Mourning Dove

by Donna Simmons

“How about dinner on Sunday, my place, you bring the dessert.”

  “You’re on. I promise to decipher any cryptic remarks said by me this week if you promise not to jump to any conclusions. By the way, I thought it was nice of Mike to send flowers.”

  “It would have been better for him to show up.”

  ***

  Matthew Farrell’s cell rang in the middle of the night.

  “Mr. Farrell?”

  “Yes?”

  “You have a rotten apple in your barrel.”

  “Who is this?”

  “Just listen to me. I don’t have much time. Someone you trust is dealing in secrets. If you don’t stop him we’re all going to die.”

  “Tell me who you are.”

  “I can’t; it’s not safe for me here.”

  “Tell me the name of the rotten apple, then.”

  “It’s the big shot. I can’t tell you more. I think he’s listening.

  “You need to give me more to go on and the validation of your name. Without that why would I believe you?”

  “You gave me your card; you said if I was ever in trouble or had information you could use to contact you. Well, I’m talking to you now. You piece it together.”

  “You haven’t given me anything I can use yet. Meet me somewhere.”

  “I don’t have time.”

  “Give me a clue, then.”

  “Twinkle, twinkle little star. How I wonder what you are. Up above us all you sit, treating us like little shits.”

  The connection was terminated.

  “Damn it, the first decent night’s sleep in months and now this.” Pushing off the bed in his hotel suite, Matthew walked into the alcove by the sink, added coffee to the machine, filled the reservoir, and pushed the button. Over his career he’d given cards to hundreds of people. Who the bloody hell was this? Somebody current or somebody old? It was definitely somebody pissed off.

  CHAPTER 16

  “You are utterly amazing, milady,” the Yorkshire accent filled Sara’s office doorway. She looked up at his charming presence and motioned him in.

  “Could it be my ability to slay corporate giants with a single pen stroke, my skill at devouring bags full of Chinese take-out without breaking a sweat, or could it be my talent at social gatherings to cover faux pas from family and friends with a demur smile plastered on my face?” She leaned back in her office chair and tossed her glasses on the desk.

  “I believe we have a swelled head problem, milady,” Matthew joked. “Maybe we inhaled too much chlorine at lunch?” He slid into one of the conference chairs at the end of her desk. “I was referring to your ability to balance your work schedule, and Jonathon’s, your athletic prowess in the pool at lunch, your sponsorship of young artists, your skill at fending off the advances and charges of all the men in your life, and still, at five-thirty on Friday night, you glow like an English rose in a tea garden.”

  “If you’re fishing around for a dinner companion again, might I suggest a home cooked meal for the traveling businessman?” She watched his gray eyes change to a deeper slate as a smile warmed his face.

  “The lady cooks, too?”

  “The lady can open cans and follow directions on the back of boxes. Nothing fancy, just a chance to unwind without a hovering waitress.”

  “You’re on.” He got to his feet and reached back to the coat rack hidden behind her office door. “Your wrap pretty dove, before you change your mind.”

  She turned into the coat he offered and found herself trapped in his arms. “Arms length, please; have you forgotten Lewis, the security guard? I’m only offering dinner and a quiet evening at my home, not anything more.”

  “A lot can happen in a quiet evening. Let’s take it one step at a time.” He reached for her bulging brief case. “Lead the way, milady.”

  ***

  A half hour later, Leonardo pounced onto the kitchen table and began his exotic dance, brushing his body up against Sara’s to the inner rhythm of his purr.

  “So this is the infamous feline mummy,” Matthew scratched behind the cat’s ears and then under his chin. “He seems harmless enough – just starved for attention.”

  “He belonged to our son’s friend, Stacey. Then, Jordie took him in. I guess Jordie didn’t pay enough attention. He left the cat to his own devices one too many times, then came home to a disaster one day last week. According to Jordie, Leonardo trashed the place.”

  “That’s hard to believe.”

  “He was quite upset. That’s totally out of character for Jordie.”

  “So, you ended up with the cat. You aren’t home much either. Has Leonardo,” he scooped the purring pile of orange and black fluff into his arms, “trashed your place? I mean besides the episode with the mummy costume.”

  “He’s demanding, as he is now when I do finally get home; but he’s not been destructive like what Jordie described.”

  “How destructive was it?”

  “He knocked over several completed canvasses that were ready for the show, slashing two beyond repair. He also knocked over tubes of paint and broke a jar of thinner, then walked through it all leaving his signature on everything.”

  “Hard to believe a cat could cause so much destruction. Sounds more like Leonardo witnessed a break-in and then freaked out. Are there a lot of burglaries in Newburyport?”

  “I wouldn’t know over all, but lately, yes. Stacey’s apartment and store were both trashed before...she died. I just can’t talk about that right now.”

  “So, what’s for dinner? I’m famished.” He put the cat down and watched Sara open a small tin of gourmet cat food. “Uh, Sara, I hope that’s for the cat and not our appetizer.”

  “It might be if you don’t behave.”

  “Have you thought much about what you’re going to do next?”

  “Well, I’m going to get a round steak out of my fridge, slice it very thin, dredge it in flour and brown it in a skillet. Then I’m going to put a pot of water on to boil for noodles, dice up some onions and garlic.”

  “Although that sounds strangely like something not prepared from a box and you already have my stomach grumbling over its empty condition, that isn’t what I want to know. What’s the next step with the husband you don’t live with? He looked like he was jealous last night when we were introduced.”

  “He wants me to come home.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I’m the one who left. Obviously I did that for a reason.”

  “Is there a chance for reconciliation or is the reason now living with him?”

  “It wasn’t like that. Here make yourself useful.”

  She put two plates stacked with a pile of silver and two linen napkins in his hands. “You’re trying to sidetrack me. Is he the kind of man that likes his cake and the frosting, too?”

  “There was no evidence of another woman while I still lived with him, but I can tell you he’s got one now. Signs of her existence were glaringly obvious when I came to pick up the rest of my things the weekend I moved into this place.”

  “Nice place, by the way. Smaller than I expected though.”

  “It meets my needs. I spend very little time away from work. It’s also a far sight more complete than the house I lived in with Ron.”

  “Would you like me to finish dicing the vegetables for you? You’re making me a tad uneasy with that lethal looking knife.”

  “Sure, we might as well both be shedding onion tears. On the other subject though, I think my marriage is dead. We just haven’t had the burial yet. I do care about him for all that we’ve been through together. At times, I feel I’m losing my best friend in the bargain. He still calls me to talk. This separation thing isn’t easy. What about you? Have you ever lost someone you were close to?”

  “I’ve never found the right person to share my dreams. I came close in college, but her idea of fun had a bit of a sadistic thread through it. The relationship was doomed before it ever got started. I’ve grown up since then. I k
now what’s important and what’s not.”

  Sara took the cutting board full of diced vegetables from him and slid them into the hot skillet, pushing them around with a wooden spatula. “What’s important to you?”

  “A common core of beliefs: trust, loyalty, fidelity.”

  “Not love?” She asked handing him a glass of ice tea.

  “With the right person it’s a given, I would think. What’s in this glass?”

  “It’s not alcohol. Taste it.”

  He sipped slowly and closed his eyes. “Sweet tea, it’s been a very long time. My father’s mother always made sweet tea. She died the year I graduated from high school. Before then, I was required to spend the week before Easter with her even when I’d rather be off with my friends. Dad would allow no excuse. Gran and I sipped sweet tea and played cards for hours between church services. I swear there was a different reason for church every single day that week.” He took another long swallow then looked up at Sara’s smile. “What?” he asked.

  “Just now you look different, relaxed, caught in the pleasant memories of another life. I’m glad to have brought them forward with a simple glass of tea. Do you still spend Holy Week in church?” She stirred water and tomato paste into the steaming concoction.

  “That’s what she called it! There for a minute I couldn’t remember. I drifted away from the tradition after she died. Probably because no one dragged me back. Are you into Sunday morning rituals?” He leaned forward and asked for seconds on the tea with a simple thank you.

  “My only Sunday morning ritual is getting caught up on sleep, laundry, and housework in that order. I haven’t quite reconciled with God over the loss of my son.”

  “You want to talk about that?”

  “No. It borders on insanity and I don’t want you to think less of me.” She added a dollop of sour cream to the mixture in the skillet, stirred then turned off the burner.

  “Interesting choice of words,” he replied. “I’ve got a broad sense of what’s sane and what’s not. I took psychology and parapsychology in college. Hell, nothing could be more bizarre than The X-Files on TV.”

  “But that’s fiction, unfortunately my life isn’t.” She poured the scalding pot of noodles into a strainer, dumped them onto a platter, and draped the steak and pink gravy over the top. “Let’s eat.”

  “Real life is always more bizarre than fiction.” He pulled out a chair for her to sit. “This looks and smells like heaven. Does it have a name?”

  “Well, I could call it beef stroganoff, but it’s missing the wine.”

  Later, sitting on the couch with feet crossed on the coffee table, they nursed spoonfuls of coffee ice cream and watched the old Sean Connery movie, The Hunt for Red October. “This scene reminds me of our conversation about the CIA. Have you asked about the phone list I gave you?”

  “I want to check out the other numbers first and place the whereabouts of the people who could have been in those two offices at those times. If Jonathon Pierce and Ross Gordon are accounted for, then who else has access: Lewis, the night security guard, other members of the finance department, and of course, Robert Starr, himself?”

  “Can you do that without making anyone suspicious?”

  “Remember, I too work for the government. I haven’t gotten this far without the ability to poke my nose into dark corners unseen.”

  “This is potentially dangerous, Matthew. Don’t take risks and don’t trust anyone.”

  “You know more than you’re telling me. What is it?”

  “It’s...just a feeling since Stacey’s death. I’m edgy. And the two things aren’t even related. Please be careful.”

  He reached over and placed a chaste kiss on the side of her lips. “Don’t worry, I’m always careful. I won’t let you down. Think of me as your guardian angel for the next few weeks.” He placed a second kiss on the other side of her lips, and a third on her forehead. Then he pulled away.

  Sara pulled him back ending the torment of his nibbling. The room spun as she sank into the carnality of what this kiss was asking.

  A phone rang. It stopped; then a moment later, another, louder ring filled the room. “Someone is persistent,” he said.

  She reached across the end table beside the couch. “Hello?”

  “Yes, Jonathon....No, you didn’t wake me. I was just finishing dinner; I had something in my mouth.”

  Matthew wriggled his eyebrows and she smacked him on the arm. She turned toward the coat closet. “How did it happen?...Was it an accident?...Alcohol related?...Okay, is there anything I can do from this end?...No, the board meeting went well. They’re waiting for your next update on the situation...All right, I will...Sure, let me know as soon as you can.” She disconnected the call.

  And, he waited.

  “Ross Gordon, the man I replaced, is dead.”

  CHAPTER 17

  On the front porch, Sara sat with her eyes closed, feet up, and Leonardo purring on her lap. She threaded her fingers through his silky fur and inhaled the crisp smell of fall. She could hear the hum of a leaf blower down the street.

  After Matthew left at midnight, it took ‘til two a.m. to fall asleep. He would have liked to stay the night; but she knew it was too soon. The push and pull of a new relationship was weaving its presence into the fabric of her consciousness. Every breath remembered the smell of him, every sound the echo of his voice. “Get a grip, Sara. You met him less than a week ago.”

  “Met who?”

  Cass was standing on Sara’s front steps. “I didn’t hear you come up. My goodness you have your hands full. What’s in the basket?”

  “I passed a farm stand on the way back from the store and thought we could both use some seasonal decoration. I bought Indian corn and a couple pumpkins for carving. Whom did you meet less than a week ago? That sweet piece of British testosterone? That was his car in your drive last night, wasn’t it?”

  “Jeez, Cass, take a breath.”

  “Please don’t shut me out of this. I knew something was up when he ran his hand up and down your bare back at the exhibit.”

  “He did not!”

  She stared over her glasses at Sara’s tired eyes.

  “Well, he didn’t. He kept his hand in one spot.”

  “Claiming territory, I suspect.”

  “Pissing Ron off, I guarantee.”

  “Okay, spill.” Cass said as she plunked down in Sara’s spare patio chair.

  “Matthew is here on business, living in a hotel, and eating in restaurants. I thought I would give him a respite; I invited him to dinner. He stayed through dessert and a movie and left around midnight.”

  “Ah hell, Sara, you’re both consenting adults. I hope you both had wonderful adventures last night.”

  When Sara’s phone started its Westminster chime she dug into her jacket pocket to answer it.

  “Hi, Sara.”

  “Allen, how are you?”

  “I'm fine, just fine.”

  “How are your wedding plans coming along?”

  “Annette’s picking out china patterns. Sara, Ron’s had a little accident.”

  Sara sat forward in her seat. “What happened?” Leonardo was digging in to hold onto his position on her lap as she waited for Allen to explain.

  “Ron tripped over a curb and his own big feet. One minute he was up; the next he was sprawled on the ground. His right ankle is broken. We’re at Portsmouth Regional. They’re keeping him until they can bolt him back together.”

  “Ouch! He won’t like that.” Sara looked across to Cass and shook her head exhaling a big breath. “Will I make matters worse by coming down?”

  “I think you should. He’s ornery as a bear with a thorn in his paw. And, you have a gift for settling him down.”

  “Not any more I don’t. I might make the situation worse, but I’ll come down. I can be there in forty minutes. Will you still be there?” The cat leaped from her lap, “Leonardo, get back here! Oh Allen, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell in yo
ur ear. But Leonardo just jumped off my lap and I’m on the porch.”

  “Who?”

  “Leonardo, Stacey’s cat.”

  “Sara, what are you talking about? Hey maybe you shouldn’t come down.”

  “No, that’s all right. As soon as I get him corralled I’ll be on my way.”

  “I won’t be here when you arrive. Ron and I were on our way to meet with a prospective client when he fell. I rescheduled for later on this afternoon and I’ll just make it if I leave now. Thanks for coming down, Sara.”

  He disconnected before she could say another word.

  Now what am I going to do? Scooping up the cat Cass had pinned with her foot on his leash, Sara scooted him into the house.

  “How much do you need for the pumpkin and corn?” She asked over her shoulder.

  Cass closed the front door behind her and spoke calmly into Sara’s frenzied spin, “First, sit down and take a breath.”

  Sara sat on the edge of her recliner, elbows to knees, and propped her forehead in her hands. Cass sat beside her on the couch.

  “Now tell me what happened.”

  “Ron had a little accident. He tripped and broke his ankle. I’ve got to go down there. How much do I owe you?”

  “You don’t owe me a thing. I’ll take care of Leonardo today and we’ll carve the pumpkins on Sunday.”

  Sara grabbed her purse off the counter. “Cass? Can you lock up?”

  “Just go, damn it! And, drive careful.”

  ***

  “GOD DAMN IT! I said I wasn’t hungry!”

  Sara could hear his angry roar clear down by the elevators, then a loud crash from the hospital room across from the nurses’ station. A young girl, obviously pregnant, emerged wearing a pink and white smock, maternity slacks, and the white clogs most hospital workers wore. Her face red with anger or embarrassment, she stormed back behind the relative safety of the nurses’ station.

  “Hi, I think I already know the answer to this question, but I’m looking for Ron Stafford. I believe he’s in the room that you just escaped.”