Whipped: An Arthur Beauchamp Novel(45)

Zoller was on a deck chair by the pool, in dark glasses and a T-shirt that proclaimed, “Everything has beauty.” He seemed in no hurry to enforce any laws against the several women splashing about the pool topless. Californians. Uninhibited. A few others were in the hot tub, locals who had brought bathing suits.

Al slumped wearily into a recliner while Arthur knelt beside Zoller. “Al says you know where the girls are.”

“Act normal, pretend you’re looking at those half-naked ladies.” A low, cautious tone. “I’ve pretty well infiltrated the scene here. I can talk their lingo, peace and love and all that. So they let me tour the lodge. All except one room — don’t be obvious about it, but look up, top floor, the big windows with blue curtains.”

A quick glance identified those windows.

“Anyway, the door was closed and I could hear girls’ voices. Giggling. I interpreted some noises as relating to sex. I have reason to believe it’s Jason Silverson’s bedroom.”

Arthur blanched. “What reason?”

“Mainly because Silverson’s gorilla, that Baumgarten character, Morg . . . Reverend Al said he kidnapped your Woofers, eh?”

“Sort of.”

“Well, he came out of a hallway bathroom and caught me at that door. Told me to get out of there or he’d jam it up my ass. He’s always had it in for me.”

Arthur’s anxiety surged. Some dark sexual ritual was underway. They’re being prepared for transformation.

“There he goes,” Zoller said. They watched Morg hurry past the yoga demonstration, across the grounds, back to the parking area. Zoller jumped up. “Follow me.”

Arthur and Al looked to each other for guidance, found none. There seemed no option but to follow him, and they did so at a distance. Zoller had obviously reconnoitred well because he entered the lodge by a back door, near the hot tub. Inside was a flight of fire stairs that led up to a long hallway, its living units variously named with flower-embossed signs: “Thoughtfulness.” “Creativity.” “Harmony.” The undercover sleuth had removed his dark glasses and was pressing his ear to a door labelled “Radiance.”

They approached warily to a point a few feet behind him. Arthur could hear female voices, high, spirited. “Oh, yeah!” one cried. “Yes! Yes!”

That didn’t quite sound like either Niko or Yoki. Astonishingly, the door wasn’t locked, and when Zoller sprung it open three nude bodies were exposed on a king bed, blankets and sheets askew. A woman with a crop of orange hair was supine, in the throes of orgasm, another with her face in her crotch: Gelaine, with her cloud of wild hair, bringing Becky to climax. Xantha was sitting against the headboard, filming their progress, and on spotting Zoller frozen in the doorway, shrieked, “Whack off, you cretinous pus bag!”

Arthur and Al had already bolted, but Zoller stood bug-eyed for several seconds before recovering use of his arms and legs, slamming shut the door, and racing after his confederates down the stairs.

§

After releasing Zoller from any further investigation, Arthur and Al spent a while recovering, speechless, watching a grizzled Transformers veteran lead a yoga class. Several of his students lost their balance and a few fell when Al finally gave way to sputtering laughter. Arthur joined in helplessly. Under the instructor’s reproving gaze, they retreated, still cracking up.

The laughter broke Arthur out of his buzzy space. He put his marital guilt on hold, and refocused on the Woofer hunt. While Al looked elsewhere, Arthur went directly to Silverson’s office, found it locked and uninhabited.

He hurried outside, past the massage centre, and braked when he heard a woman ask: “Hey, Jace, you want the full Rolf?”

Jace. Jason. There he was, prone and shirtless on a massage table. A hefty woman approached him, rolling up her sleeves.

“Just one of your good hard rubdowns, Molly,” Silverson said. “Those girls gave me quite a workout.” He welcomed Arthur’s approach with a grand, sunny smile. “Here’s the great man himself, how delightful that you found time to join us. It’s turned into an splendid day, hasn’t it? Just give me ten minutes with Molly and then she can have at you. Loosen up all those tight knots. Ow, ow, yes, right there.”

“I’m trying to track down my two Woofers, Jason.”

“Yoki and Niko? Lovely, lovely girls. Worked up quite a sweat with them. Very agile young ladies. I thought myself quite the whiz at the ping-pong table, but they took turns cleaning my clock. Ah, that’s good, that’s lovely, Molly.”

Ping-pong. Arthur turned. There, just beyond the volleyball court, were the girls, playing doubles, agile indeed, smashing their opponents’ balls with sweeping arcs of their paddles, having a whale of a time.

Arthur smiled with relief. “I was told you’d taken them under your wing.”

“So to speak. They wanted to be initiated into our creative growth program. I gave them the beginners’ lesson. Life-path counselling. Preparing them, we call it.”

Though he continued to smile, there was something mocking in those impenetrable blue eyes.

§

An hour later, close to goat-milking time, Arthur drove from Starkers Cove with Niko and Yoki. Al had got a ride home with a neighbour.

The girls were repentant, of course. “Sorry, so sorry. Work very extra hard. Do milking. No problem. Weed garden. Sorry.”