Free Death on a Short Leash by Gwendolyn Southin Page B

peaceful flower names.”
    â€œBut you must know their proper names when they join this . . .” Maggie spread her hands.
    â€œMy faithful followers are here to forget their past lives,” the mystic answered softly, a slight smile on his thin face. “They come pour paix et tranquillité. Their old names are best forgotten.”
    The sound of dogs barking suddenly filled the air. Peace and tranquility! Maggie thought. “Do you breed dogs here?” she asked. She wondered if she imagined the fleeting look of apprehension on his face.
    â€œNo. Why do you ask?”
    â€œThe girl in that picture came to Abbotsford to locate some kennels, and I hear dogs barking,” she answered. “And the name of the kennels sounded similar to your commune—The Path to the Golden Light.”
    â€œThat’s our name. And we have chickens, goats and a small herd of milking cows, but no dogs,” he said with another slight twist of a smile. “Ah. But I tell a lie. We have two bull terriers . . . for protection.”
    â€œYou have a lot of land here?” Nat asked, looking out of the rain-swept window.
    â€œA few acres. Enough for the needs of the commune.” He walked toward an inner door and opened it. “Jasmine.” He called a second time before the same young girl appeared, still lugging the infant.
    â€œYes, Brother Francois?”
    â€œDo you recall seeing this young woman?” he indicated the photo Nat was holding.
    â€œNo.” She too barely glanced at the picture.
    â€œThen you may go, child.” Turning to Nat and Maggie, he indicated the outer door. “We cannot help you.”
    â€œAre there any kennels near here?” Maggie asked. “You know, with a name similar to yours?”
    â€œI do not know of any. We rarely venture far from our peaceful way of living,” Brother Francois answered. He limped toward the outer door and held it open. “Now I must ask you to leave. You have interrupted our meditation time.”
    They found themselves outside and the door firmly shut behind them. “How do you deal with that kind of insanity?” Nat muttered, turning up his coat collar. “Let’s make a run for it.” Dodging the livestock, they ran for the car. “It’ll be just my luck to get stuck trying to turn around in this muck.”
    They gave a mutual sigh of relief after Nat had negotiated the car around the chickens and goats, and as they bumped down the road and out of sight of the house, Maggie began, “Nat, how are we going to find out . . . ?”
    â€œCould you stop the car, please?” Startled, Nat stamped his foot on the brake and they both whirled to look into the back seat.
    â€œWhat the hell!”
    Looking almost as bedraggled as the chickens, Jasmine, her long wet hair plastered to her head, was huddled on the floor between the front and back seats, her baby now wrapped in a dirty shawl. “You were asking about that girl.”
    â€œShe was here?” Maggie asked quickly.
    â€œShe was asking about the dogs, the little dogs.”
    â€œWhat little dogs? Are there kennels here?”
    The girl looked fearful. “I don’t know.”
    â€œYou must know if there are little dogs around,” Nat cut in. “They make enough racket.”
    â€œDid Johanna find the dogs?” Maggie persisted.
    The girl sidled toward the car door, “I don’t know. But she came back.” She looked fearfully back down the lane toward the house. “I have to go now and do my chores . . .”
    â€œWhat do you mean, she came back? To the house?”
    The girl nodded miserably. “Brother Francois was mad . . .”
    â€œHow old are you, Jasmine?” Maggie asked gently. “Fifteen?”
    â€œGoing on sixteen.”
    â€œWhat the hell’s going on in that place?” Nat said angrily. “Who is this Brother Francois?”
    â€œHe is our spiritual