Read Lie Down in Green Pastures for Free Online Page B

nodded and followed him. The hotel was built as four blocks of rooms forming a square with a glass roof over the top and an elaborate courtyard in the center boasting walkways, plants, two restaurants, and dozens of benches and secluded tables. It offered a feeling of tranquility to business travelers and Cindy couldn't help but relax slightly as she sat down at a white table surrounded by greenery with the sound of a fountain nearby.
    "This is lovely," she said.
    "Yes, it is. When I travel I try to choose places like this.The people I interview are reliving horrific experiences and I've found it's helpful for them to be in a tranquil, soothing environment when they do."
    "That's very thoughtful of you."
    He shrugged. "Some would call it mercenary. The longer I can keep people talking, the more of their story I get." He smiled at her in a way that took some of the edge out of his words. "Now, as you know, I'm writing a book about crime and the myths and legends surrounding it in this part of the country. It's the fourth book of the kind that I'll be writing. I brought copies of my other three for you if you want them."
    "Thank you, I'd appreciate that."
    "Not at all. I want you to be able to trust that I'll handle your story with sensitivity and not try to turn it into some tabloid article."
    She laughed at the thought. "I've got the brain of the killer alive in a jar?"
    He shrugged. "Something like that. Some people can be so tactless and will do anything to sensationalize a story. I prefer to let the facts speak for themselves. After all, if there's anything I've learned, it's that fact really is stranger than fiction."
    He pulled a digital recorder out of his pocket and set it on the table. "Now, do you mind if I record our conversation?"
    "No, I guess not."
    "Good, then let's get started."
    As Cindy began talking to him and answering his questions about the Passion Week Killer she was surprised at what a good interviewer he was. He allowed her to tell the story in her way and then he asked her questions that she had never stopped to think about before. He slowly dissected every crime scene, every horrific moment and instead of finding it traumatic she actually felt somewhat freed. It was the first time she'd been able to tell someone who hadn't been there in the moment how she felt and what she thought about everything that transpired.
    After about an hour he switched the recorder off. "You're doing just fine," he told her. "Most people aren't used to being interviewed and it can be quite comical at times, but you're doing very well."
    "Thank you," she said, smiling tentatively.
    "Let's take a break for a minute and have something to drink. What can I get you?"
    "A Coke would be great."
    He left for a minute and returned with two glasses of Coke.Cindy accepted hers, savoring the feeling of the cold glass in her hand, and took a long swig. It was amazing how much better it felt to be doing something other than talking about herself.
    "So, what else are you investigating? You said your book was dealing with events local to Southern California."
    "Yes. Pine Springs has provided me with an excellent opportunity in that regard. You see, in addition to the story you're already familiar with, Pine Springs is also somewhat infamous for playing host to a rather bizarre cult almost a quarter of a century ago."
    "Really? I hadn't heard."
    "Oh, yes, it's a fascinating story, actually. A religious leader, a crazed zealot named Matthew, lived in the mountains. He would come into town every two weeks for supplies and to attract new followers. Converts gave him all their worldly possessions, you know, pretty typical fare. People complained, but the police couldn't find anything to pin on him. Everyone who went with him went voluntarily.
    "Then a couple of children from wealthy families were kidnapped. Ransoms were paid but the children were never found. Everyone suspected Matthew, but there was simply no proof. Finally, after three years,