Read Online The Cult by Arno Joubert - Free Book Online

Trees bordered the walkway, offering a modicum of relief from the blistering sun. Red Yucca and various small plants which Alexa didn’t recognize were planted in raised beds in front of the house.  
    She rang the doorbell and heard a loud ding-dong. “Nice place, pity about the weeds,” Alexa said pointing with her chin towards the raised beds.
    Neil looked down to where she had pointed, chuckled. “They’re called herbs, Alexa.”
    Alexa frowned.
    “Origanum, Dill, the fine-stemmed ones are Thyme.”
    Alexa shrugged and looked in front of her as the door opened to a somber-looking Bishop Daniel McGill.
    He invited them inside and showed them to a comfortable living room, the sun streaming in through large windows. A humming air conditioner kept the room cool.
    Alexa looked around. Various trinkets and collectables were displayed around the house, a pair of old bifocals and an ancient sewing machine stood on a mantle. Bric-a-bracs which Alexa didn’t associate with the Bishop at all. “Nice house.”
    Bishop McGill smiled and stared out of the window. “It was the first Baptist Church in Las Vegas, but once we built the Holy Trinity in the sixties, my family and I moved in here.”
    Alexa knew McGill wasn’t married and had no kids, but the house had a certain antiquated feminine touch, like the furniture or decorations hadn’t been moved around for decades.
    “Sorry, how impolite of me,” the bishop said with an apologetic smile. “Please have a seat while I get us something to drink.” He shuffled out of the room and Alexa heard him opening the refrigerator, then the clinking sound of glasses. He came out carrying a tray with a jug of orange juice, tumblers and a silver ice bucket. He carefully placed the tray down on an antique coffee table. He took some white plastic coasters from the mantel piece, the words “God loves Guiana, 1963” were printed on them in faded lettering. He placed the glasses on the coasters, nodded. “Help yourself.”
    Alexa poured the drinks and passed them around. “How is Jeremy?”
    McGill flopped into a leather Lay-Z-Boy. “The doctor gave him some sedatives. He’s sleeping it off in my daughter’s room upstairs.”
    Alexa turned around, surprised. “You have a daughter?”
    He shrugged. “Had.”
    They shifted their attention to him, waited expectantly.  
    “Next month, the ninth of May, I’ll commemorate the thirty-sixth year since her passing.” A faint smile played on his lips. “Her name was Ruth.”
    “What happened?” Alexa asked gently, not wanting to upset the man any more than he already was.
    McGill stared at the ceiling, his face hardened as if he was steeling himself mentally. He smacked his lips a couple of times before facing them. “Ever heard of a man called John Jordan?”
    Neil nodded slowly. “The guy who told his followers to drink Kool-Aid laced with tranquilizers and cyanide?”
    McGill let out a deep breath. “Yes, he led a church called the People’s Church in Guyana.”
    “Your daughter was a member of his church?” Alexa asked.
    McGill waved a hand and smiled, shook his head. “No, no. A lifetime ago I was a missionary in Marxist Guyana, I established a Baptist church, trying to reform a people who came from a diverse cultural melting pot. One of the groups I had confronted with my brash preaching style was the People’s Church.” He slapped his thigh and looked up. “Let’s just say that John and I didn’t see eye to eye.”
    They waited for him to continue.  
    “Ruth and Mary, my wife, befriended some of Jordan’s followers and tried to recruit them to our church.” He chuckled. “They were feisty, God-fearing woman who didn’t take no for an answer.” He looked up at Alexa, his lips pursed into a thin line. “Regrettably, it was the wrong way of going about your evangelical outreach in that god-forsaken place.”
    Alexa swallowed and cast a weary glance at Neil. He sat, staring at the floor, arms resting on his