Kate Carlisle - One Book In The Grave

“That’s wonderful,” Mom said. “Will you be selling the dried fruit, as well?”

“Oh, you mean to eat? That’s a great idea, Mrs. Wainwright,” Crystal said. She looked at Melody with her mouth wide-open. “OMG, why didn’t we think of that?”

“LOL, I don’t know,” Melody said, laughing at their silliness. She gazed back at us. “Crystal uses the dried fruit to make jewelry. She’s a genius. Show them.”

Crystal pulled back her hair and flicked her earring, a shiny, round red disk hanging from a silver post. “Don’t you love it?”

Curious, I looked closer at the glittering red circle. China leaned in next to me. “What is that?”

“It’s a strawberry slice,” Crystal said gaily. “I dry them and shellac them and turn them into earrings.”

China and I exchanged glances. “Wow.”

“Aren’t they chic?” Melody said as Crystal beamed. “Wait till you see her dried-apple necklaces. They’re true art. If you’re around tomorrow, stop by our booth.”

China raised her hand. “I’ll be there.”

“We’ll be selling our other products, too,” Crystal added.

“I’ll come by, too,” I said. I wanted to pick up more of the olive oil-based cuticle cream they sold. The stuff was golden, especially for me and my propensity for paper cuts. Seriously, if they sold this cream at Bloomie’s, the Byers sisters would be millionaires in a few months.

“Girls, I wonder if you could help me,” Mom said, glancing from one Byers sister to the other.

“We’ll try,” Crystal said, and Melody nodded with enthusiasm.

“I’m looking for someone in the area who reloads their own ammunition cartridges.” Mom leaned in to add confidentially, “I’d like to learn how to do it and maybe cut a little something off our annual hunting budget.”

“I didn’t know you hunted, Mrs. Wainwright,” Melody said.

“Oh yes,” Mom said, waving in an offhand way. “Well, not around here, of course. Jim and I take a trip up toward Yuba City every year and do a little dove hunting.”

“Oh, I love dove,” Crystal said, then blinked and turned to Melody. “Love. Dove. Get it?”

“You’re a poet and didn’t know it, LOL,” Melody said, slapping Crystal’s arm.

“LOL,” Crystal agreed, giggling.

“Girls?” Mom said softly.

“Oh,” Melody said, shaking her head to get back on track. “Sure, we know lots of people. Most of the men in our church have reloading presses. The Ogunites go through a lot of ammo every year. It just makes good sense to load your own.”

I’d forgotten that Melody and Crystal were members of the Church of the True Blood of Ogun, a local church whose members believed in honoring the creative spirit of the earth. That was their story, anyway. Most of the members tended to be shameless proselytizers with borderline survivalist mentalities.

A few of Guru Bob’s fellowship members referred to the Ogunite church as a cult because some of its teachings were downright bizarre, but I figured the Ogunites probably felt the same way about Guru Bob’s followers. People tend to mistrust anything they don’t understand.

Years ago, my mother had taken us to the small Ogunite church, a charming wood and adobe structure the followers had built themselves from material found in the canyons and valleys of Sonoma. It was part of their teaching that their place of worship reflected the earth on which it stood. They’d fashioned the stained-glass windows from smooth chunks of glass and minerals they’d found in the Russian River nearby. I was young enough at the time of our visit that I held up my hand, thinking I could catch the rainbow of colors streaming through the windows.

Melody and Crystal had never been blatant about trying to convert any of us, so my sisters and I had always been friendly with them.

“Doesn’t Bennie have a new Lock-N-Load?” Melody asked her sister.

“He’s got everything.” Crystal turned to Mom. “He might be willing to teach you, Mrs. Wainwright.”

“Bennie?” Mom said. “I’m not sure I know a Bennie.”

“You know him, Mom,” China said. “He went to school with London.”

“Bennie.” She thought about it. “Benjamin Styles?”

“Yes, that’s him,” Melody said. “He and his friend Stefan have a place halfway up Moon Valley Ridge Road.”

“Stefan’s cute,” Crystal said, and winked at me.

“ Really cute,” Melody said, nodding emphatically.

“Moon Valley Ridge isn’t too far,” Mom said. “I could drive over to see him.”

Moon Valley Ridge Road skirted a wide, rocky canyon that some of the locals referred to as the Hollow. A number of the Ogunites had built homes in the area. There was a fast-moving stream running through the canyon that provided plenty of fish and attracted a lot of wildlife, so many of the Hollow residents prided themselves on living off the land. Me, I liked my Frappuccinos.

Melody wrinkled her nose. “Wouldn’t you rather have Mr. Wainwright load the ammo for you? It can get kind of dirty.”

“Oh no,” Mom said in a rush. “He’s so busy working. And besides, I want to surprise him.”

“You can load ammo yourself, Mrs. Wainwright,” Crystal said, casting a look at her sister. “I do it all the time.”

“She does,” Melody conceded. “Crystal is a wiz at so many things.”

Mom leaned closer to Crystal. “We ladies do it all, don’t we, sweetie?”

Crystal laughed. “It’s true. So I’ll tell Bennie to call you. I see him every morning at church.”

“You would do that for me?” Mom said.

“Oh, Mrs. Wainwright, you’ve always been so good to us.” Crystal wrapped her arm around Mom’s waist. “Of course we would.”

“You’re a sweet girl, Crystal.” She reached over and patted Melody’s arm. “You, too, Melody.”

China grabbed a store business card and wrote Mom’s phone number on the back, then handed it to Crystal.

She glanced at the card and smiled. “I’ll call you as soon as I’ve talked to him.”

Mom squeezed Crystal’s arm lightly. “Thank you, sweetie.”

“We’d better get going,” Melody said, and her voice rose with excitement. “We’re driving over to Sonoma to pick up ten new dehydrators. OMG!”

“TTYL,” Crystal said, waving as they left the store.

“Hasta la vista,” China said.

“Whew,” Mom said when the door closed. “Those girls always had more energy than ten of you two.”

China’s shoulders slumped. “I’m exhausted.”

“Good thing they played for our team,” I said, then grabbed Mom for a quick hug. “You were awesome, Mom. You lied like a real pro.”

“Watch and learn, sweetie,” she said, stepping back and patting her hair.

“OMG,” I muttered.

We dropped by Savannah’s and caught her racing around, preparing for the dinner crowd.

She stopped for a minute to answer my questions about her time at the Art Institute and about Angelica and Solomon.

“I hated her. What else did you want to know?”

“Did you know Solomon?” I asked.

“Well enough. I went to parties at his house.”

“Did Solomon use guns?” Mom asked, going off script. Apparently she was running her own investigation. I guessed I would watch and learn.

“Oh, God, Mom,” Savannah said, pressing her cheeks with her hands. “You just reminded me of this really creepy thing that happened one night.”

She told us of a party she attended with the usual gang of institute partygoers at Solomon’s place out in the woods somewhere. It must’ve been two or three o’clock in the morning when the host came out of his bedroom with a couple of guns and a box of ammunition. He announced that he wanted to play Russian roulette.