
greedy for the first taste. With one hand buried in my hair, he slid the other
under my skirt, gliding it up the back of my leg like a night stalker keeping
to the shadows. Before I could object—even had I wanted to—it slipped beyond
the elastic barrier of my panties, cupping my butt.

This was where one of us usually pulled back.

Instead, my hips curved forward, shifting me off
my perch until I hung balanced and pinned against him, joined in the puzzle of
God’s design as closely as the boundaries of clothing allowed.

I didn’t hear the lodge door open, but somehow Eli
must have. He pulled back so abruptly, I would have tumbled to the floor if not
for his steadying hand.

Moses stood looming in the doorway, eyes narrowed
in judgment. Holy déjà vu.

“What do you want, Moses?” Eli said. His voice,
clipped with frustration, sounded like a stranger’s.

Moses’s lips thinned at Eli’s lack of deference.
“Saw the light on. Thought I should check on it.”

Involuntarily, we swung our gaze to the window
facing the commons. With the drapes open and the light on, we must have been
lit up like a stage. And what a performance. As if the reality hadn’t been
enough, my imagination fast-forwarded to the finale that had been so close I
could have… um… tasted it. I flushed with a different kind of heat.

“You’d better get some sleep,” Eli murmured in a
voice still smoky with sex.

Still blushing, I scooted past Moses, not daring
to look up, and fled up the stairs.

Chapter Seventeen

O
nce again, I
scared the hell out of Priella by bursting through the door. I must have looked
like a rabbit being pursued by wolves. She gave a little squeak, and that plus
the ludicrousness of the Victorian-age drama I had just escaped sent me over
the edge.

“Oh, wow. What’s wrong?” she asked.

I was simultaneously shaking and crying, so it
took a while before Priella realized I was laughing. Might have been the snorts
that gave it away. She fetched a cool glass of water from the bathroom, and I
forced myself to drink it.

“Did you happen to see Moses out there?” I asked.

“No. Why? Did you run into him?”

“More like he ran into me. I mean, us. I was in
the den with Elijah.”

“Oh?” It took a minute before she caught up. “Oh!”
To my relief, she started laughing.

“Well, he is quite a catch,” she admitted.

No argument from me.