“Let’s take a selfie!” Suki said.
Before Annabelle could grasp what was happening, Suki and Sally had crowded around her. Suki held out her phone and took one photo after another, adjusting the angles, as she pouted and posed like an experienced model.
“Here, let’s take Annabelle on her own. It’s not everyday a vicar gets to look like this. There has to be evidence!”
Suki and Sally moved away from Annabelle as quickly as they’d moved in, and Suki took more pictures, pressing the button on her phone repeatedly.
“Smile, Annabelle, smile!”
Annabelle smiled shyly. She felt a little awkward. “Throw your hair back, girlfriend! Flick it! Go on!”
“Well, I, er, don’t norm— Oh, what the heck,“ Annabelle tossed her head and twisted her shoulders sideways to the camera in poses she’d seen the other two women hold.
“That’s it!” Suki called out, snapping away. “You can even pout, you know, push those lips out. Show us what you’ve got.”
“Thank you,” Annabelle said, standing up. “But I think that’s enough, now.”
“We’ve got to go, Sukes. It’s nearly time,” Sally said. “Is your mother joining us?” Sally tossed a white shift over her head and stepped into a pair of white slip-ons.
“Good grief, no. You know what she’s like. Wouldn’t be seen dead at such a thing. Give me your phone number, Annabelle. I’ll text these to you.”
The voice that sounded suspiciously like Philippa’s was starting to gain momentum in Annabelle’s head. She was feeling a little uncomfortable about what had just happened, but she gave Suki her number. Her phone pinged as the photos arrived.
“You go ahead, I’ll catch up,” Annabelle said. The two women hurried out of the door.
She sat down and opened up Suki’s text. She had sent Annabelle five photos, two of the three of them, three of Annabelle on her own.
Annabelle scrolled back and forth between them, admiring Sally’s work, and marveling at the glamor it bestowed upon all the women, but unsure it was entirely fitting for a woman of the cloth. There was one photo that caught her eye in particular. It was one of her by herself, a close-up, spontaneous. Her hair was back off her face, she must have just “flicked it.” She was looking at a point beyond the camera from one side, her mouth curved in just a hint of a smile. The light of the room had combined with the colorful makeup to enhance the natural bright blue of her eyes and the pleasing contours of her face. Even Annabelle could see she looked quite lovely, radiant. A well of pride grew in her chest.
“Roger. I’ll send it to Roger, he lives far enough away.” Her brother lived on a remote Scottish island with his daughter. “Bonnie will find it fun, too.”
CHAPTER NINE
The bonfire raged in the middle of a clearing in the woods, far away from the house. Yellow flames licked and wrapped their way around the logs, branches, leaves, and twigs that the members of the Petrie Brotherhood had collected from the estate in the days prior. Sparks shot into the air, glowing brightly against the black and blue sky as they rose, burning themselves out of existence on their downward arc. Lanterns hung from the trees, and lines of sparkling lights were strewn between them.
The group held hands in a line by the fire. The heat warmed their faces, the smell of smoke filled their nostrils, and in Thomas’ case, made him sneeze. The group swayed from side to side in unison, their eyes closed. They were humming quietly.
Annabelle felt her skin prickle. The huge bonfire continued to crackle and pop. She worried the fire might spread. Everything was so dry that it wouldn’t take much more than a single spark. The oppressive atmosphere of earlier had lifted, but the heat of the day hadn’t dissipated. In the distance, she heard a low rumble of thunder.
She sat on the stump of a tree some yards away. She had declined to take part in the ceremony, choosing to take the role of observer. Sally, Suki, and Julia were all dressed in white, their masks partially obscuring their faces, while Thomas and Scott wore fearsome headgear made from a patchwork of matted, dark gray and brown fur. Large, hooked plastic noses protruded from below the eyes that were small and beady on one mask, glowing and green on the other. Real, crusty horns curled outward while wide, grinning mouths revealed many tiny, sharp teeth. Human eyes could be seen peering from behind them. Pheasant feathers fanned around the necks and flared out across the shoulders, the rich, speckled shades of brown and rust adding some beauty, but not enough to offset the hideousness.
The bodies of the two men were clothed in brown fur. At their feet were wooden clubs and long leather whips. They looked fiendish, grotesque, devastating.
The group in front of the fire was getting louder now, swaying more wildly, their eyes closed. They dropped hands and moved apart. Scott picked up a drum made from animal skin stretched across a wooden barrel. He began to thump it slowly, creating a low, steady, beat. Suki banged a stick against a huge metal triangle. Julia strummed a tiny banjo. It was a cacophony of tuneless, random sounds.
Barnaby poked out from Julia’s pocket, his little head popping up shyly before bobbing out of sight again. Sally and Thomas continued to sway to the music, Thomas moving self-consciously. Even though the men were clad head to foot in costume, their movements gave them away. Scott, for all his bulk had rhythm, while Thomas had none at all.
Deep in the trees, a man’s voice boomed. It was Theo. He was suspended high up in a tree, standing on a platform. He still had on the shirt and jeans he had been wearing earlier. By his feet was a Darthamort mask.
At the sound of his voice, the others stopped their noise. They stood still, waiting as Theo, his feet apart, held a large, smoked glass bowl high in front of him, chanting something Annabelle couldn’t quite hear. In his hand, he held a suede baton. A deep, booming note resounded from the bowl as he hit it gently. It vibrated in the air, the sound getting louder as the seconds passed before the note eventually faded away.
Theo set aside the bowl and cupped his hands around his mouth to shout over the noise of the crackling fire.
“Dear followers, we gather here to celebrate St. Petrie and his brother, Lord Darthamort. We honor their blessings and worship their souls. We praise them, praise all living things who show us what it is to be sentient beings, of what is good and right.” Theo dropped his hands and looked down. He caught sight of Annabelle and smiled. He raised one hand to his mouth again and gestured to her with his other.
“We are further blessed this evening by the presence of the mighty Reverend Annabelle Dixon.”
Annabelle shifted awkwardly on the tree trunk, uncomfortable at being incorporated into this strange ritual and unsure where it was leading.
“Her presence is a sign that further demonstrates we are on the right path.”
Annabelle sat bolt upright. She started to object, raising her arm, pointing a finger skyward. “Hey, I say, that’s—”
But Theo carried on.
He raised his face to the now dark, starless sky, his arms outstretched, his eyes closed.
“Join us, join us, Lord Darthamort, St. Petrie. Guide us, your faithful servants to your glory. Praise be, praise the Lord, Lord Darthamort. Amen.”
Annabelle jumped up indignantly and stood on the tree stump. “Stop! Stop!” she shouted, but her voice was drowned out by a bone-shaking roll of thunder. The sky lit up as a streak of lightning tore across it.
The group around the bonfire yelled in unison, “Praise be! Praise the Lord! Lord Darthamort! Amen!” They each reached down and threw something into the fire. In the darkness, Annabelle couldn’t see clearly, but she caught sight of a shadowy shape projected against the backlight of the flames. Horseshoes. They were throwing horseshoes. As they released them into the fire, the group ran, scattering into the trees, whooping, screaming, and yelling. Annabelle watched them wide-eyed, her fists clenched. She was left alone by the bonfire. Another flash of lightning split the sky.
There was a roar at her shoulder, and she screamed. She leapt off the tree stump
and stepped back. Bright green eyes shone back at her, white teeth standing out in the gloom. There was a cackle, a voice she recognized as Scott’s before he ran away, roaring back into the trees.
Annabelle, unwilling to be caught off-guard again, looked quickly in all directions. A woman’s shriek pierced the air followed by a laugh. Annabelle wondered if she were being silly. Perhaps she needed to lighten up. She started to walk into the woods.
Every few yards, young, spindly saplings were interspersed with older trees, their large brown trunks providing good coverage and hiding places. Annabelle weaved in and out, catching sight of flashes of white while hearing footsteps and rustling, roars and squeals, as the shadowy hunters and their pale prey ran between trees and behind bushes. The sounds of leather slapped against trees snapped through the air. Annabelle lurched toward the sounds, rebounding through the trees like a pinball in a game that was permanently in play. Disoriented, she stumbled as flashes of lightning and rumbles of thunder continued to clash violently overhead.
A Darthamort figure ran up to her, roaring feet from her face, whipping his leather rope on the ground and slicing fallen leaves in two. This time, Annabelle didn’t balk at this attempt at intimidation. She smartly stepped aside behind a tree trunk putting distance between them, hiding her fear beneath an upturned chin and quick footwork. Her assailant cracked his whip and roared once more before running off.
She’d had just about enough of this. Philippa was right. This was a silly, mischievous joke at best, an evil, manipulative stunt dressed up as an honorable, fervent ritual at worst. She thought back to the scene with furious Richard Venables. Perhaps Theo was the kind of person to prey on souls who were looking for redemption. Perhaps Theo targeted them and led them astray.
Annabelle stalked through the woods toward Lolly Lane. The ground underfoot was bumpy and covered with low brush. More than once, her feet were ambushed and ensnared by tough, wiry vines like animals in a trap. Driven by her desire to get home to safety, warmth, and comfort, she blindly pressed on. Branches brushed her face, startling her. She pushed them aside.
Finally, when she could no longer hear the roars and screams through the trees, she saw the lights of the Hamilton’s and Cuddy’s cottages. Thank goodness, not too much longer now. Ooof!
Annabelle flew through the air. She landed on her front with a thud. She closed her mouth too late and scooped up a mouthful of the wood’s floor. Gasping, spitting leaves and dirt, she pushed herself to her hands and knees to see what had caused her to fall.
She could see a shadowy outline behind her and gingerly put out her hand to pat the lump. It was soft but inert. She felt fur, rough, wiry, sharp even. She felt tiny, hard, jagged teeth. Her eyes widened in the dark as she attempted to see what she was feeling and frantically moved her hands around, patting the features she could feel under her fingertips. When she felt the bony curves of two horns, she jumped to her feet with a yelp.
Above her, there was another flash of lightning, illuminating the sight in front of her before it all went black again. Annabelle sat down on the ground. She could no longer see what faced her, but she knew what was there. For in the second of light that the storm had provided, she had clearly seen what had brought her down. She now sat next to a gruesome sight, a man’s body lying on the forest floor, his arms outstretched. Before the darkness prevailed again, she had noticed the small, black mark in the center of his chest.
Annabelle leaned over to wrestle off his headgear as another streak of lightning lit her up from above. Large, fat raindrops plopped down onto the man’s face. He didn’t flinch. His face had settled into a different kind of mask. As the light disappeared again, Annabelle peered around, looking for help, a clue, anything. She listened, hoping to hear noises above the sounds of the thunder, but she heard nothing. Even the squeals and the cracks of whips had ceased.
She sat back on her haunches, covering the man’s wound with her hands, willing for there to be movement beneath them.
But in the woods, among the trees and the animals, under the black, oppressive sky, Theo Westmoreland lay quite dead, as though in sacrifice to the saviors he worshiped.
For there could be no doubt, the placement of his wound was too precise.
Theo had been brutally murdered.
CHAPTER TEN
Annabelle dropped her head to pray, but bushes rustled behind her, disturbing her. Her heart jumped. She turned toward the sound to see Thomas, a camera on a strap around his neck. He was no longer in costume, and as he raised his camera to his face, light from his flash lit up the scene before him.
“Reverend—” he stopped abruptly. “What’s going on?” His voice rose to a falsetto on the last syllable.
“Theo has come a cropper,” Annabelle said, her voice shaking.
Thomas crouched. “Is he d–dead?” his hand hovering over Theo’s body.
“Looks to me like he was shot, once through the chest. Probably killed him instantly.” Annabelle looked at Thomas carefully.
Thomas’ hand continued to hover above Theo’s body. His breathing was heavy.
“Who c–could have done this?” he said.
“We must call the police. And gather up the others.”
“Listen, it’s q–quiet now. The rain m–must have sent them indoors. They’ll be sheltering inside.”
Annabelle punched 999 into her phone. “Police, please.” She was put through. “I’d like to report a suspicious death.” She gave the details to the operator and hung up.
“What should we do n–now?” Thomas asked her.
“Well, I need to stay with the body until the police arrive. You could go up to the house.”
“If I do that, I’ll h–have to tell them what happened. I don’t think I could do that, Vicar.”
“Fair enough. Let’s put that off until we have to.”
They moved over to a fallen tree and sat next to one another to wait. The tops of the trees above them were providing good cover against the rain, but slowly and steadily their clothes became plastered to their bodies and their hair.
“You’re wearing regular clothes,” Annabelle said. “What happened to your costume?”
“What? Oh, I took my c–costume off as soon as we ran into the trees. I always do that. I’ve no interest in running around roaring, chasing people, scaring them. Not my th–thing at all.”
“So what have you been doing while everyone’s been running around?”
“What I always do, Reverend.” He grasped his camera. “P–pictures. I got some great night shots, especially of the s–storm.”
They heard a shout and the sounds of people walking through brush. Leaves parted, and Sally and Scott appeared a few yards away, beams of light from flashlights illuminating their path. Sally had removed her mask, Scott had dispensed with his headdress but not his costume. Annabelle jumped up, putting her hands to her face to protect her eyes as the light from Scott’s torch immediately found her.
“Have you seen Theo?” Sally asked. “He hasn’t turned up at the house.” It must have been raining hard beyond the trees, because both Scott and Sally were drenched. Strings of hair framed Sally’s face and her white skirt clung.
“Yes, um…”
Sally took a step toward Annabelle.
“Don’t come any further, Sally!”
“What is it? What have you got there?” Sally peered around Annabelle at the figure on the floor.
“Is that—? Is that— Theo! Oh, my gosh! Theo!”
She lurched forward, but Scott grabbed her. Sally struggled against him, but he held her firmly around her waist.
“I’m very sorry,” Annabelle’s voice was gentle.
“Is he dead, Vicar?” Scott’s voice was gruff.
“I’m afraid he is.”
The sound of Sally’s wail rose as she sagged against Scott, who struggled to hold her upright.
“We’re waiting for the police. They’ll be here soon.”
“Who found him, Reverend?�
� Scott asked, his voice still low and hoarse.
“I did. I tripped over him on my way back to my car.”
Sally let out another wail.
“Calm down, Sally lass,” Scott urged her. Sally pulled herself furiously out of Scott’s grasp and sat cross-legged on the ground among the leaves. She put her head in her hands like a petulant child before exclaiming, “Oh, but what about Suki? And Margaret? They need to know. We must tell them! Oh poor, poor Theo!” Sally looked at Scott frantically.
“They mustn’t come down here. It’s a potential crime scene,” Annabelle said.
“A crime scene?”
“He may have been killed deliberately. Shot,” Thomas said, provoking another wail from Sally.
Scott put his hands on his head. “No, no, no.”
“You must keep the others away, Scott,” Annabelle reiterated.
He nodded. “I’ll make sure they stay up at the house.”
“I’ll come with you,” Thomas said. He helped Sally up, took her other side, and the three of them stumbled their way back through the trees, leaving Annabelle alone in the woods with the body once more.
She shivered and looked around. She scrubbed at her face with a mixture of leaves and grass, hoping to remove the makeup, which now seemed wholly inappropriate, from her face. Her phone pinged. She looked down. It was a text from Mike. He’d sent her a photo of the dogs lying by the fire in her cottage. He’d taken it the day before he left for his conference. She smiled.
What are you doing?
She looked over at Theo’s body.
Sitting in the woods with a dead body for company.
She pressed the back delete button before retyping her message.
Just sitting around. You?
Finished my homework. Ready for tomorrow’s session on The Role of Counter-Drones in Rural and Community Policing. Bound to be riveting. Now to bed. Early start.
Good night, Mike. Sleep tight.
You too, Annabelle. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.
Killer at the Cult Page 6