Darkness at the Edge of Town (Iris Ballard #2)(11)

“Yeah. Yes. I guess. Is that crazy? Is that weird? It is, but—”

“No, it’s not. Not at all. Would you like to come inside? I can make you some tea and we can talk.”

“Oh, I don’t want to impose. I—”

“It’s absolutely no trouble. It’s what we’re here for. I’m Megan, by the way.”

“Carol,” I said, giving the first name that came to mind.

“Come on inside, Carol. We don’t bite. I promise.” Megan actually threaded her arm through mine as if we were old friends and led me up the path toward the house. “Deacon, honey, come on. We’re going inside now.”



The little boy climbed out of his toy car to walk with us.

“Is he yours?” I asked.

“No, he’s Nessa’s. She’s at work. Do you have any children?”

“Uh, no. My husband and I—well, my ex-husband—didn’t want any. At least, apparently he didn’t want them with me.”

“That’s a shame,” Megan said. “You have such a great, nurturing energy. You’ll be a fantastic mother, I can tell.”

She was laying it on a little thick, but “Carol” would have gobbled it up. I smiled demurely and hung my head as we entered The Temple.

The Temple.

The first thing that struck me about The Temple was the smell. Someone was making fudge. Of course that was what I noticed first. “Carol” inherited my sweet tooth. The succulent aroma momentarily distracted me from my objective, but only momentarily. The next thing I noticed was how many people were working around the house. Three women I could see were vacuuming and dusting the two large living rooms on my right and left. They all smiled at me. In unison.

I suppressed my shiver.

“Everyone, this is Carol,” Megan said. “We’re gonna have a cup of tea.”

“Hi, Carol,” one of the older women said.

“Welcome,” a twenty-something said.

“Hi,” I whispered before hanging my head again. Carol was shy.



Megan escorted me through the living room on the left. I recognized it from the photo where Morning read to the children in the rocking chair I was staring right at. Of course in the photo you couldn’t see all the carved animal totems, crystals, and paintings of strange symbols hanging on the walls. “Th-Those are pretty,” I said as I pointed to the hanging shiny black crystals in a wind chime formation.

“Black tourmaline. It helps keep negative energy from The Temple.”

“Oh.”

We entered the kitchen—oh, that fudge smelled divine—where a fifty-something, frizzy-haired, overweight woman with horn-rimmed glasses stood at the stove. Like the rest of the house, crystals all colors of the rainbow sat in every corner of the otherwise cozy kitchen. “That smells great, Helen,” Megan said.

“It really does,” I said.

“Thank you,” the woman beamed.

“Helen, this is Carol. Carol, Helen.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said.

“Likewise,” Helen said.

“Carol, what kind of tea would you like? You name it, we have it,” Megan said.

“Earl Grey.”

“And I’m having peppermint. Helen?”

“I’m fine, sweetie. Thanks.”

The women exchanged bright smiles before returning to their tasks. There seemed to be genuine affection between everyone in the house or they were putting up a hell of a front. At the moment, I leaned toward the former.



I sat at the small kitchen table with many nervous smiles for both women as Megan prepared the tea. Helen studied me, and for the first time since I’d arrived, I actually didn’t have to pretend to be nervous. “Have we met before?” Helen asked.

“I-I don’t think so, but you do look familiar to me too,” I lied. “I live just a few blocks away. We’ve probably seen each other at the grocery store or something. So, how long have you both lived here? I mean, I-I presume you both live here.”

“We’ve been at The Temple a little under a year now,” Helen said.

“We were two of the first to move in,” Megan said with pride.

“And is this a commune or co-op or something?” I asked.

“Or something,” Helen said with a smile. People smiled a lot at The Temple. It creeped me out. Or it had been too long since I’d been to Grafton. Everyone smiled there too.

“And if you join or whatever, do you have to live in The Temple?” I asked.

“No! Of course not!” Megan said. “Can you imagine, Helen? Everyone who attends the seminars coming to live here? The house would burst!”

I wanted to ask about the farm but couldn’t think of a way to incorporate it without breaking my cover. “So, I don’t…” I hung my head. “Are you a religion?”

“Why do labels matter so much to you, Carol?” Megan asked, not in malice but with a lighthearted tone. “Why does something have to fit into one set category? Why can’t something be new or just…be? Are you just a woman? A divorcée? White? Or are you so much more than any of those?”



Yes, we’re all special snowflakes, but we’re special snowflakes that exist in a blizzard, I thought to myself. Labels help us make sense of an overly complicated world. We would all literally be on sensory overload and mad within seven seconds without some form of order.