It was one of those mornings that Gus felt like going straight back to bed and staying there. Not the typical lazy Sunday morning with a cup of coffee and the Post-Intelligencer. More like Sunday, the two-week anniversary of Beth's disappearance.
Martha Goldstein's timing was a piece of work. A letter hand-delivered to his house on the very day she knew he would be at an emotional low. "Dear Gus," it read. "I know you're busy with other things, but could you please make time to come into the office this week to assist in the orderly transfer of your files?"
What a manipulator. The message was handwritten on her personal stationery rather than typed on the firm's letterhead, as if that would disguise the fact that it was purely a "cover your ass" letter designed to put Gus on legal notice that if anything slipped through the cracks while he was out searching for his wife, his professional neck was on the line, not hers. Nice touch, Martha. You forgot to draw in the smiley face under your signature.
In the big picture, he knew that the "orderly transfer of files" was one more step toward his permanent removal as managing partner and eventual break with Preston & Coolidge. The same thing had happened five years ago when he had taken the helm and sent his successor packing. It would be best if he just resigned, less embarrassment for the old manager and fewer hassles for the new. The thought of dragging things out sickened him, knowing he'd have to endure the slow parade of partners who would stop by his office, tell him he'd gotten screwed, tell him they admired his fight, and then ask for dibs on his office. The distastefulness of it all had Gus yearning for a clean break. This was his chance to realize one of his oldest dreams, something he would never have found the nerve to try unless forced to do it. Starting his own law firm. Now, that was a professional dream worth his sweat.
Just as soon as he found Beth.
The phone rang. It was his investigator, Dex. "I found Shirley's mother."
Gus was suddenly over the law firm. "Dead or alive?"
"Most definitely alive, about an hour's drive from here. More the sticks than the suburbs. If you want, I can pay her a visit today, see if she'll talk."
"No," said Gus. "I'll do it myself."
"You sure?"
"Yeah," he said as he hopped out of bed. "I'm sure."
Chapter Fifty-Three.
The farm was on twelve acres that looked like a hundred. It was surrounded by open prairie, and had it not been for the barbed-wire fencing, its boundaries would have been indiscernible. A long and dusty driveway led to a barn large enough to hold the old school bus, a tractor, two cars, and nine horses. Adjacent to it was a white two-story frame house. It was old but freshly painted and well maintained, its original Victorian-style details still intact. On the other side of the barn were a dozen small, boxy-looking units with aluminum siding. They reminded Andie of a minimum-security prison.
The bus pulled straight into the barn. The group filed off and walked toward the smaller living quarters. None went to the main farmhouse.
"Come on," said Felicia. "Let me show you around."
Andie followed her on a brief walking tour. To the east was a five-acre orchard, apples and apricots. The trees had been pruned in hat-rack fashion, but spring buds were emerging. A vegetable garden covered another two acres. Felicia mentioned a variety of spring vegetables, but it was too early to tell what had been planted where. The animals were around back. A chicken coop was all the way against the back fence, its odor well away from the main house. A half dozen horses and cows were munching grass along the fence line. They kept a healthy distance from the wire. Andie noted the electrodes. It was electrified.
They continued down past the chickens to apond and a stand of trees. Behind the trees Andie noticed a small rectangular building.
"What's that?" she asked.
"We can't go there:' said Felicia.
"Why not?"
"We're not ready. It's a special place for meetings and ceremonies. Only the members who have reached the highest level can go there."
"Even you can't go there?" asked Andie.
"You think I'm the highest level?" she asked, amused. "Far from it, girl. I have a long way to go."
"How many levels are there?"
"You pass through as many levels as are necessary to purge yourself of the human irritations, frustrations, and anxieties that must be overcome to reach beyond the human realm."
"So it's different for each person?"
"Yes, because we all come here with different baggage. Remember, the ultimate goal is to physically change your level of vibration so that you can receive the flow of energy directly from the source. Everyone has different circumstances that keep them vibrating at a human level. Some people are married. Some have children. Some just live in the past, thinking about what they used to be like when they were eighteen or twenty or thirty-five. Your attachment to other people or even to your own past will keep you from evolving."
"You mean, I have to. forget who I was?"
"Absolutely."
Andie took a breath. "That's quite a commitment." "Yes. And each level you attain brings additional commitments."
"What kind of commitments?"
"You'll see."