Page 5 of Playing With Love

“Mackenzie and her brother⁠—”

“Her brother?” Liza uncharacteristically interrupted.

“Yeah, Tate.”

“Does Tate live on the property?” I asked.

“Yeah. He’s actually the only single male who lives there. But we rarely see him,” Allyson rushed out.

Before I could follow up, Liza did.

“What were they doing in the meditation room?”

Allyson shifted uncomfortably. And again I wished this conversation was taking place someplace more affable. She wasn’t a suspect, she was a potential witness who should’ve been given the white glove treatment.

“I’m not stupid,” Allyson blurted out.

Liza’s eyes narrowed on the woman.

“No one in this room thinks you are.”

“I just didn’t know what I was seeing,” Allyson rushed out.

“And what did you see?” Liza pressed.

Allyson’s gaze went to her sister. Jessica gave her an encouraging nod then voiced her support, “Ally, you didn’t know. How could you?”

Wide, sad eyes drifted back to Liza.

“It was weird. They had a table in the middle of the room. I was looking in the window so I couldn’t see what was on the table but they were wearing blue latex gloves.”

“What was weird? The table in the room or the gloves?” I inquired.

Allyson nodded. “At the time I thought the table was weird. There’s no furniture in the meditation room. But I didn’t think too much about the gloves because we make our own soaps. Well, I don’t make them, but some members do and they sell or barter with them.”

“Soap?” Wilder interjected.

I saw Liza’s jaw tighten. Apparently she didn’t mind me asking questions but she didn’t appreciate the detective butting in.

“Yeah, bars of soap. Laundry detergent. Shampoo. We don’t live off-grid but we do all have septic and wells. No city water or sewage so we’re encouraged to use the soap made on-site. It’s organic and good for our systems. But it’s not a rule. Though, I don’t know of anyone who uses store stuff. My friend Colleen makes it and she wears gloves when she does. That’s why I didn’t think anything about the gloves. At first I thought maybe they were packaging soap. You know, helping out even though neither of them sell it. We do that kind of stuff. We all pitch in and help out.”

“What makes you now think it wasn’t soap?” Liza took over.

“I was getting ready to move away from the window when Mackenzie dropped something on the floor. It was small, like the size of a business card, and bright yellow. Some sort of baggie.” Allyson shrugged and her brows pulled together.

Wilder looked like he was going to ask another question and at this rate we’d be here all damn day.

“Wilder?” I drew his attention to me, hating to call him out but needing to move this along. “Let’s let her finish and save the questions.”

I wouldn’t describe his look as completely hostile, but clearly now neither law enforcement officer was happy I was in the room.

“Go on, Allyson.”

“I finished my walk and went home. I didn’t think anything else about it until a few weeks later when a friend came over to have dinner. Her purse was on my couch, I could see inside and she had the same bright yellow baggie in her purse. Weird, but not weird enough for me to pry.

“A month or so passes and I’m in my same friend’s house for dinner. I need to use her bathroom. To do that I have to pass her room. The door’s open and on her bed is like fifty of those yellow baggies. I asked her about them and she freaked. Accused me of snooping. I explained the door was open and I could clearly see in. She apologized for overreacting and told me some story about how stressed she is with work and her songwriting.

“A few weeks later I’m in town at this local coffee shop. As I’m leaving I see my friend turning the corner to the side of the building. I followed her. You know, to say hello.” Allyson paused and clasped her hands on the table. “I heard her telling someone that the prices went up. The yellows were now twenty and the blues were forty and the reds were fifty. Whoever she was talking to wasn’t happy and complained that the yellows wore off faster than they used to. My friend suggested the blues for a longer high. And if they wanted the best they’d have to buy the reds. The buyer said he wanted to speak to Mack, that he wasn’t happy with the new products and he couldn’t sell junk out of the street—he’d lose business. I didn’t hear the rest of the conversation because I was afraid my friend or the guy would come around the corner.”