Felicia continued, "Each of you heard Steve Blechman's speech earlier this week. Obviously, it touched you in some way, or you wouldn't be here tonight. But none of us is here simply to be moved or inspired. We're here to be transformed. If you listened to Steve carefully, you understand that to be transformed, you must rid yourself of the worldly things that bind you.
"When you arrived this afternoon, each of you was given everything you will need for the weekend. You placed everything you had brought with you in a paper bag. Did you bring those bags with you?"
One of the men answered, "Yes." The others just nodded. "Ingrid?" said Felicia.
The older woman started.
"Place your bag in the fire."
Ingrid clutched it like the payroll. "You want me to burn my things?"
"Yes."
Her eyes darted nervously. She was suddenly digging into her bag. "Well, okay I guess, but let me get my wallet--"
"Burn it," she said firmly. "Burn everything you brought with you."
"But I have credit cards and photographs--"
"Burn them."
She froze. All eyes were upon her. "I don't want to be difficult, but--"
"Ingrid. Throw the bag in fire."
"At least let me keep the pictures of my husband." "You mustn't cling to the things of this world."
"They're my memories. They're all I have."
"They're all you'll ever have. Be seated."
Ingrid was shaking, seeming to shrink as she returned to her seat. Andie wanted to go to her and tell her not to be intimidated, that she'd done the right thing. But now wasn't the time.
"Kira?" said Felicia.
Andie looked alert.
"Will you take the first step?"
Andie could feel the gaze of the group turn toward her. She hated to make Ingrid feel even more like an outcast, but she knew what she had to do. She took her bag, stepped forward, and pitched it into the fire. The flames shot higher as they consumed all of Kira's belongings. The group seemed transfixed by the ceremonial burning. Andie stepped back, her task complete.
"Wait," said Felicia.
Andie halted and looked up inquisitively.
Felicia said, "The ring."
"What?"
"The ring on your finger. You brought that with you, didn't you?"
"Yes, but--"
"It has to go."
Andie hesitated. The struggle wasn't staged.
"Kira, it must go. Feed the fire."
With some obvious reluctance she pulled the ring from her finger, held it for a moment, and then tossed it into the flames.
Felicia smiled. She clapped her hands, and the entire group promptly applauded her. One by one, each of them rose from their place in the circle and stepped forward to embrace her. Wann, full embraces, each one taking a full ten seconds or more. They said nothing, but their actions said it all. Nothing she had ever done in her life had earned her such immediate acceptance and approval.
When the last had embraced her, she faced Felicia. She smiled with her eyes, but she did not rise to embrace her. The clear implication was that a newcomer had to travel much further to gain the praise of the inner circle.
"Welcome, Kira," she said simply.
Andie gave a quick nod and returned to her seat. She listened as Felicia called out the name of the next newcomer, but she was so fixated on the fire that their voices faded behind the hissing and crackling of logs. She stared at the dancing yellow flames, searching helplessly for the ring. It wasn't just any piece of jewelry. It was a very special ring. Hidden inside it was the tiny electronic tracking transmitter that Isaac Underwood had insisted she carry for her own safety. And now it was incinerated.
Kira had won acceptance. But Andie was truly on her own.
Chapter Fifty-One.
Gus called his investigator at home early Saturday morning. Dex was on his way out the kitchen door, fishing pole in hand. It was his first weekend off in months, and he had planned to make the most of it. Gus had other ideas.
"I need you to find Shirley Borge's mother for me."
Naturally, he wanted to know why, and Gus explained in less than a minute.
Dex said, "As I recall from Shirley's polygraph results, she didn't even know if her mother was still alive." "That's true. But if she is, I want to talk to her." "Is the FBI looking for her?"
"They don't even know she was the real target of Shirley's conspiracy to commit murder. That was something Shirley's lawyer told me. If I shared any of that with the FBI, they'd have Beth tagged as one of her unnamed co-conspirators."
"You think your wife could have been?"
"No," he said harshly.
Dex was silent, as if giving his client time to think about it.
"No way," said Gus, this time a little less firmly.
"It's all right. This isn't the first time someone has hired me to find out if a spouse is really involved in a crime rather than sharing their information with the police."
"That's not what I'm doing."
"You may not realize it. But that is what you're doing." "You're starting to make me mad."
"Don't be mad at me. Don't be mad at the FBI either. With that phone call from Beth, her shoplifting and her clothes found in a thrift shop where Agent Henning is working undercover, it seems plausible that a cult or a gang could have played a role in these murders. And that Beth might be . . . involved."
"Beth couldn't hurt anyone."
"She could have played a more passive role. She is an attractive woman."