Winter's Mourn Page 7

  “Marines,” Noah chuckled. “You’ve got a good ear.”

  “Well, while Wesley was there, he saw the worst of humanity. I don’t need to tell you all how bad the war was. I was a correspondent back then before I settled down to write local. I traveled overseas and saw some of it firsthand. You two probably read about it in the history books or watched that old TV show, M*A*S*H. That’ll give you an idea, but not the whole story.”

  Noah leaned forward, clearly drawn into the story. Winter leaned back, enjoying the rhythm of the old man’s speech.

  He shuddered, but that didn’t stop him from going on. “I was there for two weeks. I can’t imagine what it would’ve been like to live that hell every day. When Wesley was over there, and things started getting to him real bad, he would dream about coming back to the States. Seeing his family again. Leaving the war behind and getting back to his real life with people who weren’t savages, like his fellow soldiers and those they were fighting.”

  “But that didn’t happen,” Winter murmured, unable to stop the words from coming out.

  Elbert shook his head sadly. “No. It didn’t happen at all like he’d imagined. Instead, anti-war protests were going full swing. He didn’t come home to people who looked at him as a hero. These people had seen and heard about the atrocities committed by both sides, thanks to reporters like me. Instead of his ticker tape parade, protesters called him a baby killer. People spat on him, egged his car, his house. He ended up buying a wig to hide his military haircut until it grew out.”

  Elbert’s voice was impassioned, and his eyes teared up. Winter could see that he probably felt some responsibility and that this story was painful for him to tell.

  “While all this was going on, Wesley was dealing with a deep depression and probably some PTSD, though we didn’t truly understand what that meant back then. He finally moved away from the East Coast, took some money he’d inherited and bought a farm out in Linville. He had convinced himself that this generation was doomed. We were heartless and evil, and it was just going to get worse. So, he decided to build up a kind of commune. A place where he and some like-minded folks could have a peaceful place. They could raise families, raise their kids to have only love and kindness in their hearts. Respect for their fellow man.”

  His voice trailed off. Winter and Noah held their silence, but Elbert didn’t say any more.

  Winter spoke first, hoping to nudge him along. “What happened after that?”

  Elbert seemed to grapple with the question, hesitating as if he struggled with what to say next. “Wesley called himself The Bishop, and anyone who joined up with them referred to themselves as the Disciples of the Moon. More as a joke than anything, at first. They weren’t running a religious cult. It was more a shared effort at making a living, back to the land, and having shared ideals. A utopian community. But outsiders saw them as scary, I guess.”

  “Where did he find followers?” Noah asked.

  “A lot of them came from around here. Or in Linville. Maybe some were Army buddies. Who knows. They were pretty secretive.” Elbert threaded his fingers together in his lap, and Winter noticed his knuckles were white. He was holding back for some reason.

  “Were you one of his followers?” Winter questioned gently.

  Elbert’s eyes widened in surprise, and he chuckled. “Oh, no. I was too mainstream for that crowd. I liked my job reporting the news. My wife would have never agreed to make her own dresses out of burlap, or whatever they managed to weave out there at that farm.”

  “What was your interest then?” she asked, equally softly. “How do you know so much?”

  The silence stretched, then Elbert took in a deep breath, seeming to come to a decision. Before her eyes, he shut down on them. Winter could almost visibly see it happen. His tone lightened, became more offhand. His fingers relaxed. Whatever he’d brought them here to tell them…they weren’t going to get it all.

  “Reporters, especially old-fashioned newspapermen, have an everlasting curiosity. We want to see what makes people tick. Why they do what they do. I’ve just always been interested in what they had going on out there. I collected all the info I could on the Disciples. I don’t believe they were bad people. I believe that Wesley Archer thought that he was going to do his small part to make the world a better place, after going through what he did in Vietnam and after.”

  Noah glanced at her and shook his head. He didn’t think they’d get anything more out of the old man either. “Do you have any of that information?” Noah asked. “Old interview tapes with Wesley Archer? It would really help us.”

  “You think those bones Brian Snyder found in the woods were put there by the Disciples.” It wasn’t a question. He waved a hand before Winter could speak. “Alma Krueger has her finger on the pulse of everything that happens around here. She called me yesterday and told me she heard it from her cousin Bonnie, who has a police scanner because her nephew is a deputy sheriff.”

  “We don’t know what to think, sir. It’s too early to tell what happened to the owner of those bones. We’re just chasing down every angle. As a reporter, I’m sure you can respect that.”

  Noah’s tone was respectful, bland even, but Winter was sure that Elbert would catch what Noah was implying.

  “I’ll give you a file of some notes I have,” Elbert said after a pause, “but I just don’t think Wesley would be responsible for any killing. He came back from that war thirsty for peace. Whether this country treated him as a hero or not, it doesn’t change the fact that he fought for his country and came back a damaged man because of it. It just doesn’t make any sense after this long to sully his memory. That cult dissolved back in the mid-eighties. Best just to leave things lie.”

  Elbert levered himself out of the chair slowly and headed for the hall. The interview was apparently over. Winter and Noah followed him, expecting to be led to the front door, but he went to his office. Going unerringly to the filing cabinet he wanted, Elbert went to the third drawer down and opened it. He thumbed through, his lips moving as he counted files, and pulled one out.

  He held it out, and Winter, who was closest, took it.

  DOTM, it read. Wesley Archer, 1976-1980.

  “Now, if that’s all…” Elbert pinned them with his unseeing gaze.

  Winter bit back the stab of disappointment, and the bitter need to interrogate this poor old man further. “That’ll be all. Thank you so much for your help. Can we call you with any follow-up questions?”

  Elbert smiled at Winter a little sadly. “I don’t think so, little girl. I think you’ve gotten about all you’re going to get out of me. Thanks for the mocha.”

  Elbert closed the door behind the two FBI agents, hearing their footsteps move farther down the sidewalk. He wondered if he’d made the right decision. Trailing his fingers along the familiar textured plaster surface of the foyer wall, he headed back to his office.

  Standing there, breathing in the smell of paper and ink, he mourned his loss of sight, not for the first time and certainly not for the last. He’d made a life and a career out of digging for the truth, whatever and wherever it happened to be, big or small.

  He’d been fascinated by Wesley Archer and had interviewed the reclusive man more than once. He also had his suspicions about things that went on out at that farm. But he had enough respect for Wesley, and sympathy for his moral dilemma, that he’d changed his mind and decided not to share his suspicions with the FBI.

  Elbert ran his fingers over the file in the third drawer, counting. Yes, there it was. He couldn’t see it, but he knew it by touch. DOTM, Wesley Archer, 1980-1987. It seemed like damning information, but if he was wrong, he’d be tarnishing the memory of a man who sacrificed for his country and was scorned in return.

  The heavy scrape of a footstep came from behind him, and at first, he thought the big FBI agent had come back because he’d forgotten something. Or because he wanted to ask more questions. But when he smelled cologne, he knew it wasn’t Agent Dalton.
>
  “Who’s there?” he demanded, clutching the file to his chest.

  He heard movement, sensed someone else in the room with him. He stepped back, bumping his thighs hard against the desk behind him. The smell of cologne grew stronger. Elbert’s heart thumped in his chest, pounding painfully against his ribs.

  “Best just to leave things lie,” a low voice said. “You probably should have taken your own advice.”

  The file was jerked from his grasp, and a starburst of pain exploded just above Elbert’s left ear. It hurt for just one blazing moment, and he felt himself falling. Then, the pain and everything else simply disappeared.

  9

  “What do you think he was holding back?” Noah wished Winter had driven so he could be the one to look through the file first, but she was already nose-deep in it.

  “I don’t know. I definitely felt like he didn’t tell us everything he’d planned on telling us before we showed up. Elbert Wilkins painted Wesley Archer as a misunderstood man and a betrayed hero, but he was definitely holding something back.” Winter glanced out the window. They were heading out of Harrisonburg, toward Linville. “Where are we going? To check in on the excavation?”

  “Well,” Noah said smugly, “if you hadn’t been so tied up with reading that stuff and keeping all the information to your little self, I would have told you that we’re heading out to the farm.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “It’s not vacant, as of two years ago, remember? You think we’ll just be able to go up to the front door and ask to look around without some kind of warrant? See if we can find any evidence of a cult or commune or whatever that existed there some thirty-odd years ago?”

  “Nope.” Noah grinned. “I’m fairly certain we’re going to go see if The Bishop’s wife is home. Or maybe his daughter. We’ll find out when we get there.”

  “You know, if we’re supposed to be partners on this,” Winter replied, poking her finger into his arm, “you’d better be a little more forthcoming with the details, got it?”

  He pulled his arm away before she could dig a hole in his skin. “All right. The property search I ran last night shows that the title on the farm is now registered to a Rebekah Archer. That last name didn’t mean anything to me until we talked to Elbert. Seems a bit of a coincidence now, doesn’t it?”

  “More than,” Winter agreed. Her eyes glimmered with excitement. “I might just forgive you since you made that amazing leap of logic all by yourself. Finally, we’re getting somewhere.”

  They passed the trail that led to the burial ground and saw an intern picking his way down the hill with what was probably evidence in a box. About three minutes later, the woods opened up, and on their left, a gravel drive led back to a pretty farmhouse, nestled at the base of a hill.

  Trim white fences surrounded close-cropped fields and placid cows grazed in the sunshine. “Nice-looking Herefords,” Noah murmured.

  “They’re making you hungry, aren’t they?”

  He frowned at her. “Hush. They’ll hear you.”

  They parked in a wide circular turnaround in front of the house, behind a newer model red pickup truck. A wide front porch ran the length of the farmhouse, and cozy-looking wicker furniture sat grouped in comfortable arrangements.

  The front door opened before they reached it, and a woman stood framed behind the old-fashioned screen door. Noah felt his mind go blank as the woman smiled. She was gorgeous.

  Soft-looking sable hair fell to her shoulders in loose waves. Her eyes were hazel, her nose small, and tilted up just a little bit. He pegged her to be in her mid to late twenties, though she could easily pass as a teen. She was petite, only a couple inches over five feet tall, but she was curved in all the right places. He felt like he’d been punched in the gut.

  “I’m sorry,” the woman said, still smiling, “but if you’re selling something, I don’t have any cash. If you’re pushing something, I already have religion.”

  Winter cleared her throat. Sharply.

  Right. This was his show.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” Noah finally managed. “We were wondering if we could speak with you for a moment.”

  One side of her mouth lifted in one of the sexiest little smiles he’d ever seen. “Well, if you’re not selling magazines or salvation, you must be law enforcement. Come on in.”

  She held the door for them, and Noah squeezed past her, feeling big and awkward. Winter slipped in behind him, her laser blue eyes coolly assessing the woman, smiling slightly. “Thank you. We’ll try not to take up too much of your time.”

  “Is this about the ruckus down the street?” she asked. “I’ve seen police cars and other vehicles parked over there on and off for a couple of weeks now. I hope everything’s okay.”

  “I’m Agent Dalton, and this is my partner, Agent Black.”

  “I’m sorry.” She blushed, her porcelain cheeks going pink. “My name is Rebekah. Rebekah Archer. You’re FBI?”

  “We are.” Thankfully, Winter took over for him. “We’re actually here to ask you some questions about your father.”

  A shadow of sadness passed across Rebekah’s face. “My father passed about ten years ago.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “My condolences,” Noah added.

  “Thank you. Is this about the commune that he used to lead?”

  “Yes, actually. Do you mind if we sit down and talk for a few minutes? We can go back outside to the front porch if you’d be more comfortable?”

  “No, this is fine. Come on in.”

  The house was pretty, Noah saw, with antiques casually placed about, like an old wooden church pew that sat by the door with shoes underneath, and the big farm table in the kitchen. Rebekah gestured to the table.

  After they were settled, Rebekah looked at them both expectantly. “Let me guess. You’ve been told by some people in town that my dad was a cult leader and he probably killed whoever they’re digging up in the woods up there. Is that about right?”

  “Would you consider your father’s group a cult?”

  Rebekah laughed at Winter’s question. The sound was sweet and bubbling. “Not at all. My dad wasn’t some weirdo who wore robes and chanted with incense sticks stuck up his nose. He was an amazing guy, a war veteran. He came home from the war and wanted peace. He opened up this farm to anyone who needed a place to escape from the ugliness of life.”

  “What was it like growing up here?” Noah asked.

  Rebekah sighed. “I can’t even describe it. Idyllic? Peaceful? Look around.” She gestured to the view from the window behind them. This place is a little piece of heaven. Nearly a hundred acres backed right up to the George Washington National Forest? Nature was my playground. I couldn’t have been happier.”

  “What about your mother?” Winter asked. “Did she live here too?”

  “Of course. She, too, passed away several years ago, but I was blessed with both of my parents. They were wonderful people.”

  “Did you have any kids to play with?”

  “Oh, a few. People would come and go.” Rebekah’s eyes went dreamy as she thought back. “I remember a little girl named Dierdre. She was my best friend, but they moved away when I was probably seven. Before that, there were other kids, and after that too. But commune life is a transient thing. Dad would bring people here, and they’d stay for a while, and then move on when they were ready.”

  “And that doesn’t seem strange to you? Having all kinds of people you don’t know in and out of your life?”

  Rebekah shook her head, looking puzzled at Winter’s mildly sarcastic tone. Noah looked hard at her too. She didn’t have to be rude. Rebekah wasn’t a suspect.

  “No, it didn’t. Not really. It was what I was used to. I loved all the company. The newness and excitement of meeting different people.”

  Noah decided it was time for him to take over. Winter was acting prickly all of a sudden. “Do you live here by yourself now?”

  Startled by the questi
on, Rebekah’s eyes widened just slightly. “Oh, yes. I’ve been thinking about renting out some rooms on Airbnb, but I haven’t done it yet. I mean, I have a couple of guys that don’t live on the property. They just come out and help me with the animals when I need it.”

  Noah wanted to shake his head. It was a shame. Such a pretty girl, and she had to go and ruin it with lies.

  “I saw your cattle out there. I’m from Texas, and I’m not trying to be stereotypical when I say I know my cattle.” This time, he smiled at her. A smile calculated to flirt and disarm.

  She relaxed and smiled back, showing perfect, pretty white teeth. “I went to school for that. Animal husbandry is kind of my thing. I’ve been breeding Herefords for the last two years, and a couple of thoroughbreds too.”

  “That’s great,” Winter interjected with false cheerfulness. “Well, we’d better get on our way. Noah?” She shot him a pointed look.

  “Things to do. Thanks for speaking with us, Mrs. Archer.”

  “Oh, just Ms.” Her gaze fell to his lips. “Or better yet, just Rebekah.”

  He smiled and took a business card out of his wallet. “Hang on to that. Just in case you think of anything more about your daddy you’d like to share with us. Or, if you just need to get ahold of an FBI agent.” He dropped her a wink.

  “Seriously, Dalton?”

  Winter didn’t wait until they got to the car before lighting into him.

  “What?” His face was a study in innocence, green eyes wide.

  “Where’s your professionalism?” she accused. “We’re not here to find you a girlfriend. We’re investigating a freaking murder.” She wrenched the car door open and slid into the driver’s seat. “You don’t have time to flirt. And especially not with a potential witness.”