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  “Hey, no way,” said Dalton. “Just stop it with that right now.” He folded his arms over his chest. “What kind of detective work are you doing?”

  “I told you,” I said, “we’re working on Tess’s case.”

  “Working on it how?” he said. “What are you looking for?”

  I hesitated. How to put this?

  But Brigit spoke up. “We want to find out who killed her beyond a shadow of a doubt.”

  “Bray killed her,” said Dalton. “Everyone knows that. You can’t possibly be suggesting that I—” He broke off, his voice suddenly choked with emotion. He was about ready to cry, I realized. He scrabbled behind him for the doorknob.

  “Wait, Mr. Peck,” I said, my voice gentle. “We just need to be sure.”

  “Fuck you people,” he said thickly. “The police did the same thing.”

  Brigit pulled out the notebook with the symbols drawn in it. “Do you recognize these?”

  “God!” He pushed the notebook down, averting his eyes. “You’re showing me that? I haven’t seen those symbols since I identified her body. She was… she was ruined.” And now he really did break down, tears starting to spill out of his eyes.

  I felt bad. “I’m sorry, Mr. Peck.”

  He clenched his hands into fists. “You shouldn’t be wasting time with me. Bray’s the murderer. If there isn’t proof of that, you need to find it. But I didn’t hurt her. I couldn’t hurt her.” He flung open the door to his apartment and hurled himself through it, slamming it in his wake.

  I winced.

  Brigit chewed on her lip.

  * * *

  Back in the car, Brigit and I were quiet for while. But once I got going, the lack of music and the lack of conversation made the silence seem to take on a life of its own. It seemed to have shape, and it was oppressive. I could feel it hanging all over us in the vehicle, strangling the life from us.

  “My theory doesn’t really make a whole lot of sense,” I muttered.

  Brigit turned to me. “What?”

  “I had this idea that maybe it was Dalton because he had accidentally killed Tess, and then tried to cover up that he’d killed her by making it look like she was ritually murdered.”

  “But that can’t be,” said Brigit. “Because the symbols were carved into her while she was still alive.”

  “A fact I conveniently forgot while I was talking to Gunner,” I said. “I don’t know what it is about that man, but…”

  “So, we’re back to thinking he did it?”

  “We were never not thinking he did it.”

  Brigit made a little hem noise.

  “What?” I said. “We weren’t.”

  “I wasn’t,” said Brigit. “But you go back and forth like a pendulum, I swear.”

  “Well, we still don’t have any hard evidence tying Gunner to the murder,” I said. “And on top of that, we don’t know who his accomplice is. But, for the record, I don’t suspect Dalton Peck.”

  “Just because he cried?” said Brigit. “Because he could have worked all of that up. That righteous indignation, those tears. That doesn’t mean anything.”

  “I know that,” I said.

  We were quiet.

  The silence began to grow again, to fill up the interior of the car.

  I reached over and switched on the radio. It was my car. Brigit was going to have to deal with my music.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Zion’s People had its headquarters in a strip mall, between a coin operated laundry mat and a pet store. At one time, the space that Zion’s People occupied had been a carpet store. I could tell because the paint from the old sign was still visible, even though someone had tried to scrub it away. The glass store front had been covered with hanging sheets. It had probably been an attempt to make the area look more private and less store-y, but it only succeeded in making the place seem sloppy.

  The door wasn’t locked, so I let myself in.

  Inside, the place had been set up to look like a church. There was a pulpit and a bunch of chairs set up facing it. Behind the pulpit, there were more hanging sheets, partitioning off the rest of the store. But there didn’t seem to be anyone around.

  “Hello?” I called.

  No answer.

  It wasn’t that I thought that the Zion’s People really had a good motive for murder, because I didn’t. I was just covering my bases, making sure to check out everything. It felt like everything I did on this case was devolving into base-covering, though. I hadn’t had a decent lead in a long time. I didn’t know if I was ever going to get one.

  I knew from experience working Homicide in the department that not all cases could be satisfyingly solved. Sometimes, there simply wasn’t enough evidence one way or the other. A detective had to do the best she could with what she had.

  I just…

  Well, I didn’t want it to be Gunner. Why that was, I couldn’t be sure. Maybe he’d done some creepy brainwashing thing to me—in which case, he was almost certainly guilty. Maybe I simply didn’t want to be working for the murderer. Or maybe it was my gut instinct telling me that he was innocent.

  Thing was, I didn’t much trust my gut instinct. After all, I was frequently wrong about people. If I’d had a decent gut instinct, for instance, I’d never have gone to meet Ralph. Wouldn’t have solved the case either, though. So, my lack of gut instinct had helped me nab a murderer that time.

  But in that case, Ralph had given himself away. He’d decided that I knew too much, and he’d tried to kill me. I didn’t think that Gunner would be so obvious if he were guilty.

  Anyway, I wanted to at least check out Zion’s People, and thus far, it didn’t look like there was anyone to check out.

  I began to make my way up towards the pulpit, walking through the chairs. “Hello?” I said again.

  Still no answer.

  I reached the pulpit, and I pushed at the sheets that were hanging next to it. “Anyone there?” I pulled the sheets aside, peering back into the store area.

  Back there, I could see some desks and computers, like an office. But there weren’t any people to see.

  “Can I help you?” said a voice from behind me.

  I turned, getting caught up in the hanging sheets. “Hi there.” I was tangled up. I pushed at them, but to no avail.

  Strong fingers extracted me. “That’ll be a lesson for you. Going where you don’t belong gets you caught up in sheets.” The voice was gently joking, warm.

  But the face that went with it wasn’t. It was severe and cold.

  I backed away from the man who’d found me. “I’m sorry. I was looking for someone I could talk to.”

  “Talk to about what?” said the man.

  “Um, just a few questions,” I said, trying to recover. I didn’t like the man’s eyes at all. They were beady eyes. Dark eyes. But his manner and tone were casual and welcoming. The juxtaposition chilled me. “It concerns the Clayton Society.”

  “Ah,” he said. “Well, you’ll find we aren’t exactly fans here.”

  “I’m a private detective,” I said. “I’m looking into the murder of Tess Carver, and I need information about the Clayton Society. I heard that you were the experts on their behavior.”

  “That’s very likely true,” he said. “We do know quite a bit about them.”

  “Well, can I ask you a few questions?” I said. “What’s your name, anyway?”

  “I don’t think I can speak for the group officially,” he said. “Sorry about that. No, you want Elsa Jacobsen. She’s our leader, so to speak. She’d be the person to tell you everything you needed to know.”

  “Well, where is she?”

  “Not here, as you can see,” he said. “Why don’t you leave me your name and number? I’ll make sure that she gets in touch with you.”

  Irrationally, I didn’t want to give this man my name and number. I didn’t want him to know anything about me. I found him incredibly creepy, and I was frightened by him. But I told myself I was bein
g ridiculous. Besides, I’d just talked myself out of trusting my gut instinct, hadn’t I?

  * * *

  I didn’t really expect to hear from Elsa Jacobsen. I was half-convinced that the man who’d taken my information was just going to come to find me and possibly murder me in my sleep. Which was silly, because I hadn’t told him where I lived. I’d only given him my phone number for my office, and I didn’t usually sleep there. Additionally, it was silly, because I had no reason to suspect that man of anything dangerous or violent.

  But silliness aside, it was unlikely that anyone really called me back when I left a message for them. People didn’t like to make the job of a detective easy. If I wanted to find out what happened, I often needed to, well, badger people. Bother them and bother them until they gave up the goods. If I sat around waiting for people to call me back, then I never found anything out. So, I had intended to go back to the Zion’s People headquarters and try to talk to someone within the next few days, when I inevitably didn’t hear from anyone.

  But Elsa Jacobsen surprised me. She called back that evening, and said she was quite willing and eager to talk to me about the Clayton Society. In fact, she thought she’d be able to come by my office the next day.

  That was refreshing, I had to admit. Not only was she offering to be interrogated, but she was coming to me so that I could do it. I didn’t even have to travel. Convenient.

  She arrived right on time, and Brigit ushered her back to my office. I allowed Brigit to stay and listen in. I thought she might have some insights afterward, and I had to admit I was enjoying working with her.

  “I understand you want to know about the Clayton Society,” said Elsa, sitting primly across from my desk.

  “That’s right,” I said. “We hear you’re an expert.”

  “The Clayton Society is a den of sin and iniquity,” she said. “It’s evil incarnate, and it must be removed from the earth before it causes more people to stumble and fall short of the glory of God.”

  Okay. So, when Gunner said they were religious, he was totally right on point. I nodded. “I see. Well, look, Ms. Jacobsen—”

  “Call me Elsa,” she said. “And I’ll be happy to provide you with anything you need to know. Our extended surveillance of the farm allows us to know all of the Clayton Society’s evil secrets, you see.”

  “Surveillance?” I asked. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Well, they don’t keep people out, you know. If you decide you want to spend time on the farm there, you can just walk right in and observe all the evil acts they’re doing, right out in the open.”

  “So, you have people from your group observing things on the farm?” I said.

  “That’s right, and let me tell you about what they get up to there. They claim to be all about clean living, but they are fornicators, and they play music that encourages sin. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.”

  “Yes?” I said, expecting her to tell me about human sacrifice next.

  But she didn’t. “Oh, you wouldn’t believe the profane things they believe. They worship nature, not the Lord above. That’s heresy, absolute blasphemy against God.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Well, how, um, horrible.”

  “It is horrible,” said Elsa. “I’m glad you agree. We need to take a stand against this organization. It should be dismantled, because it is a dangerous and terrible cult.”

  I nodded at Brigit.

  Brigit opened up the notebook that we’d gotten from Natalie. “We were hoping you could help us identify these symbols.” She brought the notebook over so that Elsa could look at it.

  “Oh, of course,” said Elsa.

  We leaned forward to catch her reaction. If she had used those symbols to murder someone, well, then we should be able to see some kind of response.

  But Elsa only shook her head blankly. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I’ve ever seen these before. But you can bet that they’re used by the people on the farm to call down Satan or some other evil action. They worship trees.”

  I doubted she could fake that expression. But just in case, I decided to lean on her a little bit. “Oh come on, Elsa, don’t try to pretend you haven’t seen these.”

  She looked up, a confused expression on her face. “I’m not pretending. That would be a lie, and a lie is a sin. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

  “Sure, you wouldn’t,” I said sarcastically. “You wouldn’t have any reason to hide what you know about those symbols, would you?”

  She drew back, even more confused. “What are you talking about? What do those symbols mean?”

  “Don’t play dumb with me. If you were doing surveillance on the farm, you came across them already, and you knew exactly how you’d use them to discredit the Clayton Society and prove once and for all how evil they were.”

  Elsa pressed her lips together. “What kind of interview is this? You don’t actually want my expertise, do you?”

  “I might have lied a little bit, I admit,” I said. “May God forgive me.”

  Her nostrils flared. “You shouldn’t lie about those kinds of things.”

  “And you shouldn’t pretend that you don’t know full well that these symbols are part of a ritual of human sacrifice. A ritual you heard talked about on the farm.”

  “Human sacrifice?” Elsa’s eyes widened so much I thought they might pop out of her head. “I knew they were of the devil, but I had no idea it was quite that bad.”

  “Don’t play dumb,” I said. “That’s what happened to Tess Carver. You knew that if someone was actually killed by the Clayton Society, it would mean that they’d lose all respect, and they would fade away.”

  “You’re accusing me of killing someone?” Elsa’s voice was a squeak.

  I just raised my eyebrows, giving her my best stern look.

  She swallowed. “That’s crazy. That’s absolutely insane. I would never—we would never—” She drew herself up. “Zion’s People are God’s people. Murder is the worst of sins. To suggest that we could do such a thing…”

  I folded my arms over my chest.

  She leaned forward. “Maybe we did know about the symbols, about those rituals. But none of us knew any of the details. Only Braxton, maybe.”

  “Braxton?” I said.

  “Braxton Whitney.”

  Ah, right. Archer’s brother. Gunner had mentioned him.

  “You met him,” said Elsa. “He’s the one who gave me the message to call you.”

  * * *

  “We meet again, Ms. Stern,” said Braxton Whitney, taking my hand. As before, I noted that his tone was warm, but that his eyes were cold. Something about this man gave me the shivers. I pulled my hand back.

  We were in the foyer of his mansion, and it was an elaborately decorated place, the kind of place that looks like it belongs in a different century. Landscape paintings with ornate frames. Chandeliers dripping with crystals. Brazen candelabras on the wall. The place was formal and opulent. It too seemed cold. Old and cold.

  “Do you like the place?” said Braxton, grinning a smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. “It’s been in the family for years.”

  “It’s lovely,” I said. “This is my assistant, Brigit Johansen.” I practically pushed Brigit at Braxton.

  He shook hands with her. “A pleasure.”

  “Thanks,” she said, but I noted that she moved her hand away from his rather quickly as well.

  “We can speak in my study,” he said, gesturing for us to follow him.

  We did. Up the spiral staircase we went, past even more paintings and candelabras. We wound down hallways, turning so many times that I knew I’d never be able to figure my way back out of the place without help.

  Braxton’s study was decorated just like the rest of the place—elaborate, formal, stuffy. But it also had the addition of dead animal heads on the wall—a lion, a cheetah, and an antelope. So, that was kind of tacky. In an exotic way, if you know what I mean.

  “Sit,” he said, gesturing
to two overstuffed leather easy chairs.

  We sat.

  He settled behind a huge oaken desk. He smiled at us again, but there was something horrible about his smile.

  I felt uncomfortable. It was as if I had an itch just under my clothes, one that would be slightly painful to scratch. I shifted in my seat, but the sensation only seemed to intensify.

  “Elsa told me you had some colorful ideas about us,” he said.

  “Well, we’re examining every angle that we can.”

  “I know all about you, Ms. Stern,” he said. “You’re working for the Clayton Society. I can only assume that they hired you to try to prove that Gunner Bray is innocent. You’re looking for a patsy.”

  “I assure you, I’m not,” I said, bristling at the suggestion. “I’m looking for the truth.”

  “So, you don’t think Gunner is guilty, then?”

  “I’m undecided,” I said.

  He shrugged, giving me an amused smile. But his eyes seemed to shoot icy needles at me.

  I didn’t believe in gut instincts, at least not my own. But everything within me was crying out that there was something wrong with this man. Something very, very wrong.

  “Well, I can only suppose you’re here to try and make the murder stick to me,” he said. “I suppose you’ve even fashioned a motive of sorts. I’m angry about my brother and that cult, and so I must want to destroy them. So I made it look as if they killed that girl. That’s what you’re positing, isn’t it?”

  I didn’t say anything. It sounded absolutely ridiculous when he said it. Hell, it had sounded ridiculous when Gunner said it. The only reason I was giving it any credence was that Braxton gave me the willies.

  “Well, you’ve got to admit that’s a bit thin, isn’t it?” He laughed, and his eyes were frozen. “Stretching it, aren’t you?”

  I forced myself to laugh too. With this man, it wasn’t wise to let him know he was getting to me. Because I was convinced he was trying to get to me. I could just tell. “Well, Mr. Whitney, we’re doing our best to be thorough. Our clients wanted you checked out. We’re checking you out.”