It was almost completely dark as we trooped our way toward what looked like the middle of nowhere; I hadn’t seen any structures beyond the restaurant when we’d arrived, and we were following an almost-invisible trail to an unknown destination; I felt quite disoriented. As we walked in silence, I suspected Elizabeth might suggest this as analogous to a life journey, then wondered if I thought of it that way, too. When we picture our lives in the future, we do so within the framework of reference we possess at that time, so the vision I’d had of living and working in Cambridge, teaching and researching there as a professor of criminal psychology, with visits to see Mum and Dad in Swansea, hadn’t been one with limited horizons, it had been what I’d truly wanted for myself at that time. But then there’d been Angus, and the damage he’d done to me both physically and mentally, and his death – followed by all the false accusations that had swirled around about my involvement in his demise. Had I run away to Canada? Yes. But, as it turned out, that was where my future had been waiting for me. Had something unknown steered me there? I squared my shoulders – then that would mean that Bud’s wife’s tragic death was part of some great plan, and that hardly seemed fair to Jan, or even Bud, who I knew still mourned her loss every day.
“Penny for them,” said Bud, squeezing my hand.
I decided I should be completely honest, but spoke quietly.
When I’d finished, Bud let go of my hand and placed his arm around my shoulders. “You’re right, I do think about Jan every day, and I make sure I celebrate at least one happy memory of the times we shared, to offset the anger I still feel about her being murdered. Then I think of us, and of you, and I’m filled with gratitude that we found each other. What we have doesn’t diminish what Jan and I had, and the time I had with her isn’t something I compare with our relationship. Two entirely different things. I miss her, and still grieve for her, but in a way that doesn’t mean I yearn for her. She and I had what we had, and now you and I have what we have. Thank you for understanding that.”
I smiled up at him. “We’ve only been here a couple of hours and listen to us…maybe there really is something about this place that encourages a person to look inside themself. Frankly, I’m not usually given to self-reflection, or analysis.”
“Really? Oh, I hadn’t noticed. Hey, Facet and Face It,” whispered Bud wickedly. “But let’s not drink the Kool-Aid tonight…let’s see what the others are like first, eh?”
We rounded a bend on the so-called path, that must have been rising imperceptibly as we walked, then there it was: a long, blank structure with fire bowls dotted along its top. As we got closer, I could tell it was a wall, rather than a building, and we were heading toward an opening in it. The top of the structure was illuminated by the dancing flames, and I could see it was rounded, organic-looking, and smooth. It looked as though the traditional farmhouse-style used for Serendipity’s restaurant had been a design decision made by a different person, because we were clearly approaching a place where the pueblo revival architectural style had been used. I was delighted; I hadn’t seen any photos of where we were going to be staying, and knew I’d be entranced by this unique experience.
As we passed beneath an arch with a round-shouldered top, I was blown away; it was almost as though we’d stepped back in time. A collection of small adobe pueblo dwellings, the same color and texture as the soil and terrain we’d passed through on our journey, sat within the shelter of the wall, all illuminated by fire bowls on their roofs. I counted about twenty such places surrounding a plaza, at the center of which stood a large edifice where an outer ring of gently bubbling water surrounded an inner ring of dancing flames, within – and above – which rose an earth-colored sculpture of something writhing and organic, almost like the branches of a tree or the tentacles of an octopus, which opened toward the sky and the stars, seeming to hold them in its embrace. It was impressive.
“Oh, nice,” whispered Bud.
“Isn’t it,” I replied softly; it seemed to be the sort of place where one should always speak quietly, so as not to shatter the tranquility.
A disturbance made us all turn, and a group of four young people, clad in the same gray outfits as Don, entered beneath the arch, carrying the weight of what I assumed was Oscar’s body wrapped in some sort of sheeting, secured with ropes. Our group drew back, with our heads bowed, as the corpse-bearers passed us and disappeared into one of the distant buildings.
They were followed into the compound by stragglers, who all looked tired and dusty. In their midst was the only person who appeared fresh: dressed in spotless white, a tall young woman with jet-black hair walked with her head held high, her expression neither happy, nor sad. As she approached the circle of fire, her eyes gleamed; a large jewel glinted on her chest as she moved.
Serendipity rushed toward the young woman. “Oh Zara,” escaped from her lips as a whisper.
The women held each other for what seemed like a very long time indeed, then drew back and bowed deeply. I held back a sigh of annoyance, because my irritation with what I felt to be an unnecessarily elaborate form of greeting seemed petty under the circumstances. Indeed, as Zara was held in turn by Elizabeth, then Barbara, Don, and Norman, I could see the comfort each person took from the lengthy physical contact; their body language clearly spoke of decreased levels of anxiety after the hugging. I admitted to myself that, psychologically speaking, the entire silent-hug-greeting thing had merit.
I also wondered if that was why everyone I’d been close to so far smelled so delightful; even Barbara had barrelled into the restaurant in a swirl of beachy-freshness, despite the fact she’d been scrabbling about on a desert hillside for hours. The tragic deaths notwithstanding, I was finding my trip to be full of fascinating observations, and there were so many questions I wanted to ask…though I knew they’d have to wait. I watched with interest as Serendipity hugged a tall man with raven hair; she’d mentioned someone named Ambroise frequently in her texts, though she’d never been specific about the nature of their relationship. I suspected this was he; they held each other throughout the entire time Zara was being hugged by all the others.
Before Zara left us, to follow the rest of the group toward the building where her brother’s body had been taken, she bowed toward Bud and me and said, “We shall connect later, when the time is right.” Her voice was low, her tone somber, her gaze sad – and she was close enough for me to smell lemon, with a musky undertone. Her carriage as she moved away was stately, bordering on the ethereal; I judged her to be holding back her emotions at her brother’s tragic death.
As the rest of the group followed Zara, Serendipity introduced us to Ambroise, who was as tall, dark, and handsome as she’d mentioned in her texts and emails to me. He seemed affable enough, though excusably distracted, having been the person to discover Oscar’s remains after many hours of searching. He didn’t hug either of us, but bowed, saying, “Serendipity has told me how you once saved her. We all owe you a debt of gratitude, because you were saving her not only for her parents, who love her a great deal, but also for all of us.” He bowed again and flashed a smile that hinted at being a little cheeky; I didn’t know quite what to say.
Bud replied, “Anyone would have done the same; no one deserves to have their life taken from them.”
“Indeed, you have my complete support for that statement, especially given what I have just witnessed,” replied Ambroise. His French accent was enchanting; clearly his English was excellent, and he had an air about him of timelessness, his wavy hair curled around his square jaw, and his muscular frame was just discernable despite the baggy garments he was wearing; in his case they were dark blue, which seemed a drab choice, given the rainbow hues chosen by the other Facetors we’d met.
Serendipity looked up at his grubby face; he was a head taller than her. “You poor thing. I know how close you two were. It must have given you a shock to find Oscar like that. Don told us he’d broken his neck. Had he fallen?”
Ambroise shook his head, sadly, and shrugged. “It appeared this way.” His eyes filled with tears. “He had cuts on his arms and face, and he was grubby, his clothes torn. It looked…maybe…as though he had tumbled. Maybe he slipped? I do not know. In any case, whatever it was must have happened some time before I found him. His body was…stiff.” He shook his head, as if to rid himself of the enormity of what he’d seen.
“That suggests he died somewhere between two and twelve hours before you found him,” said Bud. “When was that, exactly?”
Ambroise looked surprised. “I cannot be certain of this. I sat with him, thinking about the journey he was undertaking on another plane, for some time. I had my cellphone with me – we all did, so we could at least try to communicate with each other – and it told me it was 5.23 p.m. when I started texting the others, telling them where we were.”
“And when exactly was he last seen alive by anyone?” asked Bud.
Serendipity and Ambroise exchanged a puzzled glance. She said, “There’s no need to worry about all that, Bud. You can stand down – no investigation is needed. Poor Oscar must have gone off into the wilderness to grieve his mother’s loss, as you suggested, and fallen. It’s just a terrible accident.”
This time it was Bud and I who exchanged a concerned look. “But you’ll be contacting the authorities about this, won’t you? Or someone will. There’ll need to be a formal investigation.” Bud’s tone was firm.
“I don’t see why,” said Serendipity. “We know why he’s dead. Ambroise just told us.”
“Nevertheless…” Bud was issuing a warning.
Our backgrounds, and our time together, mean Bud and I tend to think that two deaths in one family, within a couple of days, must be suspicious. In this instance we really had nothing to go on, of course, except the belief I knew we shared that, while coincidences do occasionally happen, they are often an illusion, masking links between occurrences that have been manipulated by an unseen hand. And usually a criminal one, in our experience.
“Ambroise, we should join them at Oscar’s,” said Serendipity quietly. “I know this is all very awkward,” she addressed Bud and me, “but would it be okay if I just showed you to your quarters, and we sort your luggage later? You could at least check the place out, use the bathroom to freshen up, that sort of thing. I dare say Zara will want to make a plan for a double interment of her mother and brother tomorrow, and Doc Nderu will be here in the morning anyway – so I guess they’ll put Oscar on ice until then, too…which means they’ll need a lot more ice. Just as well Dad insisted upon my getting that massive icemaker. Who knew this was the sort of use it would be put to just a few days after it was installed?”
“We face the unknown every day when we wake, and every night when we sleep,” said Ambroise, dreamily. “This is the wonder, and the challenge, of life. It is why we all Facet and Face It.”
Serendipity beamed at him. “I agree. Of course. But, for now, let’s get Cait and Bud settled in, so they can have some alone time, while we attend to…well, everything that needs attending to. Come on, I’ll show you the way.”
As we followed our hostess, Bud whispered, “I don’t like this at all, Cait. It’s got to be a legal requirement to report a death…two deaths. Why haven’t they?”
“I’m uneasy about it, too, but what can we do? There’s no cell reception, we’re basically incommunicado, so our options are limited, to say the least. But, if there’s a doctor coming in the morning, maybe we can urge him to contact the authorities? Even if he’s a Facetor himself, I bet he’ll want to hang onto his licence to practice.”
“You’re right,” replied Bud, his voice heavy with resignation. “We’ll tackle it in the morning – so let’s try to forget it for tonight…if that’s possible.”
“Here we are,” called Serendipity brightly. “Your home away from home for the next week.”