Wedding Bell Blues Page 5

  Dressed in a tunic top, shorts and flip-flops, she had scrubbed off the heavy makeup she’d worn at work and looked years younger, almost vulnerable, and worried, too. She offered me a chair, then curled her bare legs under herself on the sofa.

  “I’ve been thinking about what you said,” she began.

  Deciding to let her do the talking, I nodded.

  “Especially your question about whether Alicia is safe or not. I know she’s at Grove Spirit House, but the place seems bizarro.”

  Having read the file Darcy had printed out from the Web site, I decided even bizarro was a tad mild, but I nodded again.

  Julianne twisted a strand of hair around one finger. “The only reason Alicia went there originally was to gather information for her dissertation. She was researching how people find meaning in their lives. But she was mesmerized by The Teacher.”

  “The teacher?”

  “That’s what they call the guy who’s in charge of the place.”

  “What’s his real name?”

  “Dunno. Neither did Alicia. She always referred to him as The Teacher with a touch of awe, as if the words should be in capitals and flashing lights.”

  “What did she find so hypnotic about him?”

  “She said he looks like a statue of a Greek God come to life.”

  “Anything besides his looks?”

  Julianne made a face. “Alicia’s big on spirituality. She said this guy touches her in ways she’d never imagined.”

  “Literally?”

  Julianne shook her head. “Her soul, her spirit. Sounded like a bunch of crap to me, but Alicia was over the moon. She’s certain he has the answers to questions she’s been asking all her life, but he said she has to submit to him to find them.”

  “Submit?” I didn’t like the sound of it. Instead of The Teacher, I was thinking Snake Oil Salesman and feeling my skin crawl.

  “I told her she was crazy,” Julianne said, “but she wouldn’t listen. The Teacher said if she wanted to enter Grove Spirit House, she had to renounce the world, that she couldn’t tell anyone where she is, and she would have to remain incommunicado until her training is over.”

  That kind of secrecy usually spelled trouble. “Then why did she tell you where she’d be?”

  “She was afraid if she told her folks or Garth, they’d keep her from entering. She thought she could trust me. Look, Alicia’s not a complete nutcase. She knew better than to disappear totally without anyone knowing where she’s gone. You know, in case her parents got sick or were in an accident or something.” Julianne wrinkled her face in distress. “I promised I wouldn’t tell, but after you questioned whether she was safe, I started thinking.”

  Too bad Alicia hadn’t done the same. The Teacher’s charisma had probably short-circuited her brain. “Does The Teacher provide all this enlightenment free of charge?”

  Julianne shook her head. “Garth will be really pissed. Alicia cleaned out their joint account where they’d been saving for their honeymoon.”

  My bad feelings about Grove Spirit House were growing exponentially. “Did Alicia say how long this training is supposed to take?”

  “The Teacher said it would depend on how receptive she is.”

  And, I thought, on how long the money lasted.

  “You’ll check on her, won’t you?” Julianne asked.

  “That’s what I promised her mother.” And I’d check out this Teacher, too, who sounded more like a con man than a spiritual leader.

  When I drove away from Julianne’s apartment, I couldn’t help thinking that what Jeanette Langston might need wasn’t a private eye but a deprogrammer.

  By ten the next morning, I was back at the electronic gate at Grove Spirit House, poking the intercom button. I’d had Darcy call earlier to make an appointment. She’d told the woman who’d answered their phone that I was a potential applicant and assured her that I could afford the entrance fee, a whopping sum big enough to choke a goat. Darcy had laid it on thick, hinting that I had money to burn and implying their fee was insignificant. The retreat’s receptionist fell all over herself scheduling the first appointment possible.

  Remembering the surveillance camera that had given a good view of me and my car yesterday, I’d talked my brother-in-law into trading vehicles for the morning and hoped the opulence of Hunt’s new Town Car would create the illusion of wealth. In place of my usual jeans, casual shirt and sneakers, I wore a wide-brimmed hat, sunglasses, too much makeup, high-heeled sandals dug from the depths of my closet and a designer bias-cut sundress Mother had given me for my birthday, which, under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t be caught dead in. Its fabric clung so revealingly, I had to carry my gun in my handbag. A glimpse in the mirror as I left the office had assured me my disguise was effective. I looked like a younger version of my sister.

  “Yes?” Sultry Voice answered the intercom.

  “Priscilla Skerritt,” I said in my best imitation of Mother’s elegant but condescending voice, a fitting choice since I’d also appropriated her name. If this operation was a scam, The Teacher was looking for wealth and likely to do some research. And in Pelican Bay, they didn’t come any wealthier than dear old mom.

  The intercom clicked. “Are you here for the cleansing?”

  I’d showered at home, but what the heck. “Yes, I have an appointment.”

  “Proceed to the end of the drive and turn left. Park in front of the main pavilion. I’ll meet you there.”

  The gate clicked and glided open with an electronic whir. I slid behind the wheel of the Lincoln and eased through the entrance. In the rearview mirror, I watched the gate close behind me, like a door slamming on a prison cell.

  Shaking off the creeps the place was giving me, I studied the lay of the land. The swaths of mown grass on either side of the shell drive were the sole signs of habitation. The fruit trees had been neglected, their only apparent purpose to serve as a privacy buffer for the compound.

  The drive ended at an expanse of lawn that stretched to the edge of a large lake, ringed by cypress swamps and wetlands that provided further seclusion. A road to the right led to a grouping of a dozen tiki-style huts. I turned left and parked in front of a building that reminded me of an oversize Japanese teahouse, framed by graceful palms and bird of paradise in full flower. A stylized water fountain of sculpted bronze and rock centered the pea-gravel path that led to the pavilion with its sliding walls of woven bamboo pushed open to the breeze. I could see through the building to the lake.

  A tall, willowy woman with long, satiny dark hair waited on the top step. She was dressed in a tie-dyed caftan and matching headband that gave me flashbacks to the hippies of my youth.

  When I reached her, she bowed in Asian fashion, her expression inscrutable. “Welcome to Grove Spirit House. I am Celeste. Follow me.”

  Before I could reply, she turned and led me into the center of the airy pavilion, furnished only with floor cushions and hanging lamps of burning incense that made me want to sneeze.

  “Wait, please. The Teacher will be here shortly to evaluate you.”

  “Evaluate?”

  “To determine if you are worthy of entry.”

  More likely to check the status of my bank account. Too many years as a cop had made me cynical. “I’ll wait.”

  Celeste didn’t offer a cushion and I didn’t take one. Unaccustomed to both high heels and sitting on the floor, I feared, once down, I’d have trouble regaining my feet. If The Teacher was the con man I feared, I didn’t want to place myself at a disadvantage if a fast escape was necessary.

  “Priscilla?”

  I jumped at the sound of a strong, seductive male voice and pivoted to find a man standing directly behind me. With the grace of a large cat and bare feet, he’d entered without my hearing.

  “And you are?” I asked.

  “I am The Teacher,” he said in the same weighty tone and lack of humility that Louis XIV must have uttered, “L’État, c’est moi.”

  Julia
nne had told me that Alicia had described him as the statue of a Greek god come to life. Teach had the physique and either a natural olive complexion or a fabulous bronze tan, but there all resemblance to Greek deity ended. Well over six feet tall, he was dressed in loose white cotton trousers and a long white tunic. With diamond studs winking in each earlobe and a shaved head, he looked more like Mr. Clean. His eyes were big and brown with a bedroom appeal an unsuspecting woman could drown in. Suspicious as hell, I was in no danger.

  “And what do you teach?” I injected what I hoped was an appropriate amount of respect into the question.

  I wasn’t so much interested in his answer as using the delay to survey the compound through the pavilion’s open doors. I saw no signs of vehicles or other guests. The interior of a gazebo near the lake was partially hidden by a flame vine that grew over the structure. A gravel path led off to the left toward two large buildings, one like the pavilion in which I stood, the other’s roof barely visible through an undergrowth of saw palmettos and wax myrtle.

  “I instruct our novices how to tap into and become one with the Universal Spirit,” Teach said without humility. And with a straight face.

  Unimpressed by his claim of metaphysical hacking, I feigned interest. “And how does that work?”

  “I can tell that you are troubled.” His voice was soothing, beguiling, hypnotic. “You are facing a major challenge in your life.”

  I could see how he reeled his victims in. His compassionate tone and commiserating expression would have had a truly distressed person spilling her guts. I played along. “I am getting married soon.”

  “And you aren’t certain it’s the right choice?”

  I wasn’t going there. “How can this Universal Spirit help?”

  He closed his eyes, as if in a trance. “When you are one with the Universe, you see and know all things, past, present, future.”

  Since that claim covered pretty much everything, I nodded. If this guy was for real, he should have made a killing in the stock market, the lottery and at the racetrack, and wouldn’t have to be fleecing unsuspecting women.

  “How many novices are there?”

  My question jarred him from his reverie and he opened his eyes. “Only one at present.”

  “Celeste?”

  He shook his head. “Celeste has attained the Fifth Level of Enlightenment and is my personal assistant. However, a retreat is scheduled for this weekend when ten more novices will arrive.”

  “You have only one staff member for a complex this size?”

  “Hector maintains the grounds, but he lives in town and comes only one day a week. Our novices do the other chores and find their work an enlightenment. And you will find complete privacy and serenity here.”

  Teach flashed me a look that would have melted a more vulnerable woman. “With Hector and the others not arriving until Friday, that will give us a few days to work alone together. I can take you far in that time.”

  “To the Fifth Level?”

  The guy oozed sexuality like a film star. I had the feeling he was thinking more along the lines of third base or home plate.

  My question made him smile. “To reach the Fifth Level, one must study for years. But the journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step.”

  Which probably meant a hefty check with more to follow.

  “I’m not sure,” I stalled. “It’s a huge commitment.”

  “And one that will change your life forever,” he said with a solemn nod.

  Losing a fortune to a charlatan would be a jolt, I agreed silently.

  “Before I make up my mind,” I said, “could you show me around?”

  His hesitation was so brief, I might have missed it if I hadn’t been gauging his every reaction.

  “Is there a problem?” I said.

  “Only a small matter, but it is the custom here.”

  I recalled Darcy’s description of participants skinny dipping in the lake and, afraid he’d request that I disrobe, had almost decided to blow my cover when he added, “We ask that you remove your shoes. The ground of Grove Spirit House is sacred.”

  Since the stilettos were killing my feet, I hastened to comply. Luckily, unlike my sister, I refused to torture myself with panty hose in the June heat, so my feet were truly bare. I stifled a moan of pleasure and flexed my aching toes and arches.

  With the strap of my bag over my right shoulder for easy access to my weapon and my shoes dangling in my left hand, I followed Teach out of the pavilion.

  He turned left and led me along a pea-gravel path toward another Asian-style building whose sliding walls were open to the summer breeze that did little to dispel the high humidity or swarms of gnats, mosquitoes and deer flies. Screen doors, walls and air-conditioning were apparently an impediment to communing with the Universal Spirit.

  “This,” he explained, “is the dining pavilion.”

  Low tables surrounded by cushions filled one end of the single room. The other end was hidden by a large screen that reached almost to the open rafters.

  “What’s over there?” I didn’t wait for an answer but strode across the floor and around the screen before he could restrain me.

  The screen hid a kitchen with high-end stainless steel appliances, teak cabinets and limestone counter-tops. A young woman in an ankle-length white robe stood at a double sink, washing green peas in a colander. She was tall and slender with long blond hair partially covered by a white kerchief.

  “Hello,” I said.

  She turned, and I recognized Alicia Langston from the photographs her mother had given me.

  “She must not speak,” Teach ordered.

  “Why not?”

  “As an initiate, she has taken a vow of silence, the better to commune with the Universal Spirit.”

  Alicia smiled, but not at me. She appeared enchanted by her mentor and worshipped him with her hazel eyes. Otherwise, she looked healthy and happy. She definitely wasn’t sending any kind of signal that she wished to be rescued and was obviously there of her own free will.

  Poor Garth was flat out of luck. And his honeymoon savings.

  “You may resume your duties, Starshine,” Teach said gently.

  Alicia blushed and turned back to rinsing her peas.

  “Starshine?” I said. “That’s an unusual name.”

  With a firm hand on my elbow, he guided me away from Alicia, through the kitchen, out of the dining pavilion and on to the lawn. “Each novice sheds her former name to symbolize leaving her old life behind and is given a name to represent her new calling.”

  “What about Celeste?”

  “She, too, rejected her former life. I chose Celeste for her because it means Heaven.”

  “And what would my name be?”

  “That will depend on what talents I uncover.” His gaze was hot and intimate, and I squelched a shudder at its obvious implications.

  As a diversion, I pointed across the lawn to the tiki huts that resembled picnic shelters. “What are those?”

  “Living quarters.”

  “What’s the Universal Spirit got against climate control?”

  His smile was both superior and condescending. “One must remove all traces of one’s former existence and commune with nature to join with the Universe.”

  In other words, suffering was good for you. “Do you bathe in the lake?”

  “Every day.”

  “What about the gators?”

  “You must have faith that the Universe will protect you.”

  Decades as a cop had taught me that the universe could be a harsh and dangerous place. And a pair of beady eyes, set wide apart and visible above the surface of the lake about twenty feet from shore, informed me that the alligator that lurked there was at least ten feet long. I doubted, however, that Teach would let anything eat his meal tickets. Unless the gator had lost its fear of people as a result of being hand-fed by idiots, a too common practice in the state, a splashing crowd of naked novices would scare it off.


  “Will you be joining us, Priscilla?” He spoke the name like a caress.

  “I need to think about it,” I lied.

  I considered the possibility that Teach wasn’t a con man, but a true believer in his unusual philosophy. The vibes he’d been emitting insisted otherwise, and his next words clinched my assessment.

  “You could make a deposit to hold a place open for you.”

  “How much of a deposit?”

  “A thousand dollars.”

  I restrained myself from gasping. To someone of Mother’s wealth, a thousand bucks was pocket change.

  He noted my hesitation and added quickly, “You could write a check.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t want my personal assistant or accountant knowing about this. Let me run to the bank and bring you a cash deposit after lunch.”

  His grin stretched ear to ear. “Even better.”

  After lunch, I drove to Jeanette Langston’s house to report my findings. Despite her disclaimer of wealth, the Langstons lived in an upscale neighborhood near the waterfront. A late model Beemer was parked in the driveway of their impressive home, built in Key West style. Her husband, Richard, had a drilling operation that had struck it rich. He was a dentist who specialized in root canals.

  Jeanette answered the door. She wore a bathing suit with a matching sarong and sandals. “I was out by the pool. Join me and tell me everything.”

  Having had enough hot, humid air for one day, I’d have preferred to remain in the air-conditioning but followed her through a broad, high-ceilinged hallway to a spacious covered lanai at the back of the house. She offered me a seat at a wicker table, removed a pitcher of tea from an under-the-counter fridge in the outdoor kitchen and poured me a glass.

  A row of ceiling fans stirred the muggy air, and huge palms and ficus trees in terra-cotta pots provided shade from the afternoon sun.

  Jeanette sat across from me and clutched her glass in both hands. “You’ve found Alicia?”

  I nodded. “And she’s fine, just like her messages said.”

  “Thank God. Where is she?”