A Fool's Journey

by Judy Penz Sheluk

  “A thing?”

  Chantelle blushed. “If you must know, I’ve agreed to help Lance work on his family tree.”

  Lance. Not Lance the Loser. Was there a reconciliation going on that I didn’t know about?

  “I know what you’re thinking, and no, it’s not like that. As far as I know, he’s still with Cleopatra.”

  Cleopatra was the name Chantelle had given to Lance’s adolescent girlfriend, she of the porcelain skin, waist-length black hair, jade green eyes, and legs that went up to her ears. “If you say so.”

  “I do. Say so. Lance just received the results of his DNA test from Ancestry.ca, and there are a bunch of matches we want to drill down on to see if we can find out any more. He was adopted, you know.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “Oh yeah. I often think the main attraction to marrying me was becoming part of a big family. He and my brother, Bill, are still best buds.”

  Spoken without a trace of bitterness. Something was definitely brewing between Chantelle and her ex. She’d fill me in when she was ready and not a moment before. “I’ve been thinking of doing a DNA test,” I said, “but part of me is worried that I’ll dredge up more skeletons.”

  Chantelle laughed. “Your imagination runneth over, Callie. Anyway, I’m off. Call me later if you need a shoulder to cry on.”

  I should have texted Royce as soon as she walked out the door. Instead, I took ninety minutes to write up my notes about our meeting with Lorna Colbeck-Westlake, and another thirty to reread them and satisfy myself I’d captured everything. Only then did I send a two-word text to Royce.

  “I’m free,” wondering if the words held a double meaning.

  My phone pinged. “Be there in 60.”

  An hour. That gave me time to scoot out to the convenience store on Trillium Way and pick up a bottle of chocolate syrup and a pint of French vanilla ice cream. What can I say? I’ve had experience getting dumped.

  Royce arrived within the hour, and he looked good, his sandy brown hair slightly tousled. Then again, he always looked good. There was nothing wrong with the physical attraction side of things, at least from my standpoint. He gave me a quick peck on the forehead, like something you’d do to your favorite niece, and I was filled with a sense of déjà vu. The forehead peck is never a good sign, and I was reminded of the Justin Moore song, “You Look Like I Need A Drink.”

  “Can I get you something? Beer? Glass of wine? Soft drink?”

  “A beer would be nice.”

  I went into the kitchen, grabbed a beer and a bottle of Chardonnay from the refrigerator, and took a mug and a wineglass out of the cupboard. I poured the beer slowly, not just to get the foam right, but because my hands had a slight tremble. I followed with the white wine, returned the bottle to the fridge, and took our drinks to the main room. Royce was sitting in one of the Arts & Crafts Mission oak chairs. He stood up, took the beer and clinked my wineglass. “Cheers.”

  “Cheers.” I sat down. May as well cut to the chase. “What is it you needed to tell me?”

  Royce took a sip of his beer, then came out with it. “I, uh, I’ve met someone.”

  Met someone? I’d been expecting a breakup but not because he’d met someone. “Oh.”

  “I met her at Porsche’s play. When Porsche was Eliza Doolittle in Pygmalion. In Muskoka. There was a party afterwards. At night.”

  I nodded. I was supposed to go with him, but the reading of Olivia’s will had put an end to that. I remember feeling slightly relieved at the time, knowing his mother, father, and aunt would also be in attendance. I nodded again, not quite ready to trust my voice. You’d think it would get easier, me being an old hand at this getting dumped business. It doesn’t.

  “Her name’s Mercy,” Royce said.

  Mercy.

  “She’s an actress.”

  An actress. It just keeps getting better. I took a swig of my wine.

  “Mercy Dellacorte,” Royce continued. “She was Porsche’s understudy. Also played the role of Clara Eynsford-Hill. Does commercials, too. You might recognize her from the one for that new Icelandic yogurt.”

  I shook my head, wondering what a Mercy Dellacorte would look like. I envisioned someone young, fresh-faced, movie-star-slender, with shoulder-length blonde hair, wispy bangs, and long, black eyelashes framing smoldering cobalt-blue eyes.

  “I gather you were taken with her performance.” I heard the snooty tone in my voice and cursed myself. I was trying to be an adult about this, and failing miserably.

  “I’m sorry, Callie,” Royce said, and he really did look sorry. “I thought you and I may have had something, but…I don’t know. I just had the impression that you weren’t committed to committing. I’m forty-one. More than ready to settle down and start a family before it’s too late.”

  Too late? Men could have kids when they were positively geriatric. Just ask Mick Jagger or Richard Gere. “There’s no need to apologize. You’re right. I wasn’t ready. I’m not sure why.” I thought about adding, “It’s not you, it’s me,” but figured that would be overkill. “I hope we can remain friends.”

  “I’d like that,” he said, and I knew from the way he said it that it would never happen. Damn. Good renovators were hard to find. What was I thinking? Good guys like Royce Ashford were even harder to find.

  He drained his beer and got up to leave. “I’ll let myself out.”

  “Sure you can’t stay for another? I can still make dinner.”

  Royce shook his head. “Mercy is waiting for me back at the house.”

  That explained the slightly tousled hair. “Ah. Well, then.” I stood up, resisting the urge to trace my fingertip lightly along his jaw. “You take care of yourself.”

  “You too, Callie.”

  He left without pecking me on the forehead.

  I called Chantelle after inhaling the entire pint of ice cream, drenched in chocolate syrup.

  “Hey,” she said, picking up on the first ring.

  “Mercy.”

  “Mercy?”

  “That’s her name. Mercy Dellacorte. She’s an actress.”

  “Ah, geez. I’ll be right over.”

  “No, seriously, stay put. I don’t feel much like company right now. Actually, I feel kind of sick to my stomach.”

  “How much wine did you drink?”

  “Just one small glass when Royce was here. It’s the ice cream. A whole pint, with chocolate syrup”

  “Taking ice cream therapy to a new level, are you?”

  “Next time I’ll skip the syrup.”

  “Next time?” Chantelle laughed. “You’re the only person I know who prepares to get dumped before they even have a new man in their life.”

  “Just thinking ahead,” I said, but she had me laughing with her. I hung up and made myself a cup of peppermint tea to settle my stomach.

  Mercy Dellacorte. Her real name was probably something like Mary Dell or something equally benign. I smiled, comforted by the thought, and sipped my tea, letting my mind drift to wherever it needed to go. Mercy Dellacorte. Mary Dell.

  Brandon Colbeck.

  I took out my journal book and underlined Lorna’s last few words: “Why didn’t he take his ID?”

  “Where are you, Brandon Colbeck?” I asked the darkening room, “and who did you become?”

  17

  I woke up early Friday morning with time to kill before Lucy Daneluk arrived at two p.m. I made tea, two slices of rye toast with peanut butter, and turned on my tablet to see if Misty had added the entry for The Fool’s Journey to the Past and Present website. Instead I found myself googling Mercy Dellacorte.

  As websites went, hers was pretty basic. The Home page included a brief bio, along with a photograph of Mercy sitting on a large boulder beside a lake. Mercy didn’t look at all like I’d envisioned her. She was about my age, height, and weight, in other words late thirties, five-foot-six, and neither slender nor plump, with straight, dark brown hair cut in an unadventurous chin-length bob
parted to one side. Everything about Mercy seemed ordinary—provided you were able to ignore the enigmatic half-smile and the come-hither sparkle in her black-brown eyes. Apparently Royce couldn’t.

  I studied her choice of clothes: black open-toed, wedge-heeled sandals, black tights, and what appeared to be a black camisole, covered by a flowing black and turquoise top in an abstract circular pattern, with patches of black crocheted bits along the sleeves and neckline. If I had to label the style of the top, it’d be a flouncy thing.

  The bio was short and simple:

  Born and raised in Toronto, Ontario, Mercy Dellacorte is a Canadian actress best known for her regional stage work. She is currently in Pygmalion as Clara Eynsford-Hill and recently played Gwendolen Fairfax in The Importance of Being Earnest. She was also a runner-up on season two of Canada Bakes.

  I recognized the baking show and was forced to admit I’d caught it once or twice, although clearly I’d missed season two. I also knew that Royce had a sweet tooth, another plus for Mercy Dellacorte. I clicked on the link that took me to her Credentials page, which was more of the same, along with mention of the Icelandic yogurt commercial.

  The Photos page included a collage of Mercy, Mercy, and more Mercy. My breath caught in my throat at a shot of her, champagne flute in hand, laughing backstage with Porsche and Royce.

  I clicked off, annoyed with myself for the investment of time and the hollow ache in my stomach, and went to the Past & Present website, pleased to find The Fool’s Journey entered. At the top of the page, Misty had included a fanlike spread of all twenty-two cards in the Major Arcana, placed in order from 0 to 21.

  The Fool’s Journey: A Brief History

  This post will serve as a brief introduction to a new series tracing The Fool’s Journey in tarot. Each of these posts will review the subsequent cards in the Major Arcana in order. (To read about the first card, number 0, The Fool, click here.) It is our hope that beyond serving as entertainment, that one or more of these posts will resonate with readers, and help Past & Present find Brandon Colbeck. Comments are open below, or you may contact us using our secure form. We appreciate all shares on social media.

  I stopped reading to test all three links: The Fool, Brandon Colbeck, and Contact Us. Each one opened to a separate page, leaving The Fool’s Journey post open. Perfect. I went back to reading.

  Many believe the Major Arcana is The Fool’s Journey as he travels through life, making discoveries and learning along the way, until his journey is complete. Some believe the concept was first embraced by Eden Gray in her 1969 book, The Tarot Revealed, which delved into the meaning of tarot cards as they relate to fortunetelling, and played an integral part in the creation of the contemporary interest in tarot in general, and her interpretation of The Fool’s Journey in particular. However, A.E. Waite, the designer of the card, wrote, some eighty years earlier, “he is a prince of the other world in his travels through this one.”

  * * *

  Misty’s Message: Be careful what you wish for: only those truly alone in this world have no one to miss them, and those left behind remain on an endless journey for the truth.

  It was a powerful message. Time would tell whether it reached anyone who could help us. I logged off and turned on the TV, clicking On Demand to find back episodes of Canada Bakes, season two.

  I’ll admit to feeling somewhat smug when Mercy was cut after the pound cake in her Baked Alaska was too dry. I mean, seriously, how difficult is it to bake a moist pound cake?

  18

  Lucy Daneluk arrived bang on two p.m. Friday. I invited her in, explaining, without elaboration, that Chantelle wouldn’t be able to make it.

  Daneluk was an attractive woman in her late forties, with feathered bangs and shoulder-length hair highlighted with shades of copper and gold, lightly bronzed skin, and dark eyebrows over intelligent brown eyes. She sized me up briefly and nodded once, as if satisfied with what she saw. I motioned her to sit in one of the mission oak recliners under the kitchen pass-through, offering her a beverage of her choice. She opted for soda water with a slice of lemon if I had it. I did, and decided on the same for myself.

  “You’re younger that I thought you’d be,” she said, settling in after I brought her the water.

  “Thirty-nine. The big four-oh looms on the horizon.”

  “Growing old is a privilege denied to too many. Not that forty is old. Tell me how someone so young gets into the business of digging up the past?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “I have time.”

  The way she said it made me realize it was her way of vetting me. If I wanted any information, I’d have no option but to tell her.

  “My father died in an occupational accident two years ago.” I’ve learned to refrain from prefacing it with “unfortunate,” the term used on the day I was notified. “He left me a house in Marketville on the condition I look into my mother’s disappearance thirty years earlier.”

  Lucy glanced around the room. “This house?”

  “No, it was on Snapdragon Circle in the Trillium Way subdivision, the house we lived in when my mom left. I sold it a few months ago, after…after closing the file on my mother.” Closing the file on my mother. Well, that was one way to put it. I took a deep breath and soldiered on. “I didn’t want to stay there, and I didn’t want to go back to working at a bank call center.”

  “I can imagine neither option appealed.”

  I glanced at Lucy, checking her face for a hint of sarcasm, and found none. “I purchased this property and started Past & Present with Chantelle. It’s working out.”

  “Tell me a bit more about Past & Present. I gather you’re the leader?”

  “I guess so, yeah, because Chantelle also works as a personal trainer and fitness instructor at the gym, so she’s less available than I am, and I have more invested financially. But we don’t do everything ourselves. We have team. Chantelle’s specialty is genealogy and online research. Arabella Carpenter owns the Glass Dolphin antiques shop in Lount’s Landing. She actually referred us to our first case, a woman who came to her looking for ocean liner memorabilia that might lead to information about her grandmother. Shirley Harrington is a retired reference librarian. She has a passion for perusing old newspapers and records, which, trust me, is every bit as tedious as it sounds. And Misty Rivers is…” How did I explain Misty without coming across like a crazy person or losing Lucy as a source?

  “I’ve been reading Misty’s Messages on the Past & Present website,” Lucy said, sparing the need for an explanation. “Very informative and professionally represented. I think her expertise in that area will come in handy as you search for Brandon Colbeck.”

  I breathed an inward sigh of relief. “It already has. She recognized the partially finished tattoo as the top half of The Fool, the first card in tarot. The drawing is representative of the Rider-Waite deck.”

  “I knew that, as did the police, not that the lead went anywhere. Fresh eyes might help.”

  “We’ll be following that up,” I said, unwilling to talk about Sam Sanchez or discuss my conversation with Jeanine Westlake. This meeting was about me gathering information, not giving it. I also didn’t want to push Lucy into any one particular direction.

  “I assumed you would. Am I right in ascertaining that this is only your second investigation under the Past & Present umbrella?”

  “Yes, but rest assured, while we may not have experience on our side, we will do everything in our power to find him. Or at least find out what happened to him.”

  “Why?”

  “Because that is what we were hired to do. Because I already feel invested in it. Because the family deserves answers.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t say you were hoping to provide them with closure.”

  I sent a silent thank you to Gloria Grace. “My experience is there’s never closure, no matter the outcome.”

  “You impress me, Callie,” Lucy said, “and I don’t impress easily. However, I’
m not sure what you can do that the police haven’t already done.”

  I felt my back stiffen. All this true confession stuff to get to that? “So I’ve been told, and yet, here we are.” I tried to keep the edge out of my voice and knew I’d failed. It must have been the right response, because Lucy smiled, revealing a row of straight, white teeth.

  “We are indeed. I like someone who doesn’t give up. Ask your questions, and I’ll do my best to answer them.”

  I should have gone straight to Brandon Colbeck’s file and yet… “You didn’t ask about the outcome of my mother’s case. Why not?”

  The smile broadened. “Perhaps I already knew the answer.”

  I felt a flash of anger and tried not to give into it. “You asked me how I got into digging into the past. Now you know.” Okay, so maybe not entirely successful with the anger quashing. I took a deep breath and summoned up a smile. “Your turn on the hot seat. When did you start the Ontario Registry of Missing and Unidentified Adults, and what made you do it?”

  “It wasn’t a planned thing. I expect these labors of love never are, they just find us somehow. At any rate, it was the summer of 2003, and I’d been reading about the Doe Network—”

  “The Doe Network?”

  “It’s a non-profit organization of volunteers who work with law enforcement to connect missing persons cases with John and Jane Doe cases. I was shocked at the number of people featured on the website. I volunteered because I wanted to work towards returning a missing loved one to her or his family. A few months later, I was asked to assume the position of Area Directorship for Ontario. My focus reverted to researching the cases we had on file via newspapers, and verifying the information with police. It seemed that with every new piece of information, I learned of yet another missing or unidentified person case.”