The Bone Field by Debra Bokur (top e book reader txt) 📕

an ancient fishing village that was regarded as an important sacred site. Instead of continuing all the way to the historic landmark, he turned onto an even narrower track that led in a northeasterly direction.

“Guess I know why we’re in this truck and not your cruiser,” said Kali, holding on to her armrest as the truck jolted along the rutted path.

“Yeah. No grading back here, at least since the last heavy rains. Looks like most of the surface washed out, then dried into these ruts.”

The area ahead of them became smoother and greener. The truck slowed, and Tomas eased to a stop beside a stand of trees. There was another vehicle parked there, an older, beaten-up SUV. A woman stood leaning against the driver’s door. Kali estimated her to be in her forties. She was tall and angular, and her auburn hair was cut short. Her jeans and cotton shirt, the latter with a row of gleaming buttons, struck Kali as being sensible, and she wondered what it was that she had expected to see—a woman in rose-colored glasses and jumbles of glass beads wearing a tie-dyed T-shirt with some old hippie slogan?

“Aloha,” said Tomas. “You’re Anita Waters?” The woman nodded, and Tomas indicated Kali. Tomas held up his badge, and Kali lifted hers from where it was suspended at the end of the cord around her neck. “This is my colleague, Detective Kali Mhoe. She’s also part of the team looking into Eden’s River.”

“Eden’s Abyss, more like,” said the woman dryly. She turned to Kali. “Nice to meet you both.”

“Same,” said Kali, smiling. She looked around. “So this is where Eden’s River was located?”

“Through here,” replied Anita, leading the way toward a bend in the path that revealed an opening in the foliage, and a glimpse of a wide meadow on the other side. There was a crumbling post-and-rail wooden fence running up from each side of the field to the gap in the greenery.

Kali and Tomas both halted in astonishment as they reached the opening. There was a taller post on each side where the fence ended at the gap. Old, rusty hinges hung from them. There was no sign of the missing gate, and the post on the left had rotted and broken off near the top. It was the post on the right that had caught their attention—the top of it was decorated with a large, carved wooden pineapple. Its surface was weathered from exposure, but it was all too familiar in its size as well as the detailed carving.

“Well, I’ll be,” said Tomas.

Anita looked at him in confusion. “What’s that?” she said.

“The pineapple,” said Kali, pointing to the fence post.

“Oh yes. Pretty, isn’t it?” She frowned. “There used to be two. One on each side. I think the other one came off when the post began to rot. I wonder what happened to it.”

Kali and Tomas exchanged glances, but refrained from commenting; it didn’t stop both of them from picturing the missing pineapple on the shoulders of the lonely skeleton. Not far from the entrance, a barn-like structure could be seen among the trees and thick brush. There were two smaller buildings behind it. Anita gestured toward the structures.

“Well, here we are.” She looked more closely at the scene. “It’s been years since I came out here. I must say, it all looks a little worse for the wear. Smaller than I remember. There used to be some nice gardens. And things didn’t look so shaggy and unkempt.”

“When did you leave the commune?” asked Kali.

“End of 1996.” She turned to Kali, her face somber. “And I’d characterize it as a cult, not a commune—at least not in the strict sense.”

They walked closer to the barn.

“This is where we all spent the majority of our time when we weren’t cooking or cleaning or working in the gardens, or doing some other kind of chore,” said Anita. She reached into the tall grass and extracted an old clay flower pot. “I enjoyed being outside with the others. There was always singing. Camaraderie, you know? A sense that we were all here for the same reason, and glad to be together, sharing the day.” Her face clouded over. “But anything that seems too good to be true usually is, right?”

“Almost always,” agreed Kali.

“Is this where all of you lived?” Tomas asked Anita, eyeing the old building.

“No, though I think some of us occasionally slept there. Most of us lived in our own tents or trailers here on the grounds.” She gazed up at the barn. “We used this space for meals, and for lectures and seminars. And for services and healing work, of course.”

There was a picnic table beneath a stand of trees at the edge of the meadow. Tomas led the way toward it, and they sat down. Anita ran her hand over the scarred surface, slowly tracing the outline of initials that had been carved there. She told them of rising early to plant and weed and harvest before the sun grew too hot, and of looking forward to joining one another in the large kitchen to prepare the day’s first meal together.

“Abraham would always be there to lead us in prayer,” she said. “While we ate beside one another at a long table, he’d share stories from the Bible and tell us their meaning.” She frowned. “I remember that when people tried to ask questions, he would demand silence. But then, later, he would walk among us and talk in more detail about the morning lesson.”

The afternoons, explained Anita, tended to be much the same. There was more work and another shared meal, followed by a break of several hours. It was during this time that Abraham would choose certain members who would receive healing work.

“Women?” asked Kali, revealing her suspicion.

“Mostly. But not always,” said Anita. Her face brightened momentarily. “We all hoped to be among the day’s chosen ones,” she said. “But I realized at some point that he had his favorites.