Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
We headed toward Wendy’s house. She lived in north Seattle, in a relatively ritzy neighborhood, in a gated community.
In fact, the security guard at the entrance gave us a long once-over, then put in a call to Wendy, then he straightened his shoulders and opened the gate, motioning for us to drive through.
He handed us a printed map, with her house marked so we couldn’t miss it.
I thought about giving him a snarky reassurance that we’d ask permission before casing the joint, but reconsidered. People who liked to have petty amounts of power generally had egos bigger than their brains and I didn’t want trouble.
I pulled into Wendy’s driveway and turned off the ignition.
As we stepped out of the car, I stretched, yawning.
I needed to switch my focus, because all the way here, I kept flashing back to Benny’s call.
It had distressed me when we couldn’t do anything for Greg.
In fact, there was nothing in the world we could do for him. But now, hope sparked again.
Shaking my head, I turned to Dante. “Ready?”
“And able,” Dante said. “Let’s go.”
The porch was wide, with patio furniture on it.
The double doors were ornate, and the house had to be worth a minor fortune.
In our area, houses routinely went for a million or more for just a regular three-bedroom.
Anything bigger than that usually cost substantially more.
And this, was no standard three-bedroom rambler.
I rang the bell and we stood back. As we waited, I noticed security cameras over the door and on the sides of the porch eaves. We waited a moment more, then the door opened.
Peering out, a woman who was probably in her late forties looked seconds away from crying. Her hair, platinum blonde, was showing dark roots that I doubted were planned. She was wearing a beige sweatshirt and brown sweat pants, with sneakers. She gave us the once over.
“Are you—”
“Kyann Sarasan, of Shadow Blade Investigations,” I said. “This is my co-owner, Dante. May we come in?”
She blushed and stood back. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry. Please.”
We followed her into the living room with cathedral ceilings.
We were surrounded by the all-too familiar Bellevue beige that was so popular among the suburb cities, especially among the wealthy.
The furniture was meticulously placed, and except for a few magazines, everything looked like it had been deliberately planned out.
A tchotchke here, a knick-knack there, precisely set for effect.
“Please, have a seat,” she said.
We sat down on the sofa. Supple leather, the couch probably cost more than my car. A tray with three glasses on it sat on the coffee table, along with a pitcher of lemonade. A plate of shortbread cookies rested next to it.
“It’s good to meet you,” I said. I seldom offered to shake hands because a lot of people were odd about that, especially among the Supe community. “Why don’t we get down to business. You came to us because your husband has vanished, correct?”
She nodded. “Yes. Mark went to work on Friday morning as usual, and that’s the last time I saw him.
He called me before leaving work, to ask if I wanted him to pick up anything on the way home.
I told him no, we had everything we needed.
He said he’d be home in half an hour. That’s the last I heard from him. He never showed up.”
“Is he often late?” Dante asked.
“No. Until the past few months, he’s always arrived home when he said he would.
But… He just vanished. And he took money—he took over twenty-five thousand dollars of our savings.
I think somebody forced him to withdraw the money but the bank said he was alone.
” She gave a little sob, struggling to keep the tears pushed down.
I could feel her frustration and bewilderment.
“Have you been having any problems? Any at all?” I asked. “Please don’t be embarrassed if you have—we need to know everything you can tell us in order to do our best work.”
She paused, then said, “Well…a few.”
“What kind of difficulties?” I watched her closely. Body language often told truths that even the conscious mind didn’t realize.
Wendy licked her lips, looking miserable.
I reached out and took her hand, something I seldom did with clients. But she looked so torn, and so worried, I couldn’t help it.
“You aren’t betraying him by telling us. He sounds like a wonderful man, but something had to interrupt his usual behavior. We won’t tell him what you said—not unless it might save his life. Trust us, please.”
She looked into my eyes and her shoulders sagged. It was like a drowning person realizing she could quit treading water. “Okay, I’ll tell you everything. I honestly don’t know if some of it’s just my imagination, but I’ll tell you what I noticed.”
We waited a moment, and she poured the lemonade, handed it to us, then took a sip. Dante and I accepted the shortbread cookies, mostly to be polite. I wasn’t feeling very hungry at the moment. We waited for her to begin.
She sighed again, then raised her head. “As I said, Mark and I weren’t a perfect couple, but we’ve always been solid.
The times we have disagreed, we resolved matters.
There’ve never been threats of divorce on either side.
No affairs, no desire for them—our love life is still alive and thriving.
Until the past few months, that is. And we’ve always respected each other.
I wouldn’t say we’re soulmates, but we’re solidly happy. ”
“Okay, what about the past month or so? I don’t mean to be indelicate, but when did your love life begin to change?” Dante asked.
Wendy gave a little shrug. “When I think about it…Something changed shortly after he joined that damned group. He started shrugging me off, like he didn’t want me to touch him.
I asked him several times if I did anything wrong and he always said no, that he had a headache, or a stomachache, or he was too tired or too stressed.
But he wouldn’t tell me why he was so stressed.
I urged him to see a doctor to find out why he was so easily fatigued, but he kept pushing away the idea. He said if it got worse, he’d go.”
“What group are you talking about? Dante brought up a browser on his tablet.
She reached for a stack of papers next to her on the sofa, rifled through them, and then handed us one.
“Here’s the stupid flyer that started it all.
I wish Mark and I had never gone to the HOA meeting that night.
On the way home, he saw the flyer on a telephone pole—we were walking—and he grabbed it. ”
I took the page and looked at it. The flyer had a picture of a meditating figure on it, with chakra points lit up. The flyer read:
Are you tired and burned out? Are you feeling a lack in your life?
Join the Tetrachordian Temple. We’re a gentle group, open to all spiritual paths, and we focus on centering and balancing our lives through focus on inner peace, warmth, and acceptance of the divine rules of Aquarian celestial communication.
Come visit our group for a an introductory session.
The Tetrachordian Temple turns no one away who truly wants to learn and grow with us.
Something about the flyer made me nervous. “I don’t like this,” I said. “It’s full of jargon that tells you nothing.”
“Mark really responded to it. I just looked at the flyer and thought, nope, not my jam. But he seemed fascinated by it. He was always looking for new ways to meditate or expand his consciousness. You name it, he’s tried it—everything from tapping to transcendental meditation to kundalini yoga.
He was always looking for something that he felt was missing, and nothing he tried ever quite brought him the peace he was seeking. ” Wendy winced.
“What exactly do you think he’s looking for?” I asked.
“I don’t know. Whatever it is, I think it’s something hidden deep inside.
I first thought maybe he was struggling with his sexuality, but that wasn’t it.
And he did have a rough childhood. He was always bullied for being different.
He never fit in with any group. He was always punished for being too hyperactive, too loud, too annoying.
He should have been diagnosed with ADHD when he was young, but somehow, he fell through the cracks. ”
“So his parents weren’t supportive?” Dante asked.
“No, they believed that if you just tried hard enough, you’d succeed.
And if you didn’t, it was your fault—that you were lacking in something.
I convinced him to go in for testing, and even though he got a proper diagnosis and medication, that kind of childhood programming can stick with you and leave lasting emotional scars.
” Wendy sniffled, her eyes glistening. “I always tried to reinforce that he wasn’t broken, that he was a good person, but there’s a part of him that just can’t believe it.
He always said he felt alone in a sea of people.
Even around me, I guess.” She stared at her hands, worrying her lip.
I glanced at Dante. So many people were fucked up thanks to rough childhoods, and even if they thought they were free from trauma, it often burrowed just below the surface, disguised in unusual reactions to situations and people.
“Did you go with him?” Dante asked.
“That first night, but I never went again. The owner of the temple and his frontwoman gave me the creeps. To be honest, I felt like I recognized them—kind of. But I couldn’t figure out why.
They made me so nervous, but Mark said he felt at ease with them, like they were old friends.
And the oddest thing…when the guy started his presentation, I guess I just zoned out because I don’t remember any of what he said. ”
“Can you pinpoint what gave you the creeps?” I asked.