Текст книги "One Book in the Grave"

Автор книги: Kate Carlisle

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

Chapter 12

It was after ten o’clock when we pulled into Jackson’s driveway. His house was perfectly situated on the top of a hill with 360-degree views that would allow us to see the entire valley. I was certain Max would be safe here for as long as he stayed.

A while ago in the car, I’d reached Jackson on my cell phone and explained the situation. It was fine with him, since he wasn’t going to be home for a few days.

“Where are you?” I’d asked.

He’d hesitated, then said, “Paris.”

“Paris, Texas?” I wondered, half kidding.

“No.”

“What are you doing in Paris, France?”

“You don’t want to know.”

My brother traveled a lot on business, but seeing as how his main business was the commune winery, I didn’t see why he was trying to keep the trip a big secret.

Now as we all hurried toward the house with Max’s things, I caught up with Derek. “Do you think we should call Inspector Lee?”

“No,” Max said from right behind me. “No police. Not yet.”

“But, Max—”

“Sorry, but this is my life we’re talking about.”

I used my key to open up the house, and we walked in and piled Max’s belongings near the staircase leading upstairs. I kept Clyde in his cat carrier for now, placing the sturdy bag on the Oriental rug near the hearth.

Max looked around, studied the wall of river rock that surrounded the fireplace, the dark green sofa and two leather chairs, the rough wood coffee table, the entertainment center opposite the fireplace. Then he turned to me. “Nice place.”

I nodded. “I hope you’ll be safe and happy here.”

He brushed his hair back with both hands. “Look, Brooklyn. I don’t care if these cops are your pals. The first thing they’ll do is arrest me for murder, then ask questions later.”

Derek glanced at me but said nothing. We both knew what Max said was true.

As Max crossed the room to check out the sliding glass door, he said, “Just give me a few days before you call the cops. I need to find some answers first.”

“We’ll get answers,” Derek assured him.

Max turned and stared out at the dark night sky. “I want to talk to Angelica.”

I sputtered in protest.

Gabriel was more succinct as he walked in and dropped another duffel bag next to the couch. “Not a good idea.”

Max whipped around. “Why not? She’ll talk to me.”

“Don’t go anywhere near her,” he warned. “Not unless you’re ready to bring in the police. Let us do some investigating first.”

“Damn it.” He sat on the couch and rested his elbows on his knees. “I guess you’re right, but I just feel useless. And I’m worried about Emily. I want to make sure she’s safe before anything else happens.”

“Then you definitely shouldn’t talk to Angelica,” I said firmly. I didn’t have to add what I was thinking. From the looks on their faces, everyone knew. Emily had been a target before. If crazy Angie knew Max was back in the area, she might be inclined to eliminate her competition.

And once again, I was reminded that Emily still hadn’t called me back. Was she simply out of town, or had something sinister happened to her? If I didn’t hear from her by tomorrow, I vowed to call her back.

Now I took a moment to gaze around the room. I loved Jackson, but he was definitely my most elusive brother, so I hadn’t been here in a while. I’d forgotten how beautiful this place was. One of the men in the commune had come up with the design, and Jackson and a few of the commune members had built the two-story, craftsman-style mountain lodge.

The main room was two stories tall, open and welcoming, with dark wood walls and floors, and one wall that was almost all glass. It overlooked the rocky canyon below and the rolling, vine-covered ridge on the opposite side. The house was surrounded on three sides by a balcony wide and strong enough to hold a hot tub, a barbecue grill, and plenty of patio furniture.

The staircase near the front door led up to three bedrooms and a small office that acted as a balcony overlooking the first-floor living room. I took a minute and jogged upstairs to find the most suitable room for Max. Besides the master bedroom, there was one room that held Jackson’s weights and the other was used for a guest room. I checked that there were clean sheets on the bed, then called out Max’s name. After I showed him the room, he stowed his duffel bag against the wall, and we walked downstairs to find Derek and Gabriel talking logistics.

“What’s up?” Max asked.

“I’ll be sleeping here on the couch tonight,” Gabriel announced. “Just a precaution.”

“You sure that’s necessary?” Max said.

“Yes,” Derek said, closing the door to any arguments.

“Fine,” Max conceded. “So, what’s the plan?”

“You hunker down here for a few days,” Gabriel said. “Tomorrow morning, if it’s not raining, I’ll drive back to your farm. I want to find the exact spot where the shooter stood, see if he or she left anything there. He’s been careful so far, but if he was in a hurry, he might’ve neglected to police the area and left a cartridge behind. There might be footprints. A gum wrapper. Who knows?”

Max nodded. “Sounds good.”

“And since there’s a slim chance that the bad guys will think you’re still living there, I’ll check to make sure your neighbors are safe.”

“Thank you.” Max clenched his fists. “Damn it, I never even thought of that.”

“It’s okay, Max,” I said. “You and I aren’t wired to think in those terms, but these guys are.”

He gazed sideways at Derek and Gabriel. “Then I guess it’s a good thing they’re on our side.”

“Yeah, it is,” I said, smiling.

But Max was still tense. “I told Sam to be careful, but I’d better call him in the morning and make sure he understands. I don’t want his boys to go to my place alone.”

“Good idea,” Gabriel said, keeping his tone casual.

“I’m already tired of this,” Max admitted.

“It’ll be over soon,” I assured him.

“I hope to hell you’re right.” He paced a few feet, then turned. “I want to see Emily.”

“Not a good idea,” Gabriel said. “Whoever’s behind this might be watching her, too.”

“All the more reason to check that she’s safe.”

I glanced at the men. “I left a phone message for her, but I haven’t heard back.”

“She could already be in danger,” Max said.

I pulled my cell phone out of my bag to double-check my messages, then groaned. “My battery’s dead. I can’t tell if she called or not.”

“Don’t you have your charger with you?” Derek asked.

“No, I didn’t pack it.” Stupid move on my part, but I’d figured we’d be back home by now. My mistake.

“I’ll drive back to the city in the morning and pick it up for you,” Derek said.

“You will?”

“I know you want to stay here.”

“You do?”

His lips twisted in a smile. Of course he knew. There was no way I would simply drop Max off at Jackson’s and drive back to the city.

“Look. There’s probably another reason why Emily hasn’t called you back,” Max said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I’ve been gone three years. She’s moved on by now. I never even gave her a ring. She doesn’t even have the book to remember me by.”

I stared at him in surprise. “Jeez, Max, it’s not like she threw the book away. She was planning to keep it forever. She didn’t even want me to restore it.”

“Maybe not, but as far as she knows, I’ve been dead for three years. She might’ve sold it by now, anyway.”

I slapped his arm lightly. “Dude, it was stolen. You need to have a little faith.”

“I gave up on faith a long time ago, Brooklyn.”

I stared heavenward. “Where’s my violin?”

“Brooklyn,” Derek said in a warning tone.

“Max knows I love him,” I said to Derek, then smacked Max’s arm again. “That’s a love tap and my little way of telling you to lose the doom-and-gloom attitude. We’ve all had a long day, and your whimpering is starting to bug me.”

He frowned back at me and we had a brief standoff. Finally he said, “I’m a soulful artist, Brooks. Doom and gloom is my stock-in-trade.”

“Oh, please.” I made a scoffing sound. “You make goat cheese.”

He flinched, then choked out a laugh. “Come here.” He grabbed me in a choke hold and gave my head a noogie.

“Stop it,” I cried, laughing as I slapped at him like a little girl. “I’m too old for this.”

He let me go and we both collapsed on the couch. We really were like brother and sister. It was amazing that we’d fallen back into the same old behavior patterns so quickly.

After a minute, I pushed myself off the couch. “I’ve got something to show you.” I found my bag, pulled out Beauty and the Beast and handed it to him.

Max unwrapped the tissue paper and stared at the book for a long time. Opening it, he ran his fingers over the dedication he’d written to Emily a little more than three years ago.

“I’m just going to say this once,” I murmured, standing next to the couch. “You should’ve had more faith in her.”

He looked up at me and smiled crookedly. “You said it once already, so that makes twice.”

“Okay, smart-ass,” I said, smiling. “That’s the last time I’ll say it.”

He studied the book, his slow breaths in and out the only sounds he made. A minute later, the smile was gone as he gazed at me again. “I lost faith in everyone, Brooklyn. I was thirty-two years old, but in a lot of ways, I was still a kid and scared to death. I couldn’t deal with the insanity, so I ran. Maybe that was a mistake, but I couldn’t see any other way out. And I’d do the same thing again in a heartbeat to keep Emily safe.”

“Oh, Max.” I sat and wrapped him up in a bear hug, then used his shirt to wipe the sappy tears from my eyes.

Derek and I drove back to my parents’ house later that night and managed to get a good night’s sleep in my luxuriously decorated bedroom.

When I woke up the next morning, I had a plan fully formed in my mind. I knew how we could find the answers to our biggest questions from last night.

The plan was simple. The Art Institute was close to Dharma, barely eight miles away in nearby Sonoma. The students and professors all lived in the area. Some were in my own family. Why not enlist their help?

“It’s not only simple and easy, it’s also subtle,” I announced, as Mom placed a platter of eggs, bacon, potatoes, and fruit in front of me. She’d insisted on waiting on all of us this morning. There was a smaller plate of toast, butter, and several different jams. Enough to feed a medium-sized country, as usual. “Are we expecting company?”

“Are we?” Mom said cryptically.

“Okay,” I said, letting that go. People had b

Mom’s ears perked up. “I can be subtle. What’s the plan?”

Derek walked into the dining room just then and shot me a look of incredulity. No, Mom wasn’t known for her subtlety and Derek knew it, but I figured we could work on it. Derek’s eyes narrowed on me. “What plan is she referring to?”

I took a good, long gander at Derek and had to smile. The man looked way too dapper for someone who had awakened in a strange house at the crack of seven o’clock in the morning. How does he do it? I wondered. He appeared ready to sit down at a baccarat table in Monaco and ante up two million dollars or so, then parachute over a cliff into shark-infested waters to rescue an errant nuclear device.

And he wasn’t even wearing a tuxedo, just jeans with a thick, forest green flannel shirt. So it had to be the British vibe. He’d been born dapper. He’d probably worn dapper diapers. Now, that was a weird image.

I chuckled at the direction of my reverie, then realized he was still watching me as he poured his coffee. He took a sip, then shook his head. “What goes on in that mind of yours?”

His voice was still a bit gravelly, so maybe he did have a tiny chink in his all-too-perfect armor. Good to know.

“You don’t want to know,” I murmured, taking a bite of toast.

“You’re probably right.” He sat down next to me, caught my chin, and angled my face so he could kiss me soundly. “Good morning, love.”

“Good morning,” I whispered.

Mom walked back into the room and set another plate in front of Derek.

“You don’t have to cook for us, Rebecca,” he said.

“Don’t be silly. I love cooking for you.” She sat down across from us and sipped from a cup of tea. “Let’s hear the plan.”

“Yes, let’s do hear all about it,” Derek said with a touch of sarcasm.

Flipping him a supercilious look, I said, “The thing is, Dharma’s a small town. Small-town people pay attention to things going on around them. They see things. They worry. They talk. This is the perfect place to ask questions.”

He shook his head but said nothing, so I continued. “I figured I’d walk around town, talk to people. My sisters might know something. They both took classes at the institute. We’ll noodle around, ask a few questions, and find out what’s going on with Solomon and Angelica.”

Derek leaned his elbow on the table—a very un-British thing to do—and stared at me.

“What?” I asked finally.

He rubbed his jaw in frustration. “You do realize these are the sorts of conversation that scare the hell out of me?”

“But this isn’t dangerous,” I said, grabbing my mug and taking a long sip of coffee. “It’s going to be easy. And we need to find out who was shooting at us yesterday.”

“Somebody was shooting at you?” Mom cried.

I clamped my mouth shut. Crap! I am a loose-lipped nincompoop! Glancing sideways at Derek, I could see he agreed.

“Nobody, Mom,” I said quickly. “It was a hunter who was in the wrong…um…”

“Oh, stop trying to lie,” she said. “You’ve got to be the worst liar in the world.”

“I get that a lot,” I muttered.

“This is why I don’t want you asking questions around town,” Derek said. “It’s dangerous, and now you’ve upset your mother.”

“Darn tootin’, I’m upset,” Mom said. She pressed her hands together in a yoga mudra, closed her eyes, and began to breathe deeply.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” I said. “Okay, yes, someone did take a shot at us out at Max’s farm. Derek’s right. It’s too dangerous to have you asking questions around town. You could get hurt, and I would never forgive myself.”

She popped one eye open. “What kinds of questions are you talking about?”

“Um, well, I was thinking we could ask if there’s anyone in the area who reloads their own ammunition. I’ll pretend I want to learn how.”

“But that’s a lie,” Mom said, opening both eyes and reaching for her teacup.

“Of course it is.”

“You’re no good at lying, remember?”

“I’m working on it, Mom.”

She thought for a moment. “Maybe we should all learn how to reload.”

“Better if you don’t,” Derek said.

“Anyway,” I continued, “if someone gives us a name or two, I thought I would then mention casually that I seem to recall that one of the teachers out at the Art Institute used to do his own reloading.”

“Who’s that?” Mom asked.

I hesitated. Did I really want to get my mother involved in this whole nasty situation?

“She might as well know what she’s getting herself into,” Derek said, taking the decision away from me. “His name is Solomon. He goes by the one name only. He’s dangerous. Do not mention his name to anyone you speak with.”

Mom frowned. “Is he the one who took a shot at you?”

“Possibly.”

She raised her fist in the air. “Then let’s get him.”

“Rebecca, I’m not sure—”

“Don’t you worry about me, sweetie,” Mom said, waving away Derek’s fears. “I’ll just be my friendly old self, nattering up my neighbors. You know, people in small towns do like to talk. And you wouldn’t believe the things they know about their neighbors.”

“I would believe anything at this point,” he said. “I just wish you both would opt for more caution.”

“But we need to move fast,” I said.

“Yes, I agree. But I’m concerned for your safety. The fact is, someone with extremely evil intentions is behind this operation. Don’t forget that they’ve already killed one person and tried to kill one of us.”

“That’s right,” Mom said. “Your bookseller friend was killed.”

Derek nodded. “Yes.”

“Then we need to get on with it,” she said with a determined nod.

I squeezed Derek’s arm. “Besides, you’ll be around to keep watch on things.”

“But I won’t be, darling,” he murmured, touching my cheek. “I have to go back to the city.”

“Oh. Right.” I tried not to show my disappointment, but it was impossible. I hadn’t forgotten, exactly, but I’d hoped…But of course he had to go back to the city. It was Monday, a workday. My sense of time had flown out the window with my phone’s dead battery. I used the phone as both a clock and a calendar.

“I’m sorry, love. I’ll be back as soon as I can get away.”

“Maybe I should go back with you,” I said without enthusiasm.

“No, you stay here with your family and Max. I’ll drive back tonight and bring your phone charger with me.”

“You’ll drive all the way out here to do that?”

He chuckled but didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. His look said he’d drive to the moon for me. At least, that was my interpretation.

“Thank you,” I said. “And please don’t worry. We’ll be fine. I’ll call Gabriel to let him know what we’re doing.”

“Yes, do call him,” Derek said, then checked his wristwatch. “He’s already left for Point Reyes, but he expected to be back by noon.”

“I forgot he was driving out there.” I sighed. I guess I’d forgotten all sorts of things. “Well, then it’ll just be me and Mom.”

“Take extra care while I’m gone, darling,” Derek said, pushing away from the dining table. “You may be stirring up more trouble than you know.”

I smiled and hugged him. “I’ll be surrounded by my family and friends. This is my town. Nothing bad could ever happen to me here.”

“Whoa, sweetie, don’t push your luck.” Mom’s eyes were wide as she quickly rapped her knuckles on the tabletop. “Knock on wood.”

Chapter 13

Derek and I held hands as we walked out to his car. It was still early so the sun hadn’t cleared the hill. The sky was blue and cloudless, but the air was still nippy, though it promised to warm up later. It was so quiet out here, not like the city at all, and we both seemed to notice it at the same time.

The scene was tranquil, uncomplicated, sweet. Naturally anxiety began to dribble through me like an IV drip. Was it my fault that Derek was on the verge of becoming completely domesticated, as my friend Robin had recently observed?

We chatted about the weather and what he planned to accomplish at the office today. He intended to look deeply into Solomon’s and Angelica’s backgrounds to see if there were any red flags. Even though the local sheriff had considered Solomon a pillar of society a few years back, Derek wasn’t convinced—especially in light of what Max had told us about Solomon’s wild parties. Was it possible that the man had escaped arrest all this time?

As he spoke, I flashed back to the moment yesterday when he’d matter-of-factly pulled that serious-looking gun from his jacket on his way out to hunt down a killer.

So he wasn’t completely domesticated yet. I breathed a sigh of relief at the realization, then wondered how one man could be so normal and yet so dangerous at the same time. I didn’t know the answer, but I think it was that very dichotomy in Derek that most appealed to me. Was there something wrong with me that I loved his tough, dangerous side a lot? Was it wrong that I found it thrilling that this guy would go to any lengths, including carrying a gun and hunting down killers, to protect me and the people I loved?

But, hey, I also found it thrilling that he liked to make sandwiches and sit around watching TV, too.

“Your brain is working overtime again,” Derek said as he reached out and pulled me closer, moving his hands up and down my arms and across my shoulders.

“Just thinking about how much I’ll miss you,” I said, and wrapped my arms around him.

“Such a bad liar,” he murmured.

“I’m not lying about that,” I said, laughing.

“No, you’re simply withholding information.”

“Never.”

He chuckled and we stood holding each other for a while, until he leaned back and looked at me. “I know right now isn’t a good time, darling, but once Max’s problems are taken care of and things are back to normal, we have to talk.”

I didn’t like the sound of that. “Is everything okay?”

His eyes were focused on me, intense and indecipherable. “What do you think?”

Am I missing something? “I think everything’s wonderful.”

His knuckles grazed my jawline and moved down my neck, causing shivers and tingles to rise with his touch.

What does he want from me? I mean, besides the usual sexual favors and mindless devotion.

I was kidding, sort of.

“Are you feeling all right?” I asked, serious now.

“Yes.” He kissed me then, touching my lips so tenderly that I went boneless, almost dissolving in his arms. My eyes fluttered open to see him smiling at me in a way that was almost…victorious? Had I just capitulated to something? Was there a contest I didn’t know about?

“Be careful, please,” he murmured, kissing me again. “I love you.”

“And I love you,” I said. It was getting easier to tell him how I felt, especially when he said it first. Was that so wrong? It wasn’t like I needed permission to say it. But it was still nice to hear him say it first. Was I being neurotic? Hell, when it came to matters of the heart, when was I not?

He pulled open the car door and slid into the driver’s seat. “I’ll call you this afternoon when I’m on my way out of the city.”

“Okay. Be safe.”

He flashed me one of his sexy, twisted grins that made my whole body sit up and take notice. I smiled and waved as he started the engine and drove away.

Instead of racing back into the house, I stopped to pull some weeds growing among the flowers along Mom’s walkway.

Derek and I had been together for almost six months now. The fact that we’d managed to maintain a strong relationship, given Derek’s secret security assignments and my odd predilection for finding dead bodies, was a monumental achievement. If that wasn’t love, what was it, right? So why rock the boat when it looked like smooth sailing ahead?

I mentally rolled my eyes. Rock the boat? Smooth sailing? So many clichés, so little time. It was never a good thing to hear myself thinking in clichés.

I had a great-aunt, Aunt Jessica, my dad’s father’s sister, who spoke only in clichés and the occasional mixed metaphor. Instead of ever giving advice or admonishing, Aunt Jessica would nod gravely and say, “Sleeping dogs.” Or she would wink at one of us and murmur, “Bird in the hand.”

So from an early age, my siblings and I recognized the true wisdom of her words. We would outdo one another trying to come up with some ridiculous comment to describe a given situation. Finally, my father outlawed all clichés and silly metaphors. He decreed that we were allowed to think only original thoughts. It was silent at the dinner table for a few nights until he relented. But we learned our lesson, and from then on we did try to avoid clichés like the plague. Ha!

My point was that when I caught myself thinking in metaphors, mixed or otherwise, I knew I was either extremely tired or in serious danger of losing my heart. Both of these circumstances could cause brain cells to diminish. It was a well-known fact.

I just hoped I wasn’t getting stupid where Derek was concerned. He’d told me straight out that he worked in dangerous situations all the time, but maybe I’d missed the subtext. Maybe that meant he didn’t want to face danger when he came home. Maybe that’s what he wanted to talk to me about. Maybe he’d rather come home to someone more settled, someone less likely to stumble over dead bodies. Someone who didn’t attract death like honey attracted flies. Or was it bees?

Didn’t matter. Either way, it was another cliché. Good grief.

“Well, that’s too damn bad, pal,” I said stoutly, as I stood and brushed bits of grass and dirt off my pants. “You’re stuck with me and I’m stuck with you.”

And just like that, I felt better. Lighter. Happier. Weird, but I guessed I would have to pull weeds more often. No wonder Mom often looked and acted so Zen-like. Through her gardening, she had found a way to clear her mind. Good to know.

Walking around the side of the house, I tossed the handful of weeds into the green trash can to be dried and mulched.

Mom was waiting in the kitchen, putting away the last of the breakfast dishes. I smiled at her outfit: work boots and a faded denim jacket over a long-sleeved purple T-shirt and a calf-length crinkly skirt she’d tie-dyed several shades of sage green.

I felt so plain standing next to her in my blue jeans, a thick navy sweater, and loafers.

But her eyes lit up when I walked inside. “There’s my beautiful girl.”

“Mom, you look fabulous.”

She whirled around like a little girl and we both laughed. Then she sobered. “I’m feeling a little antsy about our mission so I’m going to perform a success ritual before we leave.”

Our mission? Ooh, boy. And rituals? God help me. I thought about stopping her, but how could I argue with a success ritual? After all, I’d never admit it to Mom, but I was a little antsy, too. I’d had a few bad dreams last night featuring Solomon and Angelica. And this morning, the same fearful thoughts had been recycling through my mind.

I could picture them both gloating over their malevolence, rubbing their hands in excitement at the power and control they wielded. I would really hate to run into them on the street in Dharma, knowing they’d be able to read the fear and loathing on my face.

As I waited for Mom to gather her herbs and tools, I recalled that summer I taught the bookbinding class at the Art Institute. I had loved my class, loved bookbinding, and enjoyed teaching in general. But any thoughts of pursuing a career as an art teacher had been effectively squelched, thanks to Solomon and Angie.

I suppose it was unfair to blame my decision not to teach solely on the two of them. Academia was a strange, provincial world and I simply didn’t fit in. The insular attitudes of many of the professors and staff were suffocating at best. And Solomon, while fascinating in the classroom, ruled his department like a despot, handing out praise, assignments, and retribution as though he were Julius Caesar.

Angelica was worse. She was gorgeous, yes, but haughty and domineering. And possessive. Not just with Max, I realized now, but with the school itself and the students. This was Angie’s territory and how dared I think I could ever be a part of it?

I shivered, and all of a sudden it struck me that I was still holding on to so much fear of her. I knew I would have to confront her one of these days.

“Assume the position,” Mom said as she walked back into the room. She chuckled at her own joke while she assembled her ritual herbs and tools on the dining room table.

I gave her a look. “Very funny, Mom.”

“Never gets old.”

When my siblings and I were growing up, Mom and Dad used to regale us with tales from the sixties. One of their favorite stories was of the time they were arrested at China Lake for protesting nuclear weapons. (That’s where my sister China was born, the day after Mom was released from jail. My parents were sentimental that way, naming us all after the places where we were born or conceived or, apparently, where they’d spent a night in jail.)

Mom had advised us that when the cops were arresting you, they would tell you to assume the position. That meant you should stand facing a wall with your feet apart and both hands on the wall. The better to be frisked, she explained.

Of course, Dad always maintained that the actual position you were meant to assume was the one where you bent over and kissed your ass good-bye.

So every once in a while, for no apparent reason, one of my parents would suddenly tell us to assume the position. Being obedient children, we would.

Some of us would go with Mom’s position and stand facing the wall. But some—usually my two brothers—would go with Dad’s choice. Mom and Dad would howl with laughter and we would all make faces and roll our eyes at them. My parents were a couple of cards. No wonder we didn’t do drugs; things were zany enough around our house without the added buzz.

Mom placed three small dishes on the table, filled with rosemary, sage, and dried lotus petals to represent memory, concentration, and truth.

“Here, sweetie,” she said, handing me one of the thick sticks of sage she used to cleanse, purify, and eliminate negativity. “You light the sage.”

“Okay.” I took a deep whiff of the sage before I flicked Mom’s lighter on and held it to the top leaves. They began to smoke, then burn. I let the fire spread across the top of the stick before blowing it out. The strong aromatic smoke filled the room.

“I’m lighting the copal, too,” she said, holding another, more bristly looking herbal smudge stick. Copal was a type of tree resin with a mild pine scent that was often used in incense. Mom used it sparingly with other herbs when she needed an extra boost to attract good spirits.

Seeing the copal made me realize she was even more antsy than she was willing to admit. I guess I was, too.

I waved the sage bundle around, making sure the smoke wafted over us both, up and down and around our bodies and over our heads, while she did the same with the copal stick. We probably looked like idiots, and maybe we were, but I usually found Mom’s rituals oddly comforting.

She rested the copal stick in a small pot she’d filled with sand. As she plucked up bits of herbs and petals and sprinkled them in two circles on a piece of white cloth, she chanted,

Sage and rosemary,

Clear our misty minds.

Lotus, lead the way

To the truth that we must find.

Spirit, show yourself to me,

Shine the light that we may see.

Spirit, once this day is done,

Your knowledge and mine will be one.

Mom waved the smoldering copal stick over the herb circles and tapped a tiny bit of ash onto each of them. Then she buried the burnt end of the stick in the bowl of sand and did the same with the sage bundle.

With scissors, she carefully cut the cloth in half and gathered each of the corners together around the little piles of herbs and ash. After tying each of the bundles with a short raffia string to make two small sachets, she handed one to me.

“Hold this close and I’ll do the same. It’ll keep our minds open and our thoughts pure. That way, we’ll recognize the truth when we hear it.”

“Cool.” I slipped my sachet into the pocket of my jeans.