Every Trick in the Book (17 page)

When I opened the rear carrier on my scooter, the aromas of tomatoes, garlic, and
basil wafted out. My mouth watered in anticipation of the lasagna I had purchased
from How Green Was My Valley. The store had hired a new cook who’d emigrated from
Florence, and her renditions of classic Italian dishes were scrumptious.

Trey appeared at the fence, his fingers curled around the wire. “What’ve you got there?”
he asked, clearly pleased to see me even though we’d shared breakfast together at
my house that morning.

I held up the bag. “Interested in some lasagna for supper? I thought we could eat
together again tonight.”

He grinned. “Awesome! If you cooked it, you know I’ll definitely love it.” He climbed
the chain links with the agility of a monkey and jumped to the ground at my feet.

“You’re such a sweet-talker, but it’s takeout.” I closed the carrier. “Where should
we eat?”

“We can sit at one of the picnic tables.” He glanced at my quilted jacket. “If you’re
not too cold.”

I shook my head. “Nope, I’m good. But you should put
on something warmer.” The mother in me always came out when I was with Trey, regardless
of the fact that he was becoming a mature and independent young man.

He tugged at the hem of his sweatshirt. “I’m fine, Mom. Don’t worry.”

We sat down and I pulled plastic cutlery out of the bag while Trey opened the containers
with the lasagna and Caesar salad.

I looked up at the sky. The blue hue of twilight created a stark contrast with the
dying leaves and dark evergreens. It felt good to be sitting outside in the crisp
November dusk. “They’ve made a lot of improvements,” I said as I unfolded a paper
napkin and placed it on my lap. I pointed to the aluminum-sided structure. “What’s
that new building?”

“Part of it is our communal area where we can gather in bad weather, but most of it’s
the”—he made quotation marks at the sides of his head with his fingers—“meditation
center.” He was quiet as he cut into his lasagna. “I don’t know what they actually
do in there, since I’m not allowed to go in.” He speared the fork into the pasta and
shoved it into his mouth, looking longingly at the building.

I placed my hand on his arm. “Aw, honey.”

He chewed and shrugged. “I don’t care. But this”—he pointed his fork at the pasta—“is
delicious.” He put another morsel into his mouth.

After swallowing a crunchy piece of romaine lettuce covered in Caesar dressing and
grated Parmesan, I asked, “And they now have electricity?”

Trey nodded. “Only in the new building and some of the cabins. There are a couple
of computers in the communal center, too. And a flat-screen TV.”

“Wow.” I savored a bite of lasagna. There was just enough
garlic and basil to harmonize with the tomato sauce and melted cheeses, and the homemade
pasta was a perfect texture. “Whatever happened to simple living? To the co-op being
entirely human-powered? And how are they paying for all this? Is the market for goat
and hemp products that lucrative?”

“Not that I know of. We’re still getting the same prices for our stuff that we did
when I first came here. And our yield isn’t any greater.” He put his fork down. “I
don’t know where the extra money is coming from, unless it’s the meditation sessions.
But the only people who come for those are college kids, and they can’t pay that kind
of money, can they?”

He seemed sincerely baffled, and I didn’t know how to answer. The situation seemed
at odds with everything I’d understood about the co-op. I had to admit, however, that
observing the recent changes lit a spark of hope in my heart that Trey would become
disillusioned enough by it that he’d decide to attend college after all. “I don’t
know, honey. I—”

“Hey, dude,” a voice interrupted. “That smells, like, totally awesome. Got enough
for us?”

The young man I’d seen in Espresso Yourself who’d been wearing the blue and green
ski hat and who had shouted about a giant banana stood at the end of our table, the
braided tails of his hat’s ear flaps dangling over our supper. His friend, the girl
with the star tattoos on her neck, had her arm in the crook of his elbow. Behind them
stood another older teen, spiked hair dyed a fluorescent blue.

I smiled apologetically at them. “Sorry, I only brought enough for the two of us.”
I waved my hand in the direction of my Vespa. “But I rode in on my big banana over
there.”

“Huh?” The teen with the ski hat looked at the scooter and then at me. “What are you
talking about?”

“I saw you in the coffee shop earlier, and you called my scooter a banana.”

“I did not. I have no idea what you’re talking about, lady.”

The girl pulled on his arm. “Come on, Dex, let’s go.”

Dex freed his arm and looked at Trey. “You’re, like, the goat dude, aren’t you? Your
name’s Trey?”

Trey nodded and pointed to the meditation center. “What exactly do you guys do in
there? Were you meditating just now?”

He grinned. “Naw, not this time. We were just getting our groove on with a little—”

“Okay, guests, time to go. You know the agreement. Once it’s suppertime at the co-op
you’ve got to be out of here.” Jasper Gyles, the leader of the Red Fox Co-op, approached
our table with his sister, Iris, who looked as beautiful and ethereal as always.

In the manner of a shepherd herding his flock, Jasper directed the three teens toward
the red Honda. I watched them, pondering the change in Jasper. Upon first meeting
Jasper at the beginning of the summer, Trey had remarked that the co-op leader, who
had bright blue eyes, a brown beard, and long wavy hair, bore a close resemblance
to Jesus. But Jasper was beardless, wore his hair short, and was dressed in tidy jeans
and an expensive leather jacket.

I turned back to the table. Iris was sitting beside Trey, nudged in close. Noticing
me observing, Trey blushed and offered her the remainder of his salad. She shook her
head, briefly touching his arm, then said to me, “Nice to see you again, Ms. Wilkins.”

“It’s good to see you, too, Iris. Would you like a biscotti?” I opened the container
of crunchy, sweet almond biscuits. Trey reached out and took one. Iris shook her head.

“No, thank you.”

“I see some changes here at the co-op,” I said, taking a cookie and wishing I had
a coffee to dip it in. “Are you pleased with the new direction?”

Before Iris could respond, Jasper appeared behind her and placed his hand on her shoulder.
I noticed his fingers press into her flesh and she stiffened in response. “Ms. Wilkins,”
he said with a generous smile. “Welcome.”

“Thank you, Jasper.” I looked into his lake blue eyes. “I see that you are doing very
well. Business must be brisk.”

“Yes, we’ve diversified and it’s been very lucrative. One can’t stand still in the
way of progress.”

“But what about the simplistic approach you embraced when Trey first arrived?” I looked
at Trey, who was giving me a wide-eyed signal to stop. Iris squirmed beside him. “Where
you wanted to live a self-sustaining life, free of society’s encumbrances? Now you
have electricity, computers, TV, and a riding lawn tractor.”

“Ah, well, people change. Philosophies change.” He shrugged and walked to the end
of the table, folding his arms across his chest. “It was getting a little tedious
to work this place primarily on people power. We’re all much happier now, aren’t we?”
He directed his gaze to Trey and Iris, who both nodded but said nothing.

“But how have you diversified to generate so much more income?” I realized that this
question was on the verge of being impolite, but my son was living here and I wanted
to know what was going on.

Jasper frowned. “Oh, increasing our crop variety and expanding the market.”

“And don’t forget the meditation sessions,” Trey blurted out. “You charge a lot for
them, too, right?”

Iris nervously twisted a lock of her pale hair. Jasper turned in the direction of
the new building. “Ah yes, the meditation sessions. They’ve proved to be very profitable.”
He reached his arm toward Iris and Trey. “Come, you two. The movie will be starting
soon.”

Iris stood. Putting her hand on Trey’s shoulder, she said, “Let’s go. The
Hunger Games
DVD arrived today.” Turning to me, she said, “You don’t mind if he goes, do you?
We’ve been waiting for ages to watch this movie.”

Jasper’s blue eyes twinkled. “You see? Happier.”

I glanced at Trey, who was obviously experiencing a series of emotions in response
to this interchange. But the way he looked at Iris told me where he wanted to be.
“Not at all,” I said. “You go ahead. I need to drive down before it gets completely
dark anyway.”

“Thanks, Mom. And thanks for supper. It was awesome.” Trey gave me a hearty hug. “Don’t
worry about me,” he whispered in my ear, and then turned to Iris and held out his
hand. She took it and together they followed Jasper. Trey looked over his shoulder
once more in order to flash me a grin.

“Enjoy the movie!” I called and gathered the supper things. As I watched the threesome
walk off toward the meditation center, I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of “meditation”
went on in that cream-colored building. My maternal instincts were telling me that
whatever it was did not bode well for my son.

UPON RETURNING TO MY COTTAGE ON WALDEN WOODS
Circle, I lit a fire in the living room, poured myself a glass of merlot, and turned
on my laptop. The undercurrent of anxiety and discomfort I’d sensed throughout the
co-op had left me feeling unsettled. I had entrusted my son, the most important person
in my life, to Jasper Gyles and the other adults running the co-op, and I worried
that I’d made a grave mistake. Trey might have been content with life on Red Fox Mountain
up until this point, but I wasn’t sure either of us could be happy knowing the co-op’s
leader changed philosophies like Mister Rogers had once changed his shoes.

There was something particularly disturbing in Iris’s body language, too. She’d always
been such a free spirit, but tonight I’d seen her practically attached at the hip
to Trey. He’d been chasing her all summer, and though she’d always been friendly to
him, she hadn’t encouraged his advances. Why did she suddenly want him by her side?
I pictured the
many small touches I’d witnessed in the short time I’d visited and wondered if Iris
had been trying to reassure Trey or herself. Was she frightened? And if so, of what?

Troubled to be presented with another mystery when Melissa’s murder was yet unsolved,
I was determined to figure out what was going on at the co-op. What was the connection
between money and meditation? To me, they were an odd combination.

I ran a Google search for “meditation at Red Fox Co-op,” but nothing came up connecting
the two. Red Fox had a website that was still under construction but gave no other
information. Then I tried meditation styles and found articles on the different settings,
body postures, and music one should use when trying to meditate. Having never been
able to remain still for long unless I had a riveting book in my hands, I’d never
tried to sit on the floor with my legs crossed and my eyes closed, attempting to block
out all distractions as I focused on a single mental image.

Some techniques required monitoring one’s breathing. Others called for chanting a
mantra over and over again until the meditative state was acquired. Yet another recommended
emptying one’s mind of all thoughts and visions, thus achieving a state of blankness
and absolute tranquility. As far as I could see, the only cost in creating an appropriate
space would be the purchase of a few inspirational CDs or possibly some incense. Unless
Jasper was charging exorbitant rates for a special chant or for guiding his guests
into a state of tranquility and focus, then the profits he was making from the teens
made no sense.

On a whim, I entered the search terms “college students” and “meditation” and scanned
a select group of articles citing the connection between meditation and stress reduction.
According to several reliable sources, the number of depressed, anxiety-ridden, and
medicated coeds was on the rise and kids just like Trey were experimenting with all
sorts of remedies, including drugs, to reduce their stress levels.

“Drugs,” I muttered with a heavy heart, my fear for my son’s welfare increasing. “What
kind of drugs?” My fingers moved automatically over the keyboard, and I forgot all
about my glass of wine as a list of the most popular illegal drugs used by coeds popped
up on my screen. “Marijuana is the most widely spread,” I read aloud from an article,
somehow needing to hear the sound of a voice, even if it was only my own. “Also included
are steroids, LSD, ecstasy, and Rohypnol. Prescription drugs most frequently abused
are Ritalin and OxyContin.”

I eased my laptop onto the sofa and walked over to the fire. Pushing at the burning
wood with my fireplace poker, I stared at the shifting flames and wondered if Jasper
was trafficking in illegal drugs. But it didn’t seem likely. Sean had told me that
he and other Dunston police officers conducted impromptu visits to the co-op, and
each time Jasper had invited the law enforcement agents to look around. More often
than not, the cops did a sweep of the cabins and tents, and on one occasion had brought
a K-9 unit along. However, the co-op’s structures and grounds had always been drug-free.