Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 108849 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108849 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
“You, too.” He ended the call.
Laurel sighed. “Abigail was with Norrs the night your mother was killed. For just a second, I thought she might hate you enough to ruin your life and isolate me.”
Huck really didn’t like that woman. “She is diabolical.”
“I think Norrs is in love with her.”
“I agree,” Huck said. “But I don’t see Norrs lying for her, even though he’s obviously clueless when it comes to how dangerous she can be.”
Laurel stretched her neck. “I concur.”
Huck scratched his whiskered jaw. “That leaves us with Jason Abbott as our killer, which means that the murders will now stop. Or . . . there’s another killer. One we haven’t identified yet.”
Laurel sighed. “It’s possible Jason learned to change his MO, but to this degree? I am uncertain.”
“Unfortunately, we’re going to find out.” Now all they could do was wait and see.
Chapter 33
After an extremely early flight from Seattle to Santa Fe, with Huck sleeping the entire way, Laurel greeted the young man who’d arrived to pick them up and scooted to the middle of his truck as Huck lumbered inside and sat next to her. She’d been unable to dissuade him from accompanying her, and he was most certainly disobeying orders from a supervisor in doing so.
“There we go. See, there’s plenty of room,” said the young man, who had introduced himself as Berty One-world. He appeared to be about eighteen, with long blond dreadlocks and engaging green eyes. He tossed their carry-ons unceremoniously into the back of the very dusty, dirty truck before levering himself into the driver’s seat. “How nice of you to come visit us.”
Huck looked outside at the chilly day. “I figured Santa Fe would be warmer.”
“Ah, that’s a myth.” Berty jerked the stick shift into place. “Our days are in the midsixties, and our nights in the thirties. People hear Santa Fe and they think sun, which, you know, is true in the summer.” He competently drove away from the airport. “You’re investigators, huh?”
“We are,” Laurel said quietly. “We’re here to talk to your group about Delta Rivers.”
“Our whole community is rocked by her death. She was the kindest soul you could ever meet.” Berty’s shoulders slumped. On the thin side, he wore dusty jeans and a faded T-shirt with a picture of a watermelon on the front. “I liked her very much.” He glanced at Huck. “I understand she was your mother.”
Huck stiffened. “Supposedly.”
“Yeah. I can see that.” Berty watched the road through the dirty windshield. “You kinda look like her.”
“Tell us about your commune,” Laurel said, wanting to ease Berty into talking about more personal matters.
Berty bounced in his seat. “It’s more of a co-op. There’s a common kitchen and gathering area where we spend time together. We pool resources. We grow some of our own food, and we look out for each other.”
“How many people belong to your co-op?” Huck asked.
“We have about fifty people now, at least,” Berty said. “Some retirees looking for a better life. Some younger people like me, searching for a family, and then a bunch of middle-aged folks who just got tired of Wall Street and Hollywood and decided to live a simpler life.”
“What about demographics?” Laurel asked.
Berty looked at her before returning his focus to the freeway. “Demographics?”
“Yes. Like how many women? How many men? How many kids?”
“I don’t know. How do you really tell?” Berty asked. “People are who they are and what they are—why categorize them? I don’t think any of that truly matters.”
It did when trying to identify suspects.
“How well did you know Delta?” Huck shifted his weight and set his arm by the window.
Berty shrugged. “I’ve only been with the group for two months, so I spoke with her a few times, and, of course, we shared communal meals. I liked her very much. She seemed kind. Her paintings and drawings brought income to the group.”
“She was an artist?” Huck asked.
Berty turned off the main freeway onto a quiet, asphalted road. “Yeah. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to calm myself.”
Huck eyed him. “What does that mean?”
“I think he needs silence,” Laurel answered.
Berty nodded. “Yes. It stresses me to go out in public like this, and the airport was busy. My thoughts need quieting.”
Huck cut her a look.
Laurel shrugged, and they both remained silent for the hour drive, heading uphill until they reached open wooden gates.
Berty drove through the imposing arch and wound around several cabins, yurts, and tents to reach an inviting-looking central gathering area. The main hub of the commune consisted of a lodge-type building in front of an outdoor kitchen that included many tables and gathering areas.
A woman bustled out the front door and had already reached the vehicle before they could step out. Huck climbed down and assisted Laurel.
“Hello,” Laurel said.
“Hi, how are you? I’m Opal Garcia.” She moved forward and grasped Huck’s hand with both of hers. She studied him intently, then turned and gave Laurel just as much attention. “Thank you for coming all this way to see us.”