Mourning Dove

by Donna Simmons

  “What happened back there?” Cass asked when she walked through the unlocked door.

  “You said it was a pirate flag with a sword through the skull?”

  “That’s not what you saw, is it?”

  “No, I guess all these nightmares have been wreaking havoc with my sanity.”

  “Let’s not forget Carl died on the rocks at Odiorne Point. Your mind saw the first picture and superimposed your nightmare on the third. It’s understandable with the pressure you’ve been under. I’m going to give the painting back to Jordie. I knew it was bad karma.”

  “He’s a talented artist. There’s no doubt about that. I would like to have one of his paintings in my new place once I get settled, something with the soothing affect of the lady in the shallows you have in your living room.”

  “It’s funny you say it that way. That’s the title of the painting, Lady in the Shallows.”

  “When he has his show, I’ll come down and pick something out. I should get on the road.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay to drive? I’m worried about you.”

  “I’m fine. I just need some decent rest. The sleeping pills I picked up from the pharmacy should work.”

  “Well, let me pack up some of the stuffed shells and half of the cheesecake for you to take along.”

  “Cass, I’m in a hotel. How am I going to keep that stuff cold? And where would I heat up the pasta?”

  “I’ll loan you my small cooler with ice packs in it. When you get to the new place tomorrow you’ll have a fridge for the food and a place to heat it up. You said you’re moving to a suite, right? You’re going to be hungry when your stomach settles down.”

  “Thanks for everything, Cass.”

  “Thank you for being my friend. I’m just sorry I ever showed you that painting.”

  “It’s not the painting. I’ve been spooked for several months. With lack of sleep, I’m starting to feel like I’m being stalked in my dreams and now during the day. I could swear I’m being followed everywhere. My reaction to the painting is just another example of how stressed I’ve been. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  “Drive careful; sleep well.”

  ***

  I’m sorry I scared you. I didn’t mean to. I just wanted you to know I’m still here. You saw me awake. That’s good. I guess I need to fix my appearance before I try that again. I love you, Mom.

  “Wait! Don’t go!”

  Eyes wide open, Sara thought, okay just another dream. Good one this time. If they were all like this, she could deal with it. Carl said, ‘I love you, mom.’ HE SAID, ‘I LOVE YOU, MOM.’ He said it in her head.

  “Carl? Are you here? Or have I finally gone over the edge?”

  Silence.

  “Carl? Can you hear me?”

  Silence.

  “Okay, I’m certifiable. It’s two a.m. and I’m talking to an empty room.”

  CHAPTER 4

  “Break off tailing the Stafford woman,” the boss man spoke into his phone while he looked through his office window at the heavy traffic down below. “She’s a smart bird, and if she hasn’t realized she’s being followed, she’s seen enough of your vehicle to become suspicious.”

  “When she went to Ocean Park,” the man on the other end said, “she walked around a vacant house with a for sale sign out front. She appears chummy with a woman living next to it.”

  “I’ll get a second team dogging the Dove. I want you back in Massachusetts. The disk has to be down there somewhere. Search the shop.”

  “It ain’t in the girl’s flat or the art shop. And, I already searched the house in Greenland, New Hampshire.”

  “It’s not going to be obvious, you know. It’s probably in a hidden space or compartment, or maybe a safety deposit box or locker somewhere. Search the shop and get back to me.”

  “I was five minutes behind him after he blew up the lab in Toronto,” his subordinate told him. “I know he didn’t have time to stop at a bank. It was the middle of the night by the time he got to the coast. He drove through Newburyport and Portsmouth; I caught up with him at Odiorne. I told you before he hid it somewhere he could get to with me hot on his trail.”

  The boss man was silent. He pulled the cord to extend the vertical blinds across the windows in his office but continued to look through the gray slats.

  “There’s somethin’ else,” the man on the other end added. “She checked out of the Sheraton.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “She pulled her luggage behind her when she left this morning.”

  “I’ll find her with the GPS. Go search the shop and no mistakes this time.”

  “Yes sir.”

  The boss man hung up the receiver and continued to watch the traffic move up Payne Road toward The Maine Mall. This search should have been over months ago. Nothing was ever as it seemed.

  ***

  In an isolated office on the top floor of the federal building in Portsmouth, Matthew Farrell paced in front of a gray metal desk. The computer could give him just so much. He needed to think things through, analyze the connections again. Each time he turned, he paused to stare at the white board across the room. Carl’s contacts, circled in black, radiated from the center like spokes on a wagon wheel. The frustrated agent asked his questions to the empty room.

  “Why weren’t you careful? You said something about doubles. Double what? What did you find?”

  He thought about the months of going around in circles and began again drawing lines from the center of the board. Each circle, a person or place connected to the last few weeks of Carl Stafford’s life. “Who snuffed you?”

  The center, a circle within a circle, Carl at the core, his apartment, his car, safety deposit box – he added a question mark beside it. “Did you have one? Where’s the key?” His personal effects were in storage at his parents’ house. “Is that all of them? What did you find in that lab? Were you the one who blew it up? If you found something, where did you hide it? Help me complete your assignment, damn it!”

  Above the center circle he drew a black line to the place of death. “I need to recheck the crime scene. Finding your phone last week gave me more options.”

  He connected another line to the upper right corner of the board labeled family. Two circles fanned out: father, mother. Until last week, his parents were living together working at a family owned company. “Why the breakup?” he asked himself. “Have they found anything suspicious? Would you have left them a clue?” He pulled the cap off a red marker and circled Sara Stafford’s name several times.

  On the board right of the center was the name, Allen Cook, employee in the family business. He had access to the storage area in the company offices; his name was in Carl’s cell phone. “Was he more than a friend?” The agent picked up the battered phone, walked three steps, put it down again, and turned back to the board.

  He circled the name on the left, Jordan O’Brien, artist, childhood friend, maybe more. He showed up at the funeral. Carl’s parents seemed to know him well. “His number was also in your cell phone.”

  Beside him, he added a circle for Stacey Braun. Love interest? Contact in cult definitely, with pictures to back it up from company files. She ran an art supply store in Newburyport. Maybe she’s a connection to the artist, same area code in the cell. He drew a connecting line and another question mark.

  O.S., no name, no number, it was just a partial entry. Why? Cult member? Back at the desk he unlocked the right hand drawer and pulled out a file. It was a long shot. He sifted through the documents marked with red security warnings and picked out a gray printout of names. No title to the alphabetized list, just several pages of it stapled together. Flipping almost to the last page he moved his finger down to the middle of the column, Schmidt, Stauer, Stolt, Strent, Swarsky, Tabor, Taggart. Stop. Back up. Arthur Schmidt, Raymond Stauer, Otto Stolt, Carla Strent, Kenneth Swarsky. OTTO STOLT “Are you O.S.?” Marker in hand, the name Otto Stolt went on the board – in red.


  To the left of center were company contacts. There weren’t many, lives were more secure that way. Two circles: “J.T. and me.”

  In the lower left corner of the whiteboard, he wrote in red: Talk to me! Then he slammed the cap over the felt tip and hurled the marker across the floor.

  ***

  Early Sunday afternoon, Matthew Farrell watched through the peephole of his new hotel room as the O’Brien woman knocked on the door across the hall. Five minutes later both women left the suite, leather purses slung over their shoulders. He eavesdropped on their conversation when they stopped in the woman’s doorway. The Mourning Dove was searching in the bottom of her bag. He hoped she wouldn’t find the slit he’d made.

  “You lucked out, Sara. That’s a great suite, nice space. What do you want to do first? Eat? Or shop?”

  “Let’s shop before we eat, as soon as I find my car keys.”

  “Do you want to take the elevator or the stairs?”

  “The stairs, I need the exercise.” Sara finally pulled a set of keys from of her bag.

  “Okay then, let’s go.”

  He watched them turn the corner to the stairs and slipped into the Stafford woman’s suite before the door could close. He positioned one listening bug on the under side of the desk and another in the lamp by the phone in the bedroom.

  He heard voices at the door. The women were back.

  “I can’t believe I spent the whole morning working on my list, and then left it behind.”

  Slipping into the closet off the bedroom he listened to them re-enter the suite. Through a crack in the bi-fold door he saw them walk across the living room space.

  “Where’s the list, Sara?”

  “It’s over here on the kitchen counter. Let’s see, is there anything else I forgot?”

  “Do you want to take a jacket or sweater? It’s a little chilly out. I can get it if it’s in the closet.” The O’Brien woman moved toward the bedroom. Fading further back into the closet, he held his breath.

  “No, I don’t think so. This long sleeve top will do. It’s like a juggling act in the changing room when you carry too much with you. I’ve got the list. Let’s go before we run out of time.”

  After hearing the door close, he waited five minutes, and then left the suite.

  The women were climbing into a dark green convertible when he looked out his window facing the parking lot.

  ***

  Later that afternoon at the Macaroni Grill, Cass and Sara slid into a corner table.

  “We made quite a dent in your Visa Card, my friend.”

  “But Cass, Macy’s was having great sales. I have enough work clothes in my trunk to last three weeks without duplicating.”

  “You’re going to need a closet just for the shoes. You better put a few shoe racks on your list for the house.”

  “That’s not a bad idea.” Sara dug into her purse for a pen.

  “Do you know this hunk who’s heading straight for us?”

  Sara looked up and smiled. “That’s my prospective new boss.”

  “Hi there, little lady. Grabbin’ a bite to eat?”

  “Mr. Pierce, good to see you again.” Sara reached out to shake his hand and was charmed by his old world manners when he raised her hand to his lips in tribute. It was a good thing he hadn’t done that in the office.

  With her face flushed, she turned to Cass, pushed her friend’s chin up with her index finger to close her mouth, and introduced her. “Cass, this is Jonathon Pierce, CFO of Star Shine Communications. Jonathon Pierce, my closest friend, Cass O’Brien.”

  Cass stuttered over her response, “W...would you like to join us, Mr. Pierce?”

  “I don’t want to intrude on your meal. It’s my pleasure to meet you, ma’am.” He reached out to take Cass’s hand and repeated the elegant tribute.

  Jonathon turned back to Sara. “I understand you’ll meet with Robert on Monday. I believe I’ll make myself available at that time, too.” With a wink at Cass he sauntered off toward a table set for three on the terrace. She thought he must have been meeting some people.

  “What do you think of him, Cass?”

  “Texan drawl and old world charm. My goodness, I’m having a hot flash.”

  “Now you know how I felt the first time I met him.”

  “He reminds me of an actor.”

  “Sam Elliot, he’s a dead ringer.”

  “Wow, I need another glass of water. You lucky dog you.”

  “Cass, the connoisseur of chocolate, what do you suggest for dessert?” Sara teased as they scanned through the options on the menu.

  “Chocolate lover’s tort, it’s to die for.”

  “Let’s order two. I wanted to tell you Friday night that I was impressed with Jordie’s concern and thoughtfulness the day of the funeral. Your son drove up from Massachusetts to remove a foot of new snow from our driveway. I remember looking out the window to a shuffling sound. There he was with a snow shovel clearing the drive.”

  “That’s my boy. Oh, I was talking to him last night. You know that little art supply shop I told you about down in Newburyport? They had a burglary night before last – made a real mess of the place. Jordie walked down to pick up some supplies yesterday and the police were there. Stacey, the owner, was shook up, but okay. Luckily she wasn’t there when it happened.”

  “Stacey Braun?”

  “You know her?”

  “She had a soft spot for both Jordie and Carl. I saw her with the boys quite a few times. She was in the hospital recovering from an accident when Carl died and said she wished she could have been with us. She sent us a lovely condolence note. I didn’t know art supply stores were a hotbed of crime. How much was taken?”

  “Jordie says they trashed the place and took the office safe from the back room, about fifteen hundred in checks and some legal papers. He stayed until the police and insurance adjuster left then helped her clean the place up.”

  “What could possibly be so valuable in a little shop like that? I don’t understand kids today.”

  CHAPTER 5

  “Mrs. Stafford, I’m pleased to meet you at last.”

  Robert Starr walked across the gray carpet of the Starr Shine boardroom late Monday afternoon wearing a smile that stretched from ear to ear; he extended his arm for a welcoming handshake. Sara expected a shorter man, but he easily topped six foot five. None of the pictures she’s seen of him at social events and political rallies did him justice. A silver haired southern gentleman exuding grace and style, he wore a tailor made suit that probably cost more than her car.

  “Thank you, sir.” She met him halfway with a smile of her own, praying she wouldn’t screw this up. “I’m impressed with what you’ve accomplished and I’d like an opportunity to be an intricate part of this team. You’ve taken communications to a whole new dimension, sir, with your satellite technology.”

  “Thank you for your kind thoughts, Mrs. Stafford. We like to think we are a power to be reckoned with. Please sit down, make yourself comfortable. Would you like some liquid refreshment?”

  “Thank you, but no, and please call me Sara. I like to think of my mother-in-law as Mrs. Stafford.”

  He laughed as he slid into the chairman-of-the-board seat at the end of the table. “Fair enough, Sara. I didn’t mean to imply a matronly image with your lovely presence before me. I’m afraid it’s a remnant of manners my mama beat into me many years ago. I see we both enjoy a bit of repartee. As you are probably aware from your conversation with Jonathon, our corporate comptroller position is high-powered with major responsibilities and long hours on occasion. The position requires timely reports from all divisions within the company and ongoing communication and cooperation with both Jonathon and me. This position holds the pulse beat of the company. We demand loyalty from all members of our team and expect 110% dedication in work effort. It’s important that we find the right person to fill these demanding requirements for the growth of our family here at Starr Shine. I’ve review
ed your file and I’m impressed with your extensive experience in the field and loyalty to former employers. Do you think you have the stamina for this job?”

  “I believe I do.”

  “Any questions about our company or the position we have available at our corporate offices?”

  “I have three, if I may.” Butterflies began to take flight in her stomach.

  “And, they are?”

  “First, are you formally offering me the position of corporate comptroller at Starr Shine Communications?”

  “That’s the reason you’re here, my dear,” he nodded with only a slight grin.

  She could back off now, but her gut told her not to. “Please forgive my forwardness, but what are you offering as a salary package?” The room filled with silence and she was sure she had just lost the job. Jonathon Pierce wasn’t the only one who could play the silent intimidation game. This southern gentleman was well versed in the art.

  After a lengthy pause, he finally reached into his suit jacket pocket for an index card. His next words sounded like the grand prize in Let’s Make a Deal. A starting salary fifty percent higher than she made in Boston, the stock options, and benefit package left her wondering if she was about to sell her soul.

  “At the end of the first year, if your performance fits well with our company needs, you will see another bump up and possible bonus. Does that adequately meet your needs, Ms. Stafford, ah Sara?”

  “It’s very generous, sir. And my third question…” She watched his silver eyebrow lift in anticipation. “When do I start?” Now she was the one with a full grin on her face.

  He leaned back and laughed a pleasant sound that rimmed around the room.

  “We presently have ourselves a situation, little lady. Normally, we would start new management staff with two to three weeks of orientation training; then another two to four weeks learning the ropes before we throw you into the deep end of the pool. However, we seem to find ourselves a bit short-handed at the present time and would like to start you on Wednesday, on condition that you pass the required physical. I understand security and background checks have been completed with no surprises. I would now like to have Jonathon join us to explain the accelerated orientation we have planned for you.”