Chapter 33

After an extremely early flight from Seattle to Santa Fe, with Huck sleeping the entire way, Laurel greeted the young man who'd arrived to pick them up and scooted to the middle of his truck as Huck lumbered inside and sat next to her. She'd been unable to dissuade him from accompanying her, and he was most certainly disobeying orders from a supervisor in doing so.

"There we go. See, there's plenty of room," said the young man, who had introduced himself as Berty One-world. He appeared to be about eighteen, with long blond dreadlocks and engaging green eyes. He tossed their carry-ons unceremoniously into the back of the very dusty, dirty truck before levering himself into the driver's seat. "How nice of you to come visit us."

Huck looked outside at the chilly day. "I figured Santa Fe would be warmer."

"Ah, that's a myth." Berty jerked the stick shift into place. "Our days are in the midsixties, and our nights in the thirties. People hear Santa Fe and they think sun, which, you know, is true in the summer." He competently drove away from the airport. "You're investigators, huh?"

"We are," Laurel said quietly. "We're here to talk to your group about Delta Rivers."

"Our whole community is rocked by her death. She was the kindest soul you could ever meet." Berty's shoulders slumped. On the thin side, he wore dusty jeans and a faded T-shirt with a picture of a watermelon on the front. "I liked her very much." He glanced at Huck. "I understand she was your mother."

Huck stiffened. "Supposedly."

"Yeah. I can see that." Berty watched the road through the dirty windshield. "You kinda look like her."

"Tell us about your commune," Laurel said, wanting to ease Berty into talking about more personal matters.

Berty bounced in his seat. "It's more of a co-op. There's a common kitchen and gathering area where we spend time together. We pool resources. We grow some of our own food, and we look out for each other."

"How many people belong to your co-op?" Huck asked.

"We have about fifty people now, at least," Berty said. "Some retirees looking for a better life. Some younger people like me, searching for a family, and then a bunch of middle-aged folks who just got tired of Wall Street and Hollywood and decided to live a simpler life."

"What about demographics?" Laurel asked.

Berty looked at her before returning his focus to the freeway. "Demographics?"

"Yes. Like how many women? How many men? How many kids?"

"I don't know. How do you really tell?" Berty asked. "People are who they are and what they are—why categorize them? I don't think any of that truly matters."

It did when trying to identify suspects.

"How well did you know Delta?" Huck shifted his weight and set his arm by the window.

Berty shrugged. "I've only been with the group for two months, so I spoke with her a few times, and, of course, we shared communal meals. I liked her very much. She seemed kind. Her paintings and drawings brought income to the group."

"She was an artist?" Huck asked.

Berty turned off the main freeway onto a quiet, asphalted road. "Yeah. Now, if you don't mind, I need to calm myself."

Huck eyed him. "What does that mean?"

"I think he needs silence," Laurel answered.

Berty nodded. "Yes. It stresses me to go out in public like this, and the airport was busy. My thoughts need quieting."

Huck cut her a look.

Laurel shrugged, and they both remained silent for the hour drive, heading uphill until they reached open wooden gates.

Berty drove through the imposing arch and wound around several cabins, yurts, and tents to reach an inviting-looking central gathering area. The main hub of the commune consisted of a lodge-type building in front of an outdoor kitchen that included many tables and gathering areas.

A woman bustled out the front door and had already reached the vehicle before they could step out. Huck climbed down and assisted Laurel.

"Hello," Laurel said.

"Hi, how are you? I'm Opal Garcia." She moved forward and grasped Huck's hand with both of hers. She studied him intently, then turned and gave Laurel just as much attention. "Thank you for coming all this way to see us."

Opal appeared to be in her late fifties or early sixties with long, silvery-gray hair and weathered skin. She wore an ankle-length, flowery skirt with a Bohemian top and plenty of beaded jewelry: necklace, bracelets, earrings. "Come in, come in," she said. "Why don't I show you Delta's cabin?"

"I'd like that," Huck said.

Opal smiled. "I can see her in you, Captain Rivers. You have her eyes, and there's something about your bone structure, though definitely not her height. She was barely five foot four."

Huck grunted.

Laurel took the lead. Was this too much for Huck? He had to be experiencing odd feelings. "How long did you know Delta?"

Opal laughed. "Fifteen years. I've lived here for two decades, and Delta came to us about fifteen years ago. She had been wandering through life as many of us do and finally found a community."

"Where had she been?" Huck asked.

Opal shrugged. "We don't really talk about our time before we join the family, but it's my understanding that she worked as a street artist who sold drawings and paintings in Los Angeles, San Diego, I believe Sacramento, and then ultimately made her way to Las Vegas and down to Phoenix."

"We haven't found any sort of criminal record," Laurel said.

"Oh, no. I don't believe Delta ever committed any crimes. I think she was just a free spirit."

Laurel looked around at the quiet surroundings. "Yet she joined your community?"

They walked between several trees and passed small cabins as they spoke. "Yes, you're allowed to stay or leave or do whatever you want here. You can be who you are," Opal said calmly.

"Who was she?" Huck asked.

Opal glanced at him. "She was one of our family members. She kept to herself very often, but she contributed when she could. She had social anxiety and worked in her cabin by herself much of the time."

"Did she date anybody here at the co-op?" Laurel asked.

Opal moved a branch out of the way. "Not here. Not to my knowledge, anyway," she said. "There were a couple of gentlemen through the years who I believe she may have slept with, but there was never any obvious relationship or commitment."

"That seemed to be her style," Huck said grimly.

Opal smiled, not appearing fazed by his statement. "I believe it was her style." They reached a cabin, and she walked up the wooden stairs to open the door. "We haven't changed anything because her spirit is still here with us, and we don't want to offend it in any manner."

"All right," Laurel said, stepping inside. That made zero sense.

It was a one-room cabin with a twin bed against one wall, a small loveseat on the other wall, and a counter across from them that held a hot plate. Several canvases and charcoal drawings leaned against the walls. Paint splatters covered the floor in every direction.

"There's no bathroom," Huck noted.

Opal chuckled. "There's a communal outhouse several yards to the north."

"What about showers?" Laurel asked.

"There are showers there as well. We use natural rainwater and heat it when necessary," Opal said.

Laurel moved toward the one dresser set at the edge of the bed to study several photographs. She lifted one to scrutinize.

"What is it?" Huck asked.

"I think it's her with you." She looked closer. A young Delta Rivers, smiling wildly, held a baby in her arms.

"Huh," Huck said, looking over Laurel's shoulder. "I've never seen that one."

Uncertain of what to say, she remained silent.

"You can keep that if you like," Opal offered.

Huck looked at her. "Thank you."

Emotion passed across the captain's face, but Laurel didn't know how to help him right now. Maybe she could serve as a confidante for him later. Even so, she touched his arm. "I'm here for you."

He kissed her forehead. "I know. Thank you."

She placed the picture back and then looked at the artwork. Delta had used strong lines and abstract forms, creating appealing designs.

Huck grasped another picture. "Is this of the two of you?"

Opal smiled. "Yes. We had one of our visitors take pictures of us."

"Visitors?" Laurel asked.

"Yes, we host weekends sometimes for people needing to get away from their busy lives. It's a way for us to make money so we can buy the supplies we can't grow or create ourselves, and every once in a while somebody will take some pictures. We prohibit phones and other electrical devices. But sometimes, as in the case of this man, he had one of those point-and-shoots, so we allowed it. It's good to record our journeys once in a while."

"I see." Huck handed the picture to Laurel. "Who was he?"

Opal's bracelets clanked together when she moved. "Nice guy from Toronto. His name is Bernard Netlabel, and he's one hundred years old. Can you believe it?"

"How current is this photograph?" Huck asked.

"That was maybe last month." Opal ruffled her silvery hair.

Laurel looked at the photograph and jerked before glancing up at Opal. "This was taken last month?"

Opal frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Delta Rivers's hair was brown," Laurel noted.

"Her hair was a dark brown with some gray in it." Opal glanced at the earlier picture. "She was blond when she was younger, but as she became older, her hair turned darker with threads of silver through it."

Huck peered at the picture. "What color was her hair last time you saw her?"

Opal shrugged. "She had dark hair."

"Do you know why she left the commune?" Laurel asked, setting the picture down. She was going to have to take it with them, but she wanted to keep Opal agreeable for now.

"Yes. She flew out almost two weeks ago to meet a man. It was the first romance she'd had in years. I was very excited for her to go meet her Romeo wherever he lived."

Huck jerked and turned around. "Romance? With whom?"

"I don't know." Opal's gaze dropped. "I wish I did, but I just don't have any details. She met a man when she was out selling her paintings in town, and they struck up a romance. Delta was always up for an adventure, and when he invited her to meet him up north, she thought, what the heck? She could take a couple weeks off, get some new ideas for her paintings, and go from there."

"What do you know about this man?" Laurel asked, her heart beating faster.

Opal sighed and looked up as if trying to remember. "Delta grew very excited, and she got that sparkle in her eyes that, you know, we all get during new romances. She said that he was one with the earth and the wind, and she looked forward to her journey with him."

"Did anybody else meet him?" Laurel asked.

Opal shook her head. "No. Unfortunately, Delta remained rather secretive, as if she wanted this relationship just for herself. She met him several times in town."

"Do you know where in town?" Huck asked.

Tears filled Opal's eyes. "No, we don't keep track of each other like that. She would often sell her paintings on different main streets, but I don't know where. She lived her own life, Captain Rivers. I think you would've liked her if you had gotten to know her."

"I didn't get that chance."

Opal sighed again, the sound heavy. "I'm sorry about that. I can't explain it, except that she just lived her life the way she wanted, on her own terms. I'm surprised she stayed here as long as she did, but I think it's because she had the freedom to come and go as she wanted. No obligation, no responsibilities."

"That's not how adults live their lives," Huck muttered.

"Not most adults," Opal agreed.

Laurel cleared her throat. "Let's get back to this mysterious man. Do you know anything at all about him?"

"I have no idea. I'm so sorry," Opal said. "We all refrained from being nosy."

Huck reached for the picture of Delta holding him as a baby. "She never mentioned his name?"

"No," Opal said, tapping her lips. "I figured he was a holy man. The only thing I ever heard her call him was ‘the pastor.'"