by Mary Marks
I instantly recognized my best friend’s voice. “Martha? Something big is happening at Birdie’s.”
I sat straight up, suddenly wide awake. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know, but Ray doesn’t want me to get involved. You’d better come fast.”
“Can you give me a hint?”
“Two white vans and at least a dozen people, some in street clothes, some in white robes.”
“Jeez.” I looked at the clock. The big hand was on the three and the little hand was on the seven. “On my way.” I ended the call and told Crusher why I was leaving.
“Do you want me to come with you?”
“I don’t think so. If there’s a problem, I’ll text you. Meanwhile, can you do that background check for me?”
He propped himself up on his elbow and reached for his phone. I sprinted out of bed (okay, maybe the word sprint is too athletic) and headed for a quick shower. By 7:30 I was out the front door, hair still wet.
Five minutes after that, I climbed the steps of Birdie’s front porch and knocked on her door. Denver appeared and stepped back to allow me to enter. The normally quiet house buzzed with chatter. I surveyed the room and counted no fewer than eleven people ranging in age from their early twenties to AARP and beyond. Three of the older ones sat on the green sofa, and two occupied the easy chairs upholstered in a soft green chenille. Six more sat at the dining room table. All of them were eating scrambled eggs, buttered toast, and sweet pastries. Gobbling might be a better word for what they were doing.
I found Birdie in the kitchen, humming “Stairway to Heaven” and smiling as she poured cups of coffee. She arrayed the last of the baked goods from the Longaberger basket onto a stoneware platter and placed it in the middle of the kitchen table. I recognized the two white-haired people sitting there: Claytie and June Tolliver.
Yesterday I’d examined an early snapshot of the Tollivers taken at the Aquarius commune in Oregon, where Birdie first met Denver. June had been a blonde beauty with high cheekbones and laughing eyes. Now those cheekbones saved her face from total collapse, and her eyes looked as if they had forgotten how to laugh. She focused on the small plate in front of her and ate her breakfast with dainty bites.
In contrast, Claytie Tolliver’s blue eyes homed in on me like a laser as soon as I entered the kitchen. His straight back and downturned mouth broadcasted a warning. He’d led the séance. Clearly, he enjoyed some kind of authority.
Denver introduced us and Birdie handed me a cup of hot coffee with cream. Then she gestured toward one of the two empty chairs. “Sit down, Martha dear, and have some breakfast.”
I didn’t need to be asked twice. I already had my eye on a sticky bun, a huge cinnamon roll topped with chopped pecans in a gooey brown sugar glaze. With a nod to proper decorum, I tackled the pastry with a knife and fork. “I’m happy to meet you both,” I said between bites. “I’m sorry for the tragedy that struck your group yesterday.”
June Tolliver glanced up and briefly met my gaze. “It was no tragedy. He had it coming.”
“June!” One bark from Claytie and she pressed her lips together.
What a jerk. I decided to tackle him head on. “Who do you think killed Royal?”
He flinched. “Why ask me?”
I ignored his question and gestured toward the living and dining rooms, where eleven people sat scarfing down Birdie’s delicious breakfast. “Didn’t you bring all those people here?”
Again, he appeared off balance. “The Watsons left a note offering to help. We called last night.”
“Then you have access to a cell phone?”
“Of course. Everyone does. Mystical Feather isn’t a prison!”
“I’m asking you about Royal because you seem to be the one in control now. Am I right?”
He didn’t reply right away, as if deciding how to answer.
June leaned toward him and murmured, “We’re both in charge, remember?”
“Relax, Claytie,” I said. “We saw you leading a prayer group when the shooting happened. So, I’m guessing you were able to convince your flock to leave the compound with you this morning.”
“First of all,” he sniffed, “we were not praying. We were communing with our spirit guides.”
“My mistake.”
“Second of all, these people are not my flock, they’re my spiritual brothers and sisters. They joined June and me voluntarily.”
“Why would all these people be eager to leave their home and follow you?” I stabbed the last bite of pastry with my fork, pushed it through the sugary goop on my plate, and popped it in my mouth. I enjoyed watching him shift in his seat.
“Not all of them live at Mystical Feather. Seven of them were there on a retreat. But all of them trust us because we have a history with Madam Natasha.”
I glanced at Birdie. “A history?”
June Tolliver took a deep breath. “Claytie and I stayed at Mystical Feather for a year shortly after we left the Aquarius commune at the end of the sixties. When Natasha was still alive. It was a wonderful place back then. Peaceful, spiritual, affirming. We were her favorites, right, Claytie?”
“June...” He put his hand on her arm, but she shook it off.
So she does have some spunk. Good for her. “Did Royal live on the commune back then?”
“Oh yes.” Her voice took on the authority of an eyewitness. “He and his twin sister, Eugenie, both lived there with Natasha in that big white house. Eugenie had the gift, just like her mother. But her brother, Royal, seemed lazy and not interested. He was distracted by his hormones, if you catch my meaning. Even though Natasha never said anything, I sensed he was a great disappointment to her.”
“Junie...” Claytie’s voice singsonged a warning, which she ignored.
“At any rate, Claytie and I left the retreat to start a business but returned to Mystical Feather for a month of classes and meditation every summer. After Natasha died, things began to change, but we continued our annual visits.”
By this time, Denver had dragged a fifth chair to the table and he and Birdie sat listening quietly.
I reached for the pot in the middle of the table and poured myself another cup of coffee. “How did her death change things?”
June also helped herself to a refill. With each satisfying sip, she seemed to grow bolder. “We were here in nineteen seventy-five when Natasha died suddenly. We never even knew she was ill.”
“How did she die?”
“They said her heart failed.”
“They said? Was there an autopsy?”
June finally made brief eye contact with Claytie. He wagged his head once and muttered softly, “Don’t...”
CHAPTER 13
June Tolliver seemed only too glad to talk about her suspicions. “They said Natasha had a weak heart. But she was a lifelong vegan in her early sixties with no prior heart trouble. Besides, she and I were like sisters. She would’ve told me if she were ill. No. Claytie and I became convinced she was helped to the grave.”
There it was. The FBI had also suspected foul play. But where was the proof if the autopsy didn’t find anything amiss? “Did you or Claytie ever discuss your suspicions with anyone?”
“No. Besides, Royal had her body cremated the day the coroner released it. Hard to prove foul play from a pile of ashes.”
“Did you ever ask Natasha’s spirit what happened to her?”
June sniffed. “She wouldn’t say.”
So much for being close as sisters. “Please clarify something for me. I’ve heard Mystical Feather called both a commune and a retreat. How does that work?”
June sounded like she’d repeated her answer many times before. “Not everyone on the mountain lives there permanently. Aside from the members of the commune, we have various programs for visitors who are searching for spiritual enlightenment. In our bookstore we have brochures outlining classes lasting anywhere from one weekend to one month.”
“What prompted you to live at Mystical Fe
ather full time?”
Claytie placed his elbows on the table, closed his eyes, and rested his forehead in his hands. His voice came softly this time. “Seven years ago, we ran into Royal at a summer solstice celebration in Sedona, Arizona.”
Just like Birdie and Denver. Sedona must’ve been Royal’s preferred hunting ground.
Claytie continued. “He was very friendly. Said his mother’s spirit often came to him when he needed advice. He claimed that while meditating the night before, her spirit told him to invite us to return to Ojai as full-time members of the commune. He called us ‘the elect,’ and we fell for it.”
“Oh my goodness.” Birdie gasped. “That’s the same thing he told us.”
Claytie squirmed and sighed. “Unfortunately, we weren’t as smart as you. We should’ve checked him out beforehand. Instead, we sold our house and our business and turned over everything we had to the trust.”
“What was your business?” I asked.
“We manufactured earth-friendly sandals made out of recycled tires and plastic bottles.”
How much money can there be in old tire sandals?
Claytie seemed to read my thoughts. He puffed out his chest. “Zero Footprint Sandals are sold in seven different countries. We were very successful.”
June reached over and stroked Claytie’s neck. “Be careful, Papa. Remember your blood pressure.”
Claytie ignored her. “As soon as Royal got hold of our assets, he started a spending spree. That red Mercedes is just the latest in a string of cars he bought over the years. I tried to talk some sense into him, but he ignored me.
“And that’s when the visions started,” said June.
Oh, oh, here we go.... “Visions?”
“Oh, yes!” she nodded vigorously. “Natasha’s spirit returned to me again and again during my private meditations and in my dreams. She said I was the only one she could confide in. Just like the old days. She begged us to stay and protect her legacy of the Mystical Feather Society and all the people in the commune.”
“The only one she confided in?” That was pretty grandiose. “She was your spirit guide, then?”
June looked at the table and chuckled. “More like best friend on the earthly plane! Royal was jealous of me because I was her favorite. Natasha urged me to stop him from depleting the trust. Since Claytie had business experience, she said he should take over the whole shebang.”
Claytie took up his wife’s narrative. “I cornered Royal one day and convinced him that he needed some day-to-day help running the commune and the bookstore, as well as scheduling classes and retreats. And since I had business experience, I persuaded him to let me help.”
“That’s right,” June said. “Royal was only too happy to leave the paperwork to someone else. We scheduled him for ‘speaking tours,’ often sending him away for weeks at a time. Of course, we never did anything without Natasha’s approval.”
“Junie and I took take care of the commune while he was gone.”
“During his absence, how did you buy food and pay the bills if Royal controlled the finances?”
Claytie traced little figure eights on the tabletop with his finger. “He set me up as a second signatory on what he called the household account. It was a little pot of money we used to buy food and maintenance supplies. Royal transferred money from the trust to the household account on the first of every month. My task was to stretch those funds to cover the expenses for the next thirty days.”
“It sounds like you took on a lot of responsibility,” I said.
“Keeping the commune going was one thing, but, in other matters, we weren’t as successful.”
“How do you mean?” I asked.
June took an angry breath. “Royal liked only young women. He took advantage of them. Someone told us that, in the past, if one got pregnant, he’d force her to get an abortion. If she refused, he’d kick her off the mountain.”
I put my cup on the table. “So, who will run the place now he’s gone?”
The Tollivers looked at one another and Claytie said, “We certainly didn’t plan on it, but I guess it’s got to be me.”
“Why do you say that?” I asked.
Claytie sighed. “I’m the one who’s most familiar with the day-to-day operation of the commune. And nobody else wants to do it.”
“You mentioned a small household account. What happens when that money runs out? How will you pay the bills?”
“Every time Royal went on tour, he signed a temporary power of attorney for me to use only in the case of emergency. I guess I’ll be using that now.”
June smiled and patted her husband’s hand. “My husband is going to do everything he can to keep Mystical Feather going.”
“Thank you for being so candid with me. I have one last question. There are rumors that Royal killed certain members in order to make room for new people who could replenish the money he bled from the Mystical Feather Trust. Do either of you know anyone who disappeared?”
June looked at the table and sighed. “Well, of course there was Natasha’s mysterious death.”
Claytie squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed them with his fingers. Then he looked up with fatigue written in the crevices around his mouth. “We heard rumors. The first one we know of was Royal’s twin sister, Eugenie. She disappeared right after their mother’s death.”
“Do you think Royal killed her, too?” I asked.
“I asked, but Natasha’s spirit was never specific,” June said. “At first, everyone thought Eugenie had gone away to grieve for her mother. But she never returned, and nobody knows, to this day, where she went. Between you and me, I’m sure Royal killed her, too, and buried her body somewhere in these mountains.”
After the Tollivers told me their story, I said, “That brings us right back to my original question. Who do you think killed Royal St. Germain?”
“It had to be someone outside our group,” said Claytie. “You saw for yourself. We were in the middle of a séance when he was shot.”
“Were there any members who didn’t attend the séance?” I asked.
“The police asked us the same question. To my recollection, everyone was there.”
Birdie grabbed the end of her braid. “Claytie, dear, is it possible someone left the séance without being noticed?”
“Everyone holds hands during a séance. They’d have to break the circle to leave, and that didn’t happen.”
Birdie persisted. “When we first looked in on you, everyone in the circle had their eyes closed. Isn’t it possible someone took advantage of that and left without being seen?”
“No.” Claytie shook his head. “Like I said, if the sacred circle is broken, the connection to the spirit world dies. It’s like pulling the plug on the TV. No electric current, no picture.”
When I’d been present at a séance led by Paulina, she’d said the same thing. Keep holding hands. Under no circumstances break the connection until I tell you it’s safe to do so. Always the Jewish mother, I had to ask. “You were sitting on the floor for hours. What would happen if someone urgently needed a potty break?”
June half-smiled.
Another member of the weak bladder sisterhood.
“We usually take care of personal needs before we begin.”
“What’s your next move?” I asked. “Does your power of attorney allow you to control the remaining trust funds? What about the property in Ojai?”
“Royal said the balance in the trust account was running dangerously low, but he said not to worry. He’d just recruited rich new blood.”
“That means us.” Birdie scowled. “How could we have been that gullible? After you discovered what was really going on, why in the world didn’t you leave, Claytie?”
“Those who could leave, did,” he said. “But like us, many of the members had given everything to the trust and had nowhere to go. Junie said we couldn’t just abandon them.”
“Especially when Natasha’s spirit begged me to stay,” June ad
ded. “We’re going back up there today. There’s a lawyer in Ojai. A former member. She’ll help us figure that out.”
“What will happen to the people who chose to stay on the mountain? For that matter, what will happen with the people in the other room who chose to leave? Do you have a plan?”
June smoothed back a loose strand of gray hair that had fallen over her eye. “Six of them are retreat visitors. Obviously, they had to cut their session short. The other five are commune members who are leaving Mystical Feather for good.”
“That’s right,” said Birdie. “Denny and I have offered to help them reconnect with their families. Meantime, they’ll stay with us until that happens.”
“And the rest?” I gestured vaguely toward the north. “The ones who want to stay on the mountain?”
Claytie reached for the last of his coffee. “Like Junie said before, we’re headed back there today. We’ll continue to take care of everyone until this whole mess is resolved.”
I pushed my chair back and stood. “Thanks for talking to me.” I removed the small notepad I always carried in my purse and wrote down their phone number. Then I handed them a slip of paper with my number. “If you can think of anything else that might help, please give me a call.”
Claytie took the paper but June plucked it out of his hand. “Why exactly are you investigating Royal’s murder? You’re not the law.”
How should I answer? No, but I’m engaged to a federal agent and my son-in-law is an LAPD detective who once arrested me? “I feel guilty because I was the one who insisted we visit Mystical Feather.”
“I thought that was Denny.” Birdie looked confused.
“It doesn’t matter.” I wished I hadn’t made a point of confusing her. “The hard truth is one person is dead, and you and Denver no longer have your Winnebago.”
I didn’t want to add that I suspected Paulina and her brother Mansoor might’ve had something to do with the murder. I still hadn’t figured out how or why.
CHAPTER 14