Mourning Dove

by Donna Simmons

“The police station? Why is he there?”

  “They’re trying to figure out the step by step of the incident.”

  “That doesn’t sound right. What’s going on?”

  He took a deep breath and continued, “Sara, two witnesses saw a man dressed in black follow Stacey from the shop to the curb. One of them stated that a man pushed her into the street before fleeing the scene back through the door. A few minutes later, Jordie came rushing out of the shop. He reached her just before she died.

  “The police think one of three things happened. Stacey could have tripped, been pushed by her boyfriend at the end of an argument, or intentionally stepped into traffic, despondent from all that was happening in her life. If the pushing theory works they believe Jordan then realized what he had done and ran back out to her side in the street. That would work fine for them, but Jordie swears he was a block away.”

  “So, who is the other man in black? I’m assuming Jordie was dressed in his usual black t-shirt and chinos?”

  “You got it. That’s why all of this is taking so long to iron out. I got Jordie legal counsel, and then I went to the funeral home to make the arrangements for Stacey.”

  “That poor girl, everything seemed to be falling apart for her. I think she made herself somebody’s number one enemy. They’re not going to pin this on Jordie. My God, he must be so upset. I think he was in love with her.”

  “Yeah, I think so, too. Don’t worry about Jordie. I’ll call Cass and let her know he’ll contact her as soon as he gets back to his apartment.”

  “Thank you, Ron. I’ve got to hang up now.”

  “Sara? Where are you?”

  “I’m just cleaning off my desk. I’ll drive down to Cass’s. She’ll want someone with her until she’s sure Jordie’s all right.”

  CHAPTER 7

  I don’t know where all these people came from, Sara,” Cass said. “I thought Stacey didn’t have any family left.”

  Sara reached into her purse for a less soggy tissue than the crumpled pieces left in her pocket. Hands trembling, she shook her head. “I don’t know Cass. Maybe they’re friends.”

  “Then where were they when she needed help?”

  “God, this is hard for me. I’ve got to get some fresh air.” Sara stood up on wobbly legs and looked over a sea of unfamiliar faces. Jordie was shaking hands with newcomers by the entrance of the funeral home, Ron standing beside him. Except for Cass, everyone else was a stranger.

  “I’ll come with you, Sara.” Cass stood and brushed imaginary wrinkles from her purple and black caftan.

  Sara looked around the flower filled viewing room and noticed a bearded man in a dark blue suit. She grabbed Cass’s hand. “Do you see that man with the beard standing beside the guest book by the door?”

  Cass glanced toward the entrance. “There’s a woman in gray, but no man.”

  Sara turned back toward the entrance; the man was gone. “He must have left. I thought I recognized him. I guess not.”

  “Who was he?”

  “I’m not sure. I’ve got such a pounding headache; I’m having a hard time focusing. Let’s get some air.”

  Out in the parking lot they sat in Sara’s car. Cass grabbed a bottle of water from a small cooler, and passed it to her. Sara rested her head on the steering wheel while Cass dug for a bottle of aspirin in her purse. “Here hon, take these. They’ll help with the headache.” After a moment, Cass reached over and started to rub some of the tension out of Sara’s neck.

  “Thanks, Cass.”

  “There’s a man with a full beard sitting in that black car one row over. It looks like he’s talking on a cell phone. Is that the man you saw?”

  “I’m not sure now. But, I think I’ve seen him before.”

  Mom, he’s a federal agent. I know him. He’s okay.

  “I thought you left me.”

  “Sara, I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. Why did you think I left you?” Cass asked as she continued to rub the tension out of Sara’s neck. “Did you space out on me?”

  Careful, Mom, Cass can’t hear me, but she can hear you if you verbalize your thoughts.

  “I’m sorry Cass. My mind’s been wandering lately. What did you say?”

  “Wait a minute.” Cass turned to face her. “Who were you just talking to, me or someone else?”

  “What are you talking about? You’re the only other person in this car.”

  “That’s not going to work with me, Sara. You told me before you thought Carl’s spirit was with you when you were most vulnerable. Is he with us now? Is that who you’re talking to?”

  Sara closed her eyes and leaned back against the headrest. Now what do I do, Carl? Do I tell her you’re here?

  What do you think Cass’s reaction will be?

  She’d probably love it.

  Go ahead and tell her. But I would advise you not to broadcast it to the general public unless you’re ready for a padded cell.

  “Sara, did you hear my question?”

  “I heard it, Cass. I was just getting permission to confide in you.”

  “Oh my God! Carl is here with us!” Cass leaned her head back against the side window and blew a large breath through her lips.

  Sara turned her head and looked at her friend who had always believed in spirits even when there was no proof.

  “Carl, can you hear me, too?” Cass asked.

  She turned back to Sara and asked, “Is he still here? Can you see him?”

  “No, I can’t see him. Apparently there are limits to his abilities.”

  “Oh this is wonderful. Tell him for me, I thank him for this knowledge and his trust. I won’t embarrass either one of you by trying to exploit the situation.”

  I heard her, Mom. It would still be safer if you continue to communicate with me silently. I know there is a tracking device on your car, but I don’t think there’s a listening bug in it… yet. Still, it’s better to be careful with what you say.

  “What do you mean, Car…Cass?”

  “I mean that I won’t try to write a book about this or send the story to the National Inquirer.”

  Sara held up her right hand, placed a finger on her lips.

  Cass nodded, and then whispered, “What’s wrong?”

  Scrambling in her purse for a piece of paper, Sara grabbed the pen from the console box between the seats and scribbled out a message: Carl says it’s not safe to talk here.

  Mom, the agent may not have a bug planted in this car, but he doesn’t need one at this close range. He’s probably listening through the device in his ear. As safe as he is, he doesn’t believe in ghosts.

  Sara closed her eyes then looked over at the black car again.

  Cass grabbed the pen and paper from her lap and scribbled: What’s going on?

  Snatching it back, Sara wrote: The guy in the Chevy Blazer is a federal agent. Carl knows him. He thinks the agent is listening in on our conversation.

  Cass scribbled: FEDERAL AGENT!? Her eyes were as big as saucers when she looked into Sara’s face.

  She held up her hand to ask Cass to wait.

  Carl, what do you mean by he’s listening? What bug? What tracking device? WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON!

  Cass turned Sara’s head to stare into her eyes again. “Bloodshot but equal and reactive, okay, if you’re not hallucinating or delusional then it has to be…” She picked up the pen and wrote: This is way over our heads. Carl really didn’t take his life, did he?

  Sara shook her head and wrote: I’ll explain later. Maybe we better take a walk.

  Good job, Mom. I’ll let you know if you’re followed.

  You have a lot of explaining to do, son. If I’m going to be careful, I need to know what I’m up against.

  Fair enough. He’s still in his car, listening to something. Maybe it’s the conversations going on in the funeral parlor. I’m not sure.

  They turned down a side street and Carl finally told her it was safe to talk.

  “Okay, Cass. We’re cl
ear to talk.”

  “From the beginning, when did you first hear Carl’s voice?”

  “Months ago, at first he could only reach me through my dreams. Those were my nightmares. Carl was trying to make contact. He says he tried to reach his dad too, but apparently Ron is not receptive enough. The first time I actually realized Carl was with me was the night I saw Jordie’s three dimensional painting in your guest room. Later that night, he made contact again at the hotel. He seems to be able to watch over one of us, Ron or me, at a time, but he has no control over who, or when. Apparently, if either one of us is stressed or in danger, Carl’s there.”

  “Like a guardian angel?”

  “I guess except he can only watch and, in the last couple weeks, communicate with me.”

  “What’s the deal with the federal agent? This sounds kind of James Bond to me.”

  “He never said anything about that until just now. I need to be able to talk to him.”

  “Ask him now then.”

  Carl? Are you still here?

  Silence.

  Sara turned back to her, “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “He’s not here. It happens that way. I thought I was going crazy at first, hallucinating, hearing voices, well only one voice.”

  “Where do you suppose he went?”

  “Maybe back to the funeral home, close to Ron.”

  “This is really getting weird,” Cass said. “I mean I’m as open as anyone to new experiences but this is really climbing up to the top of my weirdo-meter.”

  “I know Cass. I think we should head back now. At least, my headache is letting up. I also want to get another look at that guy with the beard. I know I’ve seen him before.”

  “You’re probably right. If Carl said the guy is okay, and a fed, maybe he’s watching what’s going on and looking for clues to the murder.”

  “Murders,” Sara added the plural.

  “Yes, murders.”

  “I think Stacey was the second one,” Sara sifted her fingers through her unruly hair and they walked back to the parking lot.

  “Do you think they’re connected?” Cass asked.

  “Honestly I don’t know, but I’m starting to believe there is no such thing as coincidence.”

  The black Blazer was empty when they returned to the funeral home. At least it was still there, but where was the bearded agent? And, what was his connection to Carl and Stacey?

  ***

  Later in Jordie’s loft, Ron looked around at the few close friends and family gathered to unwind. He spoke quietly to Jordie in a corner of the loft with glasses of Irish whiskey cradled in their hands. “Is everything settled between you and the police department?”

  Jordie glanced back toward the women sifting through his finished canvases against the far wall. “It appears to be. Some big wig in the department or maybe outside the local force, I’m not sure, came in after I’d been questioned for several hours. He asked maybe a dozen questions and then left the room. Ten minutes later, they let me go. I’m not supposed to leave the area until they’re through with their investigation, but the lawyer you sent thinks they’re looking in another direction now. I don’t know, maybe someone saw me at the other end of the block and backed up my statement. Mom doesn’t know how close I came to getting arrested. I’d like to keep it that way.”

  They looked across the room at the women. “The women have been jumpy all day. Jordie, did Stacey or Carl ever get into anything radical, groups that could have gotten them into trouble?”

  “What do you mean, Mr. Stafford? What kind of groups?”

  “Extreme radicals, cults.”

  “I would think Carl was too intelligent to fall into a radical group. Do you mean religious cults?”

  “Political.”

  “Not Carl. I don’t know about Stacey though. When we first met her in grad school, she was into anything to shock her dad. Thing is, it never worked. He never gave her the time of day. When he died a few years back, she took it hard. She cried for a solid week. She spent that week on my couch. I thought she was going to lose it then. She didn’t eat, didn’t sleep, wouldn’t get dressed; she just huddled on the couch with a blanket she’d kept from her mom’s place. I came back from the market one day with some of her favorite foods to entice her to eat and there she was sitting in clean jeans and a tie-dyed t-shirt combing the knots out of her wet hair. She’d taken a shower, folded up her blanket, and announced she was going back to her own place. She thanked me for the shelter, shared lunch, and left. She never talked about it. It was like her feelings about what happened were placed in a trunk and locked into the recesses of her mind.

  “When this thing happened to her last weekend, she did the same thing. Huddled on my couch when she wasn’t down at the shop trying to sell off what was salvageable to repay the artists whose art sale money was stolen in the burglary.

  “She could have been into something radical way back in our college days, but not now. Why are you asking?”

  “I found some disturbing things with Carl’s stuff. I was going to ask Stacey the same questions I’ve asked you.”

  “What kind of disturbing things? Cult things? Which cult?”

  “Keep your voice down,” Ron whispered. “I don’t want to upset the ladies anymore than they already are. I found Internet printouts about a meeting between a political cult and a representative of a Muslim extremist sect. The date was circled and the location highlighted. Notes in the margin appeared to be a code of some sort. Vertical down the page was a series of numbers and letters.” Ron reached into his pants pocket, pulled out a piece of lined paper and passed it to Jordie. “What do you make of it?”

  Jordie read the list and shook his head. “I have no idea.” He continued to stare at the double column written on the piece of paper: 01, 32, 12, 55, 00, 44, PN, AO, XB, KI, IS, LM, L O R T E, “some kind of code maybe. I don’t know. Did you copy this from the printout?”

  “Just as it was written in the margin of the paper,” Ron said.

  “Can I keep this? I’d like to study it some more. Maybe something will start to make sense.”

  “I thought it better not to tear up the document, but I don’t want anyone to find the printout in my possession, especially Sara. If Carl was into this group it would explain why he took his life. His mother would be crushed if she knew. If someone in the group threatened to expose him, I don’t know, maybe it would have pushed him over the edge. What I don’t understand is why he would get into it in the first place?”

  “I don’t know, Mr. Stafford. I’ll think on it for a couple days and get back to you.”

  Jordan slipped the paper into his pocket. He looked up and smiled at his mom and the mother of his best friend. “They look deadbeat tired. We’re not going to find any answers tonight. Let me know if you come up with any solutions to the puzzle; and I’ll let you know if I do.”

  “Ladies, are you ready to head north?” Ron asked when he grabbed his suit jacket from the back of the couch in the center of the room.

  “I’m staying here tonight. Jordie will bring me home tomorrow,” Cass said. She reached her hands up toward the ceiling in an exhausted stretch.

  “I’m ready to head north. I’ve got a long day tomorrow,” Sara said through a stifled yawn.

  “I’ll follow you up. Do you want to stop somewhere for coffee? We could talk.”

  “Not tonight Ron; I’m exhausted. I would appreciate you following me as far as Greenland though.”

  Sara turned and gave her friend a hug promising to keep her updated. She walked across the loft to Jordie and hugged him tight. “Stay safe, Jordie.”

  “Thanks for everything Mrs. Stafford. Did you find a painting for your office?”

  “There are a couple I’m interested in, but I’ll wait ‘til after your show.”

  “Let me know which ones and I’ll put a sold tag on them so you don’t lose them.”

  “They’re the two closest to the window.” She
grabbed her coat from the chair by the door. Ron helped her into it, briefly rubbing her back. He said goodnight to his young friend, another son he wished he had, and to Cass.

  A half hour later, their cars separated at the Greenland exit off I-95.

  ***

  “You’re getting sloppy, Otto. I don’t like it.” The boss man said.

  He walked across the parking lot and opened his car door with his cell phone to his ear.

  “Hey, the situation called for termination. She was outta control. The disk wasn’t in her possession anyway.”

  “Your lack of professionalism disgusts me,” the boss man added. He turned on the ignition switch and lights in his vehicle.

  “You listen to me, Mr. Big Shot. I take all the risks while you sit back groomin’ your executive image.”

  “That’s enough of that. You can be extinguished, too.”

  “Just make sure that little present you promised me is in my account. I’m tired of coverin’ your mistakes.”

  “My mistakes, Otto? Your problem is that you don’t know when to fold. You get in too deep with the money lenders and end up blasting your way out. Did you check the artist’s loft yet?”

  “Haven’t had a chance, he’s been there all day.”

  “You could have been in and out during the funeral. You wasted an opportunity.”

  “When I’m sure he won’t surprise me, I’ll slip in like a ghost.”

  “As you said before, Otto, we are running out of time. We wasted a great deal of it with the wrong disk. Now, the customer is expecting the product delivered before the Christmas holiday and you don’t even have the formula. I would have eliminated others whose performance was half as sloppy as yours. We’ll see about payment when you find the disk.”

  Otto slammed his receiver down in an audible punctuation mark. The boss man closed his phone and pulled into traffic.

  CHAPTER 8

  The main door to finance was unlocked but all the lights were out. Sara would have to talk to security about that. They should have an auto-locking device on these doors.