“You’re certain it’s not a gang or cult sign? Or the rendering of a madman scribbling a nonsensical sign only he understands?”
He raised a brow. “A cult is a possibility, that’s why I’m determined to shake my memory. Eagleton would have recognized a gang tag. Gangs mark their territory with symbolism their enemies would understand, nothing cryptic or complicated. For example, they slash letters to disrespect their rivals. If my Nick gang wanted to disrespect your Liz gang, I would slash through the letter I in my name because of the I in your name. Or if I tagged the word Lincoln, I would slash through the L and the I to disrespect you.”
“Is the inverted pentagram common in cults?” I crunched into my taco. Heaps of shredded cheese burst from the sides and onto my plate.
“In devil worship cults, yes, but the devil cults are random, disorganized, and not geographically exclusive. The inverted Petrine crosses add a twisted religious tone. The five, however—”
“The five might be part of a series. Could Laycee have been the fifth victim of a serial killer?” I said.
“Eagleton will notify me if the FBI recognizes a pattern.” Nick finished his first taco and bit into his second.
“So you’re thinking religious fanatic?”
“I don’t have an opinion yet. I’m preoccupied by this exasperating sense of familiarity.” He took a long draw of beer, his face lost in thought. “Pennsylvania?”
“Pennsylvania?”
“A flash of intuition. I took a car trip east one summer to study the Amish and Mennonites, an unlikely group to practice devil worship. The trip crossed my mind earlier.”
I popped the last bite of taco into my mouth and wiped my hands. “Your subconscious is working for you. Maybe talking about your trip to Pennsylvania will jar a specific memory. Try to relax. Talk free form. I’ll listen.”
His face lit up. “Like therapy? Let you delve into my psyche? I always wanted to observe you at work. Should I lie on the couch?”
“My clients don’t…Oh, what the hell. Sure. Whatever helps you to remember.”
“Should I turn off the lights?” Nick hopped off his stool and was flat on his back on the sofa in a minute. “Ready? How do we do this?”
I didn’t want to get that far into his psyche. Laughing, I shut off the music then rolled the desk chair to the side of the sofa and sat down. “Begin wherever you like.”
“Are you going to make me cry?”
“Only if you don’t start talking.”
He folded his hands on his stomach and closed his eyes. “I made the Pennsylvania trip during the summer between my first and second years at Oxford. I flew home to Chicago to visit my parents during an intense heat wave. My dad and I went to a couple of White Sex games, I mean White Sox—” He opened an eye and grinned.
“Nick—Pennsylvania?”
“Right. After a week at home with my parents, I went stir-crazy and decided to take a road trip.”
As he talked, I glanced around the room at souvenirs he collected on his travels. The rug from South America, figurines and masks from Mexico and Africa, a cloisonné enamel incense burner from China. Intriguing. Even in his youth, after months spent away at school, Nick couldn’t tolerate more than a week of being at home. Maybe I should explore his psyche in depth.
“This was the summer after I studied the Protestant Christian Radical Reformation of sixteenth-century Europe. I thought it might be interesting to view firsthand how Anabaptism evolved into the twentieth century through its Amish and Mennonite descendants.”
Reformation evolution as a road trip? How did I fall in love with this guy?
“I drove twelve hours from Illinois to Pennsylvania and rented a room at an Amish dairy farm on the outskirts of Lancaster.” He smiled. “I felt like Harrison Ford in Witness—the outsider in a closed society. I had the only room in the house with electricity. The Zooks. Nice family, a couple and their two kids. The daughter Ruth was in Rumspringa and she offered to be my guide.”
“Rumspringa?” I said.
Nick opened an eye. “The years Amish adolescents explore the outside world before committing to the faith. Ruth turned eighteen that summer. Rumspringa gave her license to hang with me, a stranger, and ride in my car without being punished.” Nick talked about the people Ruth introduced him to, places they visited in the hills of Pennsylvania Dutch country. “Simple, innocent, nonviolent people. Nothing related to the devil. Not a mention. I’m sure it wasn’t—”
“Follow your intuition, not your mind. You’re connecting to a memory. Don’t force your thoughts. Relax. Let your feelings guide you. You came home this afternoon, and…?”
“Remembered Ruth used to intern at the Lancaster Public Library. I took a chance and e-mailed the library, hoping to locate her. Hex signs are common in Pennsylvania. Then I put on an old Al Green album and began working,” he said.
I tilted my head, reminded again of his preference for the blues. “Why Al Green?”