“I gathered as much,” I said, keeping the frustration from creeping into my voice.
Zennia chuckled. “You haven’t changed a bit, Frank. You always were a man of few words.”
Frank puffed up a bit. “I can’t believe you still remember me. I didn’t know that was you at the farmers market until Birch told me later. Otherwise, I would have stopped to talk. But boy, you were a wisp of a girl when I saw you last, and now”—he moved his hands in the shape of an hourglass—“you’re a full-fledged woman.”
Zennia smoothed her skirt down over her hips. The trace of a smile appeared. “It was a long time ago. I’m not surprised you didn’t recognize me.”
“What happened after you and Birch left the farmers market the other night?” I asked.
“He spent most of the ride back here talking about everything he remembered about Zennia. Just went on and on. I didn’t pay much attention, to be honest. Once we got back, I had work to do here in the office, so I didn’t see him again until first thing yesterday morning.”
“But what on earth was Birch doing at my house yesterday?” Zennia asked.
Frank turned and opened one of the desk drawers. He pawed through the contents while he spoke over his shoulder. “Said he wanted to catch up, find out what you’d been doing all these years.”
“How did Birch know where Zennia lived?” I asked.
Frank closed the first drawer and opened another. “After the farmers market, Birch made me stop at the health food store to pick up flaxseed on the way out of town. He’s friends with Jan, the lady who owns the place, and started gushing about how much he used to love Zennia and how their destiny was to meet again. I got no use for that mushy stuff, but Jan ate it up. She said Zennia was on her mailing list and gave Birch the address.”
That seemed like a huge invasion of privacy on Jan’s part. Obviously she thought Birch was a decent enough guy to give out her customer information, but who’s to say he wasn’t a stalker? Or worse?
“Why did you drop him off that early? He couldn’t have known if Zennia was even up yet.”
Frank slammed the drawer shut, causing the desk to shake. “He gave up driving a few years back. If he wanted to see Zennia, he had to hitch a ride with me and that’s what time I was driving through town. I told him he could ride with me on my errands and I’d stop on my way back here, but he was so damn excited about talking to her that he wasn’t thinking straight.”
On the one hand, the notion of showing up at someone’s door at the crack of dawn was highly romantic. On the other, it was slightly pathetic.
“I live in a safe neighborhood.” Zennia wrung her hands and paced the confines of the office. “There’s rarely any trouble. Who could have killed him?”
“You got me.” Frank opened yet another drawer and started to rummage through it. “I know I left that damn calculator in here. I bet someone stole it.”
I glanced around at the corners of the room as if the calculator might magically appear. Zennia halfheartedly tipped up a binder to peek underneath, then let it drop back into place.
“Would it be all right if we walked around the commune, Frank?” she asked. “I was hoping to see where Birch has been living the last few months, maybe talk to his friends.”
“You’re welcome to do anything you want. We have the same open-door policy as we did back when you were staying here. Birch was a popular guy, so you won’t have any trouble finding his friends.”
“Thanks. I can’t wait to see what’s changed and what you’ve kept the same.”
Frank didn’t respond. He sat back down at the desk, still searching the drawers. Zennia and I returned to the main room. We exited out a door on the back side, where several picnic tables occupied a brick patio. Beyond the patio, the meadow I’d noticed from the parking lot stretched out for several hundred feet and stopped at the tree line, where a small herd of goats grazed in a fenced-off area near the barn.
The barn’s enormous double doors were propped open in the warm spring air, and even from this distance, I could see a handful of people milling around inside. “Shall we start at the barn?” I asked Zennia.
She pressed her palms together in front of her chest and took a deep breath before she slowly exhaled. “Yes, I believe I’m ready now. It helps that Frank said everyone liked Birch. I expect to find lots of good memories here.” She started across the field.
I paused as Zennia headed for the barn. I wasn’t sure everyone had liked Birch. In fact, someone from this commune may have very well killed him.
Chapter 8
I caught up to Zennia as she entered the building. Though the outside gave the impression of an old-fashioned barn, the inside reminded me of a warehouse. The smooth cement floor was swept clean. Rows of shelves laden with such items as folded-up quilts, jars of honey, and preserves filled the majority of the vast space. A long table with two computers sat against the wall to my right, while a table in front of me held several open boxes.
As I took in my surroundings, a petite, elderly woman with a rather pronounced nose carried two jars to the table and carefully wrapped them in newspaper before placing the jars in one of the boxes. She offered a high-wattage smile. “Can I help you?”
Zennia seemed at a loss for words, so I jumped in. “I’m Dana, and this is Zennia. We’re friends of Birch, and we were hoping to talk to people here to find out more about his life at Evergreen.”
The woman’s smile dimmed. “Yes, poor Birch. His passing is such a tragedy.” She rested her hands on the edges of the box. “But we always welcome visitors, especially friends of the dearly departed.” She sniffled and pressed her lips together as if reining in her emotions.
Another woman, this one in her late fifties or early sixties, stepped over and put an arm around the woman. She wore her hair in a long braid that was more gray than brown. With her long tank dress and leather sandals, she could have easily passed for Zennia’s older sister. Or at least her stylist. She said to the woman, “Pearl, you must stay strong in these troubled times.”
Pearl bobbed her head. “I need to make tea for the sewing circle,” she said. “Excuse me.” She scampered past me and headed toward the main building.
The woman with the braid came up and embraced Zennia. “Zennia, you’re always looking as lovely as a flower. When Birch returned from town two nights ago, chattering on about running into you again, I thought his heart would explode from pure emotion.”
“Millie,” Zennia said, hugging her back, “how long has it been since we’ve seen one another? Two, three years?”
“Yes, at one of the harvest festivals, as I recall.” She turned toward me. Pale blue eyes, set in a tan, lined face that had seen years of sun, stared into mine. “And who is this young doe who looks as if she’s spent her days frolicking through a field of flowers?”
I assumed Millie was talking about me, though I couldn’t recall the last time I’d frolicked in a field, one full of flowers or otherwise. “I’m Dana.”
Millie leaned in close enough that I could smell the floral scent of her breath. “You’re a lucky girl. Heed Zennia’s advice in life, and you’ll never be steered wrong.”
“Millie, there you are,” a guy in his late twenties said as he walked into the barn.
He was dressed in a black T-shirt, tan chinos, and a baseball cap. He wore wire-rimmed glasses and carried a laptop in one hand, reminding me of the computer engineers who populated Silicon Valley. I’d expect to see him typing out computer code at the Daily Grind coffee shop, rather than being here at the commune.
“I wanted to show you this new ordering system,” he said. “I think you’ll like it.”
Millie stiffened. “You know how I feel about you and your programs, Ryan. I have no interest in seeing anything of the kind.”
He held up his laptop. “But I’ve updated the interface to make information easier to find. It’ll make your job faster.”
“A rushed job is a sloppy job,” she said. “The method we’ve been usin
g all these years has never failed us, thank you.”
“You can’t fight progress,” Ryan said with a tired sigh. Clearly they’d had this argument before. “As soon as I finish my beta testing, I’d like to implement the program here at Evergreen.”
Millie crossed her arms and stepped toward him. “We were doing fine before you got here, and we’ll be fine when you leave, if you catch my drift.”
I raised my eyebrows at Zennia. It sounded like life at the commune wasn’t quite as peaceful as those whispering redwoods and cups of tea might suggest.
“Millie, I know you’ll come around,” he said.
“Don’t count on it.” She turned her back on Ryan. “Zennia, may the sun keep you warm in all your travels. As well as you, Dana.” She patted Zennia’s arm and left the barn.
Ryan shrugged at Millie’s departing figure, then popped open his laptop and set it on the table next to one of the computers. “Old biddy,” he muttered. “What a fool.”
I motioned Zennia toward the exit, and she followed. Once we were outside, I said, “Sounds like those two have an ongoing feud. Do you know Ryan?”
“No, but Millie’s been here a long time.” Zennia gazed across the meadow. “In fact, she was living here before Birch and I came, and she was always one to follow the old ways. Over the years, I’ve run into her at various events, like that harvest festival, and she’s never once shown an ounce of interest in technology.”
“I bet she could have told you a lot about Birch, though. Too bad she took off before you could ask her anything.”
“Perhaps we’ll run into her again before we leave.”
We trekked across the bumpy ground, following the tree line. The meadow was littered with gopher holes, and I tried not to think about the number of snakes that were probably lurking in the tall grass or inside those holes. Did rattlers come out this early in the season?
To take my mind of the possibility of snakes, I said, “The commune seems to produce quite a few goods, if those shelves in the barn are any indication.”
“Yes,” Zennia said. “They jar tomatoes, blackberries, strawberries, and anything else, plus they make their own lemon curd, fudge, and granola. Not to mention all the blankets and quilts the ladies sew. It’s a lot of work, but it’s what keeps this place going.”
We reached the other corner of the meadow and followed a well-trodden path up a slight incline to an A-frame building with a newer deck running along one side.
I glanced in the large picture window near the door and saw five or six women sitting in rocking chairs in a circle. Some were knitting, while others were quilting.
I followed Zennia inside. The women silently rocked while they worked at breakneck speed. The only sound was the rapid clacking of needles.
When no one looked up or acknowledged our presence, I cleared my throat. As one, all of the women stopped what they were doing and set their projects in their laps.
“Yes, dear?” a plump woman with short, curly hair asked.
“Hi, we’re old friends of Birch, and we were hoping to learn more about his time here,” I said, basically repeating what I’d told the woman in the barn.
As if by an invisible signal, all the women began knitting and sewing again. I shivered at their synchronized motions. Were these commune residents or alien robots? Were they discouraged from talking to strangers?
“Birch was a gentle soul,” one woman finally said, not pausing in her knitting.
“He used to play the guitar for us while we worked in here,” another said.
Zennia settled into an empty rocking chair. “Tell me more.”
I looked at the circle of women, and then at the beautiful day outside. Could these women offer any insight into who would want Birch dead, or would they simply entertain Zennia with tales of how wonderful the man was? I suspected the latter.
I leaned down by Zennia’s ear. “I’m going for a walk.”
She nodded as one of the women launched into a story about Birch’s guitar playing at the last picnic. I opened the door to leave, only to encounter the woman I’d seen in the barn earlier. She carried a silver tray upon which a teapot and half a dozen cups sat. Her eyes grew wide when she saw me. “I didn’t expect any extras today,” she said. “I don’t know if I have enough cups.”
“That’s all right. I’m off to take a walk.” She looked relieved as I held the door open for her. She slipped inside the room, and I headed down the porch steps, picking up the trail where it ran by the building.
I followed the path as it meandered through the trees and eventually came upon a small pond. Across the water, two houses stood silent. A clothesline was set up next to one of the houses, and several shirts hung from the line. A dog came out of a dog house and barked at me. From where I stood, I could see that the trail dead-ended at the houses, so I turned and retraced my steps to the quilting house, as I’d come to think of it.
I watched Zennia through the window for a moment as she laughed at something one of the other women said. She was clearly enjoying herself. I decided to investigate the commune a little more. I followed another path that branched off from the first one, wondering where it would take me.
After winding around shrubs and stepping over a fallen log, I came upon a decent-sized stream bordered on both sides by thick, thorny blackberry bushes. My mouth watered at the sight of the berries. I used to pick them every summer at my grandmother’s house when I was a kid. I was tempted to try one now, but they all looked too green.
Instead, I followed the path as it ran alongside the stream. When I came to a tiny footbridge, I stepped onto it and looked down at the water.
The stream wasn’t deep, and I could see several tiny fish swimming near the edge, flitting back and forth as if playing a game of tag. Shouldn’t those fish be in school? I almost slapped my forehead at my own stupid joke.
A twig snapped from somewhere behind me, and I turned to scan the trees. Most likely a squirrel was romping around. I was fairly certain bears didn’t roam these woods. Did they?
I focused on the fish again until I heard another crunch. The little hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Maybe it was time I was leaving. I’d seen enough horror movies about girls lost in the woods to know what would happen if I stayed.
Fighting the urge to run, I stepped off the bridge and marched back down the path. As I reached the end of the blackberry bushes, I practically bumped into Frank.
I gasped at his unexpected appearance and took a step back. He, on the other hand, didn’t seem at all surprised to see me. Had he followed me out here?
“What do you think you’re doing?” he growled. “This place isn’t safe for people like you.”
I swallowed hard at Frank’s angry tone. “People like me? What’s that supposed to mean?”
He only glowered in return as I looked up at his large form. From this angle, he appeared almost as tall as a redwood.
I needed to get the hell out of here.
Chapter 9
“I’m taking a walk in the woods.” I heard a tremor in my voice and took a quick breath in hopes of steadying it. “You said Zennia and I were welcome to go anywhere on the commune.”
He crossed his arms. “That’s when I thought you had the good sense to keep out of the poison oak.”
I looked down to see my feet firmly planted among a cluster of bright, shiny leaves. I stepped back onto the trail.
Frank frowned at my shoes. “That’s not proper footwear if you’re going to be tramping around the woods.” He shook his head. “City folk.”
“I wasn’t tramping. And I was sticking to the trail until you came out of nowhere and scared me.”
“Huh,” Frank grunted.
I noticed that Frank hadn’t offered an explanation as to what he was doing out here. Was he taking a walk, too? Or following me?
Either way, I was ready to head back. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, Zennia’s probably wondering where I am.”
I stepped forward
, and Frank moved aside to let me pass. At the first bend in the trail, I looked back. Frank still stood where I’d left him, watching me. I quickened my pace.
At last, the quilting house came into view. Zennia stood outside, talking to a woman with an afghan draped over one arm.
“There you are,” Zennia said when I joined them. “I was about to send the Forest Service to find you.”
“Sorry, I lost track of time. It feels like the woods go on forever.” I didn’t mention my run-in with Frank. I wasn’t entirely sure whether I should have felt threatened or not.
The woman with the afghan touched Zennia’s elbow. “Now that your friend is here, I need to get to lunch. That cornbread goes fast.” She followed the path down the slope and into the meadow, heading toward the main building. As fast as she was walking, she must really like that cornbread.
“Does everyone eat their meals together?” I asked Zennia as we picked our way more slowly down the slope.
“The commune provides three meals a day, and anyone is welcome to eat in the main dining room, but residents can also eat in their homes. Eating together provides a sense of community for those who want it.”
We reached the meadow. The other woman was already out of sight inside the building. “How many people live here?”
“It fluctuates. I’d say around fifty-five or sixty. Some people pass through only for a season while others stay for years. Frank and Millie have been here the longest, although I vaguely remember one of the other women from back when I lived here.”
“Are there enough houses for all these people, or do they share?” I asked, thinking of the cabins by the pond.
“Both. There are quite a few cabins scattered around the property, plus a dorm-style structure that sleeps thirty. Bear in mind that the farther out from the main building you get, the more the amenities drop off. When I lived here, the cabins way out in the woods didn’t have indoor plumbing or electricity, but not everyone is bothered by those things as long as they can live in solitude.”
“Who gets to pick the cabins?” I asked, caught up in what Zennia was saying.
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