“Denver, what if I told you Madam St. Germain’s son, Royal, has been investigated by the FBI? Would you still go?”
He swallowed a mouthful of scone. “Investigated? I’m not surprised. Back in the sixties when we lived on that commune in Oregon, the Feds hassled everyone. Accused us of being subversive. Called us Commies. I’m not concerned about what the FBI thinks. It’s just the way the government treats people who prefer to live an alternate lifestyle.”
“What if I told you there are rumors he killed some members of the society?”
“Who said? The Feds, again? What evidence do they have?”
What could I say? Mansoor the Magnificent heard rumors? Had visions? “I just want you to check out the place thoroughly. Go take a look before you commit yourselves. Talk to the people there. Selling everything you have and giving it away is nonreversible. If you change your minds, you’ll have nothing to come back to. You’d be virtual captives up there.”
“Martha, I think you’re letting your imagination run away with you. But thanks for your concern. Like I said, whatever Twink wants. That’s what we’ll do.”
Dear God. How can I stop this train wreck?
CHAPTER 4
Denver clomped over to the sink in his old brown cowboy boots, rinsed out our coffee mugs, and put them on the drainboard. Then we left the Winnebago and went inside their house. With the exception of the turquoise streak in her snow-white hair and silver rings on her toes, Birdie looked exactly as she always had: denim overalls made soft and faded over years of washing, a white T-shirt, and Birkenstock sandals.
Birdie and Lucy sat on the sofa in the same places they had occupied over many years, countless Tuesday mornings, and dozens of quilts. I sat in my favorite easy chair, while Denver disappeared down the hallway toward the bedroom.
I brushed my fingers over the fuzzy nap of the green chenille upholstery, remembering how I used to lay out my scissors, thread, thimble, and packet of needles on the broad arm in preparation for a few hours quilting. I missed those times together with my two friends Lucy and Birdie. Our lives were less complicated then. More intimate. Now things were different. Birdie had married Denver and Crusher and I were engaged and living together. Jazz Fletcher and Giselle Cole had joined our group, bringing the number from three to five. But if I couldn’t think of a way to stop her, Birdie would soon be gone again—maybe forever.
“Martha, dear, what were you and Denny talking about for such a long time?” Birdie knew me well enough to know I wasn’t likely involved in mere idle chatter with her husband. “I saw the two of you going into the Winnebago.”
“Yeah! He made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. Fresh coffee and cranberry scones. Which were, by the way, delicious. How I’ve missed your morning baking, Birdie. Especially your applesauce cake with raisins and your ginger cookies.”
“Yes, I thought about that.” She reached into the pocket on the bib of her overalls and handed me two three by five cards with writing on them. “Since Denny and I are about to give away everything, I thought you’d be pleased to have my secret recipes for your two favorites. And, of course, you and Lucy have first pick of all my fabric and sewing supplies.
Lucy gasped. “Not your fabric!”
Birdie shrugged. “I’ll have no use for them where we’re going.”
My heart sank. With every word she spoke, she seemed to slip farther and farther away. A quilter’s personal stash of fabric was like art, stamps, or coins to a passionate collector. She would never give away her fabric unless she lost her sight, the use of her hands, or had just heard the doctor give her a fatal diagnosis. “Are you sure you want to give up quilting?”
“Quite sure, Martha.”
“Well, thank you. Of course. But I wish you wouldn’t go. At least not before visiting the cult and seeing for yourselves how people live there and if they’re as happy as Royal St. Germain paints them to be.”
My dear friend frowned. “Cult?” Her back stiffened. “Is that what you think we’re doing? Joining a cult?”
I hesitated for a moment, wishing I hadn’t put that particular four-letter word out there. But I had, and now she knew exactly what I was thinking. How should I respond? I decided to be direct. There was little time for finesse. “Actually, Birdie, I’m not the only one who thinks Mystical Feather is a cult. The FBI put Royal St. Germain on their watch list.”
Lucy spoke up. “Listen, hon. They suspect he may have, you know, gotten rid of some of his members.” She used her fingers to make air quotes.
Birdie laughed. “Lucy, dear, all you have to do is meet him. If you did, you’d know he couldn’t possibly do anything like that. He’s very warm and spiritual.”
“What a great idea!” I jumped on the suggestion. “Why don’t we all take a trip to Ojai? We could meet Mr. St. Germain and talk to him. We could also look around the commune and talk to the other members there. If you’re right, a visit could ease our minds and help us feel better about letting you go. We just want the very best for you.”
Birdie studied our faces for a moment and shrugged. “Why not? If it’ll set your minds at ease, I guess we could go this weekend. We could easily fit in the Winnebago. That is, if Denny can fix that motor.”
Lucy and I looked at each other. I could tell she was up for the challenge. “Great. How about we meet you here at nine on Saturday morning? We should reach Ojai in an hour and a half. Maybe Mr. St. Germain will invite us to join him for lunch. If not, we could eat in one of the many good restaurants in town.”
Lucy stood to leave. “Great idea.” She embraced Birdie. “See you on Saturday, hon.”
We didn’t speak on the short walk back to her house, but once inside, Lucy couldn’t hold back. “Martha! You and Denver were in the RV a long time. I thought I’d die being all alone with Birdie. She asked what you wanted with him. It was hard not to spill the beans. I’m not as good a liar as you are. Tell me what the two of you talked about for that long a time.”
“Basically, he’s determined to go through with their plans to join the commune. Even after I told him about the FBI.”
“Oh, my bad feeling is coming back.” She rubbed both of her arms and shivered. “What are we going to do once we get to the commune on Saturday?”
“You’re right. We need to come up with a plan.”
For the next hour we went over every scenario we could think of. Finally, we came up with a strategy we hoped was foolproof. Step number one was to call Paulina.
“Hi, Paulina. It’s Martha, and I’ve got you on speaker so Lucy can hear as well.”
Lucy leaned toward the phone and said in a loud voice, “Hi, hon.”
“It’s lucky you found me between clients,” the psychic said. “What’s the deal with your friends. Have you warned them?”
I sighed. “Yes, but they’re determined to go through with it. They’re starting the process of giving stuff away.” I told her about our planned trip to Ojai on Saturday. “The reason I called is we kind of need your expertise on, uh, spirit guides, auras, contacting the dead, and stuff like that. I mean, neither Lucy nor I have the knowledge to challenge anything St. Germain claims about the spirit world.”
Paulina said, “I actually knew you were going to call on me.”
Sure, sure. What else would a psychic say? “If that’s the case, do you also know what I’m about to ask?”
“Yeah. Me and Mansoor will go to Ojai with you on Saturday.”
Lucy poked my arm and whispered, “She’s amazing!”