The Blood We Spill: Suspense with a Dash of Humor (A Letty Whittaker 12 Step Mystery Book 4)

by Donna White Glaser

  At three o’clock, I joined the group loading into the cargo bus. Beth, dressed in a similar blue horror, clamored aboard. She sat next to me.

  “I didn’t know you were working tonight,” I said.

  “I switched with one of the girls. She didn’t think she could stand the temptation of food, so I offered to take her place. She thinks I’m a saint.”

  Jazzy, climbing noisily into the bus, masked my snort. Justus got in next, taking his place behind the wheel, and Martha followed, riding shot gun in the seat next to him.

  “I need to talk to you,” I whispered to Beth.

  Martha kept us running all night. I spent the first hour memorizing the specials and finding my way around the kitchen, waitress stations, and bar area. Someone loaned me an apron to hold the order pad and any tips I made. Although I was told that the tips would be turned back in to Justus at the end of the night. The other waitresses were busy with prep work: folding cloth napkins into flower shapes to stick into the water goblets, scooping balls of butter into tiny bowls, filling the salad dressings and so on.

  I had expected to catch most members snitching food here and there, but surprisingly most didn’t. There were two glaring exceptions. I discovered the first, Beth of course, emerging from the cooler reeking of pumpkin breath and brushing pie crust crumbs off her blue vest.

  Martha assigned me three tables to start with. By six-thirty, the restaurant had filled and she gave me two more.

  I had waitressed my way through college, but that was many years ago. My shoes pinched, I didn’t know the menu, and visions of severed body parts kept invading my thoughts.

  Not only that, but the Elect served liquor. It had been a long time since I had wrapped my hand around a martini glass, and the smell bothered me almost as much as Gunner’s treat had.

  Midway through the night I had to take a drink order to the bar and caught Justus snarfing down peanuts and Maraschino cherries.

  Gotcha.

  “That’s not exactly a balanced meal,” I said.

  “Martha counts the bags of chips or they’d be gone too.” He winked as he poured out the drink order. Dressed simply in black pants and white button down shirt, he looked good and knew it. Eyes riveted to my boob overflow, he said, “Hey, maybe you could find me something hot to munch on?”

  Now what’s a Smurf supposed to say to that? Luckily, Jazzy trotted up with a drink order, and I got away without having to reply. I didn’t want to encourage him—frankly, he didn’t seem to need it—so I pretended his remark hadn’t been a sexually charged, double entendre. But I liked the idea of his owing me a favor. Provided he would honor it, of course.

  In the end, I slipped him two dinner rolls. I may have neglected to mention they had come off some people’s plates. Too much information and all that.

  I never found an opportunity to talk to Beth; the restaurant was too busy and too public. By ten o’clock when we were loading into the van, I was limping mentally as well as physically. The only benefit was that first busyness, then exhaustion, made the horror of the afternoon seem fuzzy and distant.

  By the time we pulled into Megiddo, I was so tired I propped my hand under my chin to keep my mouth from sagging open and adding drool to my now-filthy uniform. Everybody piled out of the van and into the lodge leaving me behind, still fumbling with the seatbelt. Almost everybody, that is. As I yanked on the van’s sliding side door, a flicker of white caught my eye.

  Justus stood leaning casually against the porch post, monitoring my slow progress.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  He smiled. “You look rough. You gonna make it?”

  “I’ve been worse.” I began a tender-footed climb up the stairs. The soles of my feet were hot and swollen, and my knees ached from the sideways dip needed to shift the serving tray from shoulder to the tableside stand without letting my breasts fall out. My lower back hurt too.

  Justus grinned wider as he held the door open. “Cheer up. You get a good night’s sleep and you can look forward to breakfast tomorrow.”

  Breakfast. I spun on blistered feet to look at him. If he was lying, Gunner would have more body parts to munch.

  “Yep. The fast ends tomorrow after Father speaks to us again. They’re not usually so short, but then again, we usually have more time to prepare mentally.”

  “I’m sure preparing for you means stockpiling food.”

  “You’re kind of sassy, aren’t you?” Justus moved closer.

  I screamed in his face, and couldn’t even enjoy his look of surprise. Twin Charley horses from hell had gripped my calves, nearly pitching me to the floor. Justus half dragged me to the den and dropped me into a leather armchair. Sitting on the footstool, he kneaded my calves like bread dough. I braced so hard against the chair’s back, I’m surprised it didn’t catapult over. Justus’s fingers dug into the muscles, working at the clenched mass, sharpening the pain even more until one by one, the cramps relaxed.

  Now the mortification of finding my feet in his lap and his hands massaging my bare flesh began to compete with gratitude. For the second time in two days, my skirt had ridden up to my hips, and I was panting like the lead in a porno flick. The moon cast a sensual light over the room. From his seat on the stool, he smiled up into my eyes, fingers rubbing and moving slightly higher with each stroke.

  Oh, boy. I tugged at my skirt, pushing his hands back, but my relief was short-lived. Shifting off the stool, he half knelt, half hovered over me. If he’d had a ring, he could have proposed, although his position between my legs was a mite informal.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” I put my hands out to stop his advance. Unfortunately, they landed on his chest causing confusion between my just-say-no brain and my let’s-think-about-this nether regions. The internal conflict between smarts and lusts was distracting. I didn’t hear the door open. A split second after Justus tensed under my fingers, a voice growled out at us.

  “What the hell’s going on here?”

  Eli flicked the overhead lights on, leaving Justus and me squinting like amorous moles, increasing our disadvantage. Justus jumped to his feet, but he was standing so close to me that I had no choice but to stay seated or crawl crabwise over the arms of the chair. I finally got my skirt untwisted and realigned.

  It didn’t matter. Neither man was aware of my existence. They stood facing one another in a conflict as primitive as the sex instinct that drove it. Aside from physical appearance, they were mirror images—each balanced on the balls of the feet, fists clenched, eyes locked. The air was thick with testosterone, and for all my training in crisis intervention, I froze. Again it didn’t matter. It was a situation where I was at once the issue and also beside the point.

  Justus backed down first. Breaking from the stare, he looked at me and dredged up a faux-nonchalant smile. “Guess I’d better say good-night.”

  My throat was too dry to answer. Eli shifted away from the door, eyes tracking Justus’ every move. Justus slid past and out, never breaking his stride.

  Ignoring my wobbly, still-aching legs, I rose as Eli finally turned to me. We stared at each other for several heartbeats.

  “Eli…”

  He crossed the room in a blur, pulling me against his body, simultaneously pushing us back into the depths of the room. My butt ran up against the desk where Maliah had given her lecture and suddenly I had another man situated between my legs.

  This one, I let stay.

  Our mouths hunted for each other’s, devouring, greedy for the first taste. With one hand buried in my hair, he slid the other under my skirt, gliding it up the back of my leg like a night stalker keeping to the shadows. Before I could object—even had I wanted to—it slipped beyond the elastic barrier of my panties, cupping my butt.

  This was where one of us usually pulled back.

  Instead, my hips curved forward, shifting me off my perch until I hung balanced and pinned against him, joined in the puzzle of God’s design as closely as the boundaries of clothing allo
wed.

  I didn’t hear the lodge door open, but somehow Eli must have. He pulled back so abruptly, I would have tumbled to the floor if not for his steadying hand.

  Moses stood looming in the doorway, eyes narrowed in judgment. Holy déjà vu.

  “What do you want, Moses?” Eli said. His voice, clipped with frustration, sounded like a stranger’s.

  Moses’s lips thinned at Eli’s lack of deference. “Saw the light on. Thought I should check on it.”

  Involuntarily, we swung our gaze to the window facing the commons. With the drapes open and the light on, we must have been lit up like a stage. And what a performance. As if the reality hadn’t been enough, my imagination fast-forwarded to the finale that had been so close I could have… um… tasted it. I flushed with a different kind of heat.

  “You’d better get some sleep,” Eli murmured in a voice still smoky with sex.

  Still blushing, I scooted past Moses, not daring to look up, and fled up the stairs.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Once again, I scared the hell out of Priella by bursting through the door. I must have looked like a rabbit being pursued by wolves. She gave a little squeak, and that plus the ludicrousness of the Victorian-age drama I had just escaped sent me over the edge.

  “Oh, wow. What’s wrong?” she asked.

  I was simultaneously shaking and crying, so it took a while before Priella realized I was laughing. Might have been the snorts that gave it away. She fetched a cool glass of water from the bathroom, and I forced myself to drink it.

  “Did you happen to see Moses out there?” I asked.

  “No. Why? Did you run into him?”

  “More like he ran into me. I mean, us. I was in the den with Elijah.”

  “Oh?” It took a minute before she caught up. “Oh!” To my relief, she started laughing.

  “Well, he is quite a catch,” she admitted.

  No argument from me.

  “Plus, he’s unattached,” I said.

  A shadow passed over her smiling face, and I felt bad for killing the mood. She almost turned away, then changed her mind.

  “I guess you’ve heard the rumors.” Talking about my own sexuality embarrasses me; other people’s I can handle. Sensing my willingness to listen, she went on. “It’s not what people think. We weren’t… improper.” Her turn to blush.

  “But he was married.”

  She sighed. “Father felt the that Spirit had led Enoch to Maliah. He made Enoch seek her out, and of course, Maliah jumped at the chance. There’s no woman higher in standing than the woman married to the second-ranked man. I think that’s why he ran away. He was so confused.”

  “So, Father arranges marriages?”

  That explained a lot.

  “Technically, the Spirit arranges the marriages. Father just relays the Word to those who, for whatever reason, don’t understand the calling.”

  I gave Priella a “who is he trying to kid?” eyebrow flip. She smiled and shrugged.

  “But if you two never actually did anything, why…?”

  “Because ‘whosoever looketh on a woman to lust after her hath committed adultery with her already in his heart.’ Wanting is just as bad as actually doing it. That’s why I haven’t bothered to defend myself. Sometimes I wish I could run away, too.” The color that had pinked her cheeks, receded, leaving her pale and ethereal-looking.

  “Has anyone ever left the church?”

  “Of course. Nobody as highly ranked as Enoch, though. He’d been with Father from the start. I’ve never seen Father so distraught.” Priella smiled ruefully. “He wasn’t the only one.”

  “Why don’t you leave then?”

  “Because my commitment to the King is forever.”

  “You’re not talking about Abraham, are you?”

  “No. Definitely not.” Shades of darkness flitted over her wan features like shadows on a moonlit lake. “This community has brought me to a closer fellowship with the Lord than I’ve found anywhere else. There are issues, of course. That’s true of any church.”

  “Not every church has arranged marriages,” I pointed out. For a moment, I wasn’t sure if she would answer.

  She plucked at the bedspread, absentmindedly pulling a thread. Coming to a decision, she said: “People come here for different reasons; they have different backgrounds. Some are completely new to a relationship with Christ. Others have more experience, more knowledge of what it means to be a Christian.”

  “You know,” I said, “except for Jala, you’re one of the few people who have even mentioned Christ or Christianity. I was starting to wonder what the Elect really stands for.”

  Still wondering.

  Priella sighed. “Sometimes I’m afraid the leaders aren’t as careful as they should be in teaching the fundamentals. I think they assume people know more than they really do. Things get taken out of context.”

  A sweet smile lit her face. “I’m probably being too picky. My old church called me a Bible-thumper, because I spent so much time in scripture study.”

  I thought about the warnings Tracy had given me about cults twisting the Bible for their own purpose and didn’t believe Priella was being too picky.

  “Did Enoch leave because he disagreed with the teachings?”

  “I don’t know. He was beginning to delve deeper into scripture, learning for himself what the Word actually says. But I don’t think it was philosophical differences that plagued him. It was just plain, old-fashioned guilt.” Priella darted a look at my face, checking my reaction. Seeing none, she went on. “I don’t feel that way, but maybe I should. We were wrong to allow it to continue, but we couldn’t help that it started in the first place. And the Lord I know forgives. I just… I don’t understand why he hasn’t tried to contact me.”

  I felt horribly guilty, knowing her lover was probably dead and not just missing. I decided to steer the conversation in a different direction.

  “I believe in forgiveness too,” I said. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem as if Maliah does. Is she capable of making life difficult for you?”

  “Oh, very much so. I think Father will rein her in if she gets too out of hand, but mostly he’ll expect us to handle it. And… I think he’s angry at me too. At least, she can’t affect my work. I’m an out-worker.”

  “What do you do?”

  “Nurse at the clinic. I’m able to witness at times, and I make okay money, so Father let me remain in the outside.”

  “But no makeup like Maliah or Tirza?”

  Not that the double standard still rankled.

  “Well, nurses don’t really need to adorn themselves for their job. Cleanliness is more appreciated in that community. And Maliah doesn’t really wear makeup.”

  “Everyone keeps saying that, but, believe me, I’ve seen her up close. That’s makeup.”

  “Not exactly,” she laughed. “It’s tattoos.”

  I was stunned. “I thought they only did that in California or New York or somewhere like that.”

  “Maybe that’s where she got it done. Who knows? She’s only been with the Elect since they moved from Mexico.”

  “Mexico?”

  “And Texas before that. But if you want the history, you’ll have to ask Moses. With Enoch gone, he’s been around the longest.”

  “No, thank you. He creeps me out. He’s always watching me.”

  “Well, if you’re going to stand in windows and make out with Elijah, you better expect that.”

  Startled at her playfulness, I laughed. Her next words were more restrained.

  “Be careful, Letty. It’s not hard to fall out of favor here.”

  I couldn’t face him. His large brown eyes gazed deeply into my own, expressing all the love he couldn’t verbalize. All I felt was revulsion. After all, you eat a putrefying hand, you’re gonna gross people out.

  Gunner was happily unaware of losing my regard. His appetite was completely unaffected, though I couldn’t say the same for myself. Face to muzzle with the man
-eater revived grotesque images of the horror I witnessed; I dry-heaved my way through my chore. About the only thing the fast had been good for was in limiting the ammo for projectile vomiting.

  Grateful to be finished, I wedged the tops back on the dog food bins and turned to the path. Moses stood silently in the dappled shadows of the trees next to the barn, watching me. By some trick of light, the shadows rendered him deceptively attractive, framing his chilly eyes while shading his weirdly constructed jawline. How long had he been standing there? Goosebumps having nothing to do with the nippy morning air mottled my arms; my heart pumped heavily, pushing blood through my constricted veins.

  He stepped out from the weeds, walking over to me. Blocking the path, if that was his intention. Behind me, Domino growled and paced his kennel.

  “What do you want?” I unintentionally echoed Eli from the night before.

  “I came to warn you,” he finally said. Not an auspicious beginning.

  My throat made a strange clacking sound as it tried to swallow without spit. “Warn me?”

  Still staring, he said, “I believe that you desire to be a woman of virtue. You must understand that it’s God’s will that we abstain from sexual immorality, that each of us should ‘possess our vessel in sanctification and honor, not in passion or lust, like those who do not know God. The Lord is the avenger of those who take advantage of this.’”

  “The avenger?” In my experience, avengers could be worrisome things.

  He didn’t respond to that. His misshapen face, luminous with sweat, twisted with purpose and he leaned over me at such an angle I was afraid he would fall over. In contrast to the stillness of his staring eyes, his lips spoke so fast his words blurred. “‘If a young woman lies with a man in the city, they shall be stoned to death, because she did not cry out and the evil will be put away from among us. But if the woman is found in the desert and the man forces her and lies with her, then only the man who lay with her shall die. There is in the woman no sin deserving of death, for he found her in the desert, and she cried out, but there was no one to save her.’”