The Blood We Spill: Suspense with a Dash of Humor (The Letty Whittaker 12 Step Mysteries) (20 page)

Before I could, Priella’s gentle voice chimed in.
“Or maybe a better question is which hunter is smitten? Or maybe a better one
is how many?”

Both Jala and Talitha froze in their tracks,
mouths open, as they took in Priella’s insinuation.
More than one hunter?
From their positions in the kitchen, they hadn’t seen the interplay between
Justus and Eli and, of course, weren’t privy to the previous night’s little
drama. With two little questions, Priella had upped the teasing potential and
added a mystery. Jala and Talitha were in heaven.

I, on the other hand, was in hell. In the last
twenty-four hours, I had a near-miss romantic encounter with two different men,
a weirdly creepy one with a third, and found the mangled appendage of a fourth.
I didn’t feel up to girly chitchat. Besides, if I brought up Moses’s strange
conversation now, I would only add fuel to the flames.

It took me a while to extract myself, but once
free, I headed for the office. I needed to sneak out the deeds file, as well as
Rachel’s journal, and a few hours of mindless filing wouldn’t hurt, either. I
thrive on order. At least, I used to think I did.

The lodge felt dark and still, but as I stood to
let my eyes adjust from the bright autumn sun, the soft murmur of women’s
voices drifted down the hall. Still half-blind, I moved toward the voices. As I
passed the den, a hand shot out, pulling me into the room. If it had been
Moses, I probably would have wet myself. Instead, I found myself propped
against Eli’s rock-hard chest, staring into his eyes. Not a bad place to be. My
body went on autopilot, immediately ready to pick up where we left off the
night before. Knees weak, breath short, skin tingling.

When Eli distractedly set me aside, the
disorientation nearly tipped me sideways.

“What’s going on?” My voice sounded querulous,
even to my own ears.

Eli moved to the bookcase, standing with his back
to me. 

“What’s wrong?” I asked again.

“They killed a cow.”

“What? Who did?”

“Father. And the rest of us, I guess. Moses broke
its neck.”

“What are you talking about?”

He finally turned back around to face me. Except
for his eyes. Those, he kept averted.

“Last night, after the service, Father led us—the
Seven—to the pasture. They had a heifer staked out there by the creek. Father
read something from Deuteronomy about a sacrifice for an unsolved murder. Then
Moses went up to it and just… broke its neck.” Eli closed his eyes against the
memory. “Father had us wash our hands in the creek, even though the water was
so low only a trickle of water was running through.”

“How could they do such a thing?”

“They’ve done offerings before, like at prayer
ceremonies, but then they used flour and olive oil, a little incense. This was
just bizarre.”

“And he actually said ‘unsolved murder?’”

“Some Old Testament Bible verse. Yeah. I’m pretty
sure it’s in preparation for declaring Maliah free from the marriage. She’s
been on Father nonstop to release her from such an ‘unholy’ arrangement. Of
course, we’re forbidden to talk about any of it.”

“Oh, of course,” I said.
Naturally
. “Moses
said something this morning about sacrifices and cleaning away evil. It was
disturbing, to say the least.”

“Good,” Eli said. “I want you to be disturbed.
Don’t lose sight of who these people are and what they’re willing to do.”

Before I had a chance to tell him about the grisly
discovery in the woods, we heard a rustling of someone moving in the hall.
After waiting for whoever it was to leave, we split up. Eli headed outside, and
I walked to the office. 

I
entered the
room to find Maliah sitting at Rachel’s desk. Abigail stood behind her, digging
through the file cabinet. For a brief moment, my heart contracted wildly,
thinking she had discovered my cache of illicit documents. A glance at the
cardboard box proved me wrong; if anything, there were even more files stuffed
inside.

“What do you want?” Maliah’s question sliced
through the air. Over her shoulder, Abigail caught my eye and shook her head,
finger over lips in the universal “keep it a secret” sign.

“I… um… was looking for Rachel,” I said.

“You’re looking for Rachel?” she smirked at me.
“That surprises me.”

“Why should it?” I responded impulsively, letting
her see she was getting to me. Big mistake, but I was dealing with dead hands
and slaughtered cows here.

“Because you seem more interested in the men of
the Elect than the women.” Smirking at my angry flush, she folded her hands on
the desk and assumed a pious attitude. “As the highest ranking female, it’s my
duty to instruct a sister—especially a new one—in the ways of modesty and
decorum. A woman’s reputation is so easily damaged, and when she is seen
chasing after several different men, it can be destroyed.”

Lowering my eyes so she couldn’t read my
expression, I took several deep breaths. “I’m so grateful for your advice,
Maliah. I can tell you speak with wisdom”—here I raised my eyes to meet
hers—“and experience. A woman on her own in this world is vulnerable, as I’m
sure you discovered when your husband walked away from… the Elect. I appreciate
you taking the time away from grieving to concern yourself with my business.
But I don’t want you to worry about me. After all, it’s up to the man to seek
out his choice in a mate. And if he gets confused, we all know Father will—” I
coughed—”guide him. I’m just as content to submit my will to the Spirit as you
are.”

Maliah’s knuckles whitened during my little
speech. She flashed a glance at Abigail who had wisely turned away to hide her
smile and pretended to focus on the files.

“Well, good then,” Maliah said. “We’ve had enough
exposure to predatory, immoral women lately. It certainly doesn’t help us on
the path to purity to have to deal with sluts and weak men. Father is a
generous, merciful man, but even he agrees it’s time to ‘purge the evil from
among us.’”

Abigail turned back. “Maliah, what are you talking
about?”

Maliah’s face closed off. Apparently, I wasn’t the
only one to have spoken impulsively.

“Nothing,” she snapped. “I just don’t want our
pretty friend here to risk being named Jezebel at her Naming Ceremony.”

“No, that would be a bitter pill to swallow.” I
kept my expression purposely bland as if unaware of the inherent meaning of
Maliah’s chosen name. Abigail coughed, thinly disguising her laughter, while
Maliah slit her eyes evilly. 

Time to go.

As I headed to the exit, Abigail called out to me.

“Letty, don’t forget your appointment with Father.
It’s almost one-thirty.”

It wasn’t going to take fifteen minutes to walk
the two hundred yards to Father’s house, but Abigail had sounded especially
emphatic, so I headed right over. I was early, so I sat on the stoop, looking
over the compound and trying to prepare myself for the upcoming interview.
Events were happening so quickly I didn’t have time to assimilate them. The
only moments of solitude I’d had ended in the discovery of a mutilated hand.

With a start, I realized I had completely lost
track of my original purpose here. Where was Maggie? I had a feeling Reggie’s
daughter—and her mysterious whereabouts—lay at the heart of it all.

As usual, my time to reflect was short-lived. A
scant five minutes after sitting down, the front door opened and Rachel walked
out. Now I understood Abigail’s insistence. Rachel had been crying. She almost
walked by without saying anything, then paused. I patted the stoop next to me
and she sat down.

I gave her the gift of silence, letting her find
her own way if she chose. Eventually, she spoke.

“Have you ever wished you could go back in time,
Letty?”

“Probably everyone’s felt that way at some point
or other.” I kept my voice soft, so it wouldn’t distract from her own thoughts.

“Is that a sin?”

“A sin to regret? Gosh, I hope not.” That got a
smile out of her, but she quickly turned serious again.

“I wish I knew what to believe.” She spoke as if
she expected me to understand her thought process or as if it didn’t matter if
I did.

“What are your choices?” I asked.

After a pause, she said, “To believe in the past
or accept the present, I guess.”

“Is this the same past you want to go back and
change?”

Again, the fleeting smile. “Doesn’t make sense,
does it? So many things lately don’t. Ever since…”

“Ever since Enoch left?”

“Enoch,” she said. “The police and all their
questions.” She looked over her shoulder at the house. “It’s… frightening.”

“What are you afraid of?”

“I’m not the one who is afraid,” Rachel whispered.

I lowered my voice too. “You think Father’s
afraid?”

A longer pause.

“No, of course not.” Her eyes slid to the window
again. “Why would he be? Father says my problem is that I place my faith in the
wrong things. I seek safety from worldly things rather than trusting in the
divine.”

“Is there a conflict between the two?” I didn’t
really understand the nuances of distress, but I recognized ambivalence when I
heard it.

Rachel sighed. “There seems to be. Father’s
working with me in special sessions so I can sort out my faith issues. Oh
well,” she said, pulling herself out of her brooding state. “I’ll figure it
out. You’d better not keep Father waiting. He hates that.”

W
arm and fuzzy
was back, at least on the surface. A closer look revealed that dealing with
severed appendages and possibly a murder coming so soon after Enoch’s
disappearance had made Father grumpy as hell. The vein throbbing at his temple
was a tad more convincing than the smile that completely bypassed his eyes.

Since our meeting had been scheduled days ago, I
assumed it would be an extension of the orientation lecture. Wrong.

“Well, child, you’ve certainly traveled a great
distance to arrive where you are today,” Father began.

His pronouncement was generic enough to apply to
anyone. If the cult leader thingy didn’t work out, he could always get a job
writing fortune cookies.

“Yes, Father.”

“The book of Romans tells us that ‘all things work
together for good to those who love God.’ And in Ephesians we are told…” He
snapped his mouth shut, teeth making an audible click, as soon as he realized
he was repeating the speech he had given after rolling around in the bushes
with me. I kept my eyes down, pretending I hadn’t noticed.

After a strained moment, he cleared his throat and
went on.

“You are aware of the importance of the Naming
Ceremony?”

I had read up on it in the Handbook, but Tracy had
warned me about the practice, too. Renaming a person had a deep psychological
influence. To begin with, it separated her from her former identity, an erasure
of history and a severance of past bonds. A primary response of losing one’s
identity would be to automatically grasp for a new one. A ready-made Elect
identity. Renaming would also be useful in slowing identification of Elect
members, if that became necessary. So, yeah. I was aware.

“It’s the first step for inclusion in the Elect,”
Father said. “It’s a symbol of rebirth. But again, while it signifies your
intentions, it’s only the first step.”

I hadn’t read anything in the Handbook about a
second step and I had gone through it twice.

“What’s the next step?”

“You must move from intent to commitment. At a
certain point in your path, you must decide whether you are ready to commit
fully—body and soul—to us. The book of Deuteronomy gives us the answer. It is
called the Nazerite vow. Nazerite translates to ‘separate unto God.’ Only a few
people throughout the Bible were pure enough to make this covenant with
Jehovah. Only when you fully understand the enormity of this decision—the
permanence of it—can you take The Vow. Normally, it takes a member months, even
years, to progress to the point where I sense they are ready.

“I believe,” he paused, drawing the moment out. “I
believe, child, that you are at that point.” 

“Really?”

“Yes, indeed. I have felt the Spirit moving in you
from the start. That is no small thing. Indeed, I have felt a connection with
you from early on.”

That might have happened when I was straddling him
on the ground. Lots of guys feel connected then.

I didn’t say that out loud.

“I have witnessed you immersing yourself in the
church. That in itself is a form of living baptism. More than that,” Father
continued, “you have proven your willingness to submit your will by coming to
me with matters too large for you to understand.”

Ah. Like dead hands.

“I see great things ahead for you, my child.”

“Like what, Father?”

He smiled benevolently.

“Time will tell. But content yourself with knowing
that I foresee you holding a standing of very high rank. Very high.” He
chuckled.

I didn’t. For some reason, his amusement made my
skin prickle.

“Of course, you will need guidance during this process,
so I’m assigning a mentor to you. She will instruct you in the ways of The Vow
and prepare you for the period of seclusion where you will be purified and
stripped of all worldly ties.”

Against my will, my eyes fluttered shut. Please,
not Maliah.

“Priella?” I asked.

“Of course not,” Father snapped. “Why? What has
she said?”

More creepy-crawly skin action. “Nothing. We’re
roommates, that’s all. She’s nice and she’s been helpful.”

His eyes narrowed and he studied me closely.

“So, um, you were going to assign my mentor?”

After a long stretch of brooding silence, during
which I was sure he would hear my heart thudding against my ribs, he finally
answered.