by Alexie Aaron
"Very well, I guess I may have been wrong about him."
I noticed she didn't say wrong about me, but I let it go.
She waved her hand. "Anyway, the facts are that he is still missing, and I’m worried."
"Was he down on business-business or church business?"
"I'm really not sure."
"But you know he came down here?"
"He said he was."
"Diane, let me speak frankly. You're not giving me a lot to go on. Was it a conversation or did he leave you a post-it on the refrigerator?"
"We were having dinner in my house in Savannah. Michael was in good spirits. He was back at work. You know he does research for the Jesuits. I assumed that he was doing some kind of research down here in Palm Beach." She took another sip of tea and sat back and closed her eyes. Her face showed stress and emotional pain.
"I'm sorry he isn't here."
"Find him.”
"I don't know how I can."
"You do that don't you? Find people. You found my brother."
"No, your brother found me." I felt a chill as I remembered being pulled from the bog, the corpse of Donald Williams, Diane's missing brother, entwined in my legs.
"Poor Donald." She shook her head as to remove the recent memory. "Ms. Fin-Lathen, I’m asking you to find Michael. Your assistant Harrison assures me that you and he could do this. He said you were freelance consultants. Said the police used you to capture two serial murderers here not long ago. And you certainly were a necessary element in recovering the Copland composition."
Harry is dead, he is deader than dead. I was going to say no. I prepared myself.
"You know Michael far better than anyone else."
Say no, I said to myself, now is your chance.
"I’m a rich woman, I can afford it."
I was just about to open my mouth when Harry stepped into the room. I was forming the en with my tongue when Harry said, “Of course she'll do it. Didn't Father Michael save her life? Expenses are fine, and we'll be reasonable about the fee, after all, we're family." He gave her such a smile. The same type of phony smile my con artist son Alex uses.
I jumped to my feet to protest, but Harry stepped in front of me. "Aunt Diane, let me show you to your room. You must be exhausted."
They left the room, and I sat down stunned. Holy shit, what an end run the kid did around me. I was set up from the start. Harry O'Rourke had some explaining to do. I drained my cup and poured another. I drained that, ignoring that it was rather hot. I guess I was waiting for the oblivion that whiskey would have given me. But, alas, it was tea, herb tea. The worse it would do was make me have to pee all night.
"Er, Cin?"
I looked up, and there was Harry standing there ready to face the music. I squinted my eyes as in pain. "Sit."
He sat at the edge of the chair, ready to bolt at the first sign of violence. "All I’m asking is for you to listen to me."
"So speak."
"Okay, that is two words, an improvement." He sat back in the chair. "I think we can help here. You know this guy, and we know this area. I mean, how hard could it be?" He knew better than to smile at me. He didn't quite meet my eyes. This reminded me of my late dog Honey when she really wanted to lick the remains of the ice cream bowl but knew that I didn't want her to. So she would lay there and look at me, but not directly, until I gave in. I gave in a lot, so my dog was pretty fat.
"It's going to be very hard. Do you know why he’s here?" I didn't wait for his answer. "No. So it means going back to the beginning, which means finding out who he works for, and, Harry, I don't have any connections with the Catholic Church, let alone the Jesuits. What if he’s into something dangerous? Did you think of that? Maybe he doesn't want to be found?"
"But we can't just sit by and do nothing."
"No! Don't even play that card. You and I know that you aren't interested in being a good guy as much as being a guy with prestige and money. And! And you’ve this sick idea that you’re a private eye. We were damn lucky. Lucky! And luck runs out. Ask any gambler. Luck runs out." I got up. "Since you’re my assistant, you clean up and, this is a very big and, you're in charge of the comfort of our guest. That means meals, clean bathrooms and chauffeuring her wherever she wants to go." I walked towards my bedroom door. I stopped and turned around.
"Harry, I'm going to sleep on this, if I can sleep tonight, and tomorrow we will figure out a way for me to do this without ending up arrested, maimed or dead. I owe Father Michael, and I take that seriously. That's the only reason I'm doing this, so put your dreams of grandeur out of your head. Good night." I didn't give him any opportunity to respond. I walked into my room and shut the door. I locked the inside door and the patio door. It wasn't because I didn't want to be disturbed as much as I didn't feel safe anymore, and I had a feeling I wouldn't for a long time to come.
Chapter Four
Christmas music filled my ears, while red, green and gold lights danced around me. I was dressed in a Christmas gown the very image of Rosemary Clooney's in White Christmas. I floated as I walked. Little children, at my feet, caught the gifts that sprung from my hands at the merest flick of my wrist. I was very happy. I even sang in tune. I remembered thinking, “This is a great dream,” when giant toy soldiers woodenly walked into view. They appeared to want the gifts that the children had. I shook my finger at the soldiers, and to my horror, flame-tipped arrows came from my fingers. They hit the wooden men and the men started to burn, but that didn't stop them. The children at my feet transformed into the bog, and Donald's hands were pulling me down. There were flames all around me, and the heat was unbearable. I woke up soaking wet from a night sweat.
Peri-menopause was no picnic. With practiced swiftness, my covers were thrown off my body and tangled at my feet. While I was waiting to cool down, I made up an alternate good ending to my dream. I needed my sleep and wasn't going to let a nightmare stop me. The sweat passed, and I pulled up my covers. I lay back thinking of good things, and just as I was falling asleep I heard a familiar voice.
"Cin, save me."
I was under the control of the sheep count and could only groggily answer back, "Michael, I’m on my way."
~
When Harry played a part, he played it well. The next morning he had an elaborate breakfast set up out on the pool deck. It was a far cry from my normal Irish oatmeal, raisins and brown sugar. He had croissants and berries for us to piece on while he took our omelet orders. Harry made coffee for Diane and a pot of tea for me. Fortunately, Diane wasn't a morning talker, and I was able to enjoy my meal in peace. My son Alex takes after me. He refuses to communicate until after he is fed, washed and dressed. A series of grunts was all you could get out of him. My ex and daughter are happy risers. Luke even sang in the shower. Life cannot be that good at six a.m.
I decided that the best course of action was to grill Diane with questions. It would be nice for the shoe to be on the other foot for a change. I asked her to meet me in the den after she had finished her meal.
Harry sat next to me, pen and pad ready. He was very quiet today, which was understandable as threats of death usually do subdue him for a while.
"Diane, what I would like to do is get as much information from you as I can," I began in a very business-like manner.
"But I don't know anything," she protested.
"Yes you do." I sat straighter in my chair. "You know things like: where does Michael work and who does he work for?"
"The church I imagine. He's a priest."
"I think that has been established, but what Harry and I need is who, what and where. Did he give you an emergency telephone number? Does he live with you, alone or in a..."
"Convent," Harry supplied.
"Convents are for nuns." I lifted an eyebrow as to say “dork”. I continued, "Parish house? My knowledge of Catholics is limited."
"I usually can get a hold of him on his cell, and before you ask, he hasn't answered in days. He lives in an apartment
over my garage when he’s in town. He travels the world when necessary, but then he gives me an itinerary." Diane looked at her nails, reached into her pocket and produced a nail file and began grooming.
“He went into seclusion after being shot. Are you sure he's not in seclusion or on a retreat now?"
"Honestly, he would have told me. He told me he was coming here." She blew the sand papered nail dust from her hand.
"I think, Harry, you would agree with me that we have to find the start of the trail before we can follow it or, in this case, him. I’m going to need access to his, er, digs at your home. Also I need the number to his advisor in Ireland. Harry and I will drive up as soon as I get someone to watch the house here." I paused to see how Diane was taking this.
"Sounds plausible, but wouldn't it be better to fly?"
"Diane, we would have to land in Atlanta and transfer to Savannah and then rent a car. It would take hours, might as well drive."
"Darling, why not just join me on my jet. Didn't Harry tell you?" She looked at me as if I was an idiot.
Her own jet? I had forgotten that she was a big player in the business world. "Frankly, there is a lot Harry hasn't told me, but he will." I looked over at him, and he just smiled a weak smile.
"So, I take it you’re going to find him."
"I, excuse me, we, are going to do our best." I stood up and concluded the first meeting of the “We don't know what the hell we’re doing” consulting agency.
~
I called Luke's cell phone and let him know, via voice mail, that I was running away to Savannah with Harry, please keep an eye on the house. Noelle and Alex would have to learn of their mother's defection from my ex.
I was trying to fit all my clothes and shoes in my small suitcase when Harry breezed in.
"You’re not packed yet? We're only going to be gone a day, two at tops." He started lifting my clothes, looking at my choices. "Why so many shoes?"
"I seem to have a problem with keeping shoes when I travel." Actually I tended to lose them when I was running into or from murderers, but I didn't feel I had to explain myself further.
"All that isn't going to fit into that bag. Why don't you take that small duffle along? That way your clothes won't get crushed." He already had his head in my closet looking for a bag.
"Okay, okay." I looked at my watch. The limo was going to be here any minute, and I still had some papers to get together. "I'll tell you what. Why don't you put half my shoes in the duffle and half in the suitcase while I find my passport? I hope you’ve yours because you never know. You have to think professionally now."
Harry patted his jacket pocket. "All present and accounted for. Now hurry up, I don't think Aunt Diane likes to be kept waiting."
"I don't think you should call her Aunt Diane. She isn't your aunt," I hissed at him as I left the room. I was hoping he would actually listen to me this time.
~
The flight was uneventful as most corporate flights go. Diane's architectural corporation shared the lease of the jet with another concern she told me humbly, but still I was impressed. We were picked up by her driver and whisked off to downtown Savannah, or more correctly, the riverfront. I had been to Savannah several times in the last few years with my husband, before our divorce, as he went through his recurrent flight training at Flight Safety's facilities at Savannah airport. We had stayed in a couple of different hotels on the river, but this would be my first time entering one of the antebellum homes that I had seen only from the street side, with the exception of the founder of the Girl Scouts, Juliette Gordon Low’s home.
Diane's house was in the same area. From the street her property had little frontage, but it more than made up for it in the depth of the lot. The little apartment over the garage was an understatement as it had its own balcony and several sets of casement windows, letting in whatever light that filtered in through the live oak canopy.
Harry and I were shown into the house via the servants' entrance. It didn't chafe my pride. After all, we were getting paid. I maintained my cool indifference, even though Harry was doing a great impression of a codfish with his mouth hanging open as he looked around.
"The kitchen is downstairs and the sole domain of my cook Phyllis. I suggest you don't venture there uninvited unless you want to become Sunday's roast," Diane explained. "This entry is most convenient as the back stairs have a direct route to your accommodations." She directed us up the stairs with a sweep of her hand. "Betty will meet you upstairs and show you your rooms. Perhaps after you freshen up you will join me in the drawing room for a confab."
Harry started pounding up the stairs and stopped suddenly, causing me to run right into him.
"Cin," he whispered. "What's a confab?"
I almost told him the truth that it was an informal chat/conversation but that wouldn't have been any fun. "It’s raw garden snails, a delicacy here in Savannah." I loved the look of distress on his face as I passed him on the stairs. "It’s all part of living the high life."
"Ew. Do I have to eat one?"
"You can decline, but it would be rude," I said dismissively over my shoulder. Clearly he was in distress, and I loved it. I came to a landing of sorts and stopped short of colliding with a very stout tall woman who nearly filled the hallway. Her large moon face looked at me in contempt.
"Betty?" I asked, my voice squeaking.
"Yes, Ms. Lathen. I put you and your son in the south wing." She held out a massive arm, which I squeezed by in the direction of the outstretched hand.
"Harry, get the lead out." And as he caught up to me I whispered, "How the hell are we supposed to know where south is inside this house?"
"I'll go back and ask her if you get me out of having any of those confabs." He looked at me with big eyes.
"Deal. I guess we could say that you’re allergic to them," I suggested.
He nodded his head in agreement and walked back to the human wall and used his charming ways to get more complete directions without making us look too stupid. He came back and offered me his arm.
"Two doors down, we'll find a hallway on the left. That is the south wing. I guess from that point we open doors till we find our suitcases."
"My hero. I didn't think I could face Betty again. She looked at me like I was diseased." I took Harry's arm, and we proceeded to the south wing.
"I know why Betty hates you."
"Really? Why?"
"Servants gossip and listen at doors, and if Aunt Diane thinks you’re a tempter of priests…"
"Ouch. So my bad press has preceded me."
"Exactly. Well, imagine to my surprise, to find out that I'm your son. I was hoping for boy toy or is it toy boy?"
"Be careful or I'll insist you have two helpings of confabs."
The first room we came to had Harry's bag in it. It was a dark room with mahogany furniture. Harry walked over to the window and adjusted the plantation shutters to let in some light. Seeing that he was settling in, I left him in search of my room.
When I entered the room, the first thing I noticed about the décor was an overabundance of crosses and religious paintings. Not one surface was bare of some kind of religious item. The message couldn't be clearer if garlic hung from the window casement. I was sure that Betty had the house's best interest in mind when she wound a rosary around the door handle but I found it a bit noisy.
The room shared a bath with the room next door. I groaned, realizing Harry was my bath partner. It wasn’t that he was messy - actually he is neat as a pin. He was, however, a mirror hog. It took longer for him to get ready in the morning than our whole household.
I opened my suitcase and began to unpack. It wasn't long before I noticed some things were missing. I looked around the room for the little bag that Harry packed for me. It wasn't there. Maybe it was placed in Harry's room by mistake. After all, it used to be Luke's gym bag and very masculine, I would have made the same mistake. I decided to walk through the bath and knock on Harry's door. It would sav
e me from the possibility of running into Betty the house exorcist.
"Harry? Knock, knock?" I tried the door and it was open. Harry was hanging half out of his window. He pulled himself in.
"Just getting the lay of the land. What's up?"
"Did you get my gym bag by mistake?"
"No, it isn't in here. Maybe it’s still in the limo or the plane?" He shrugged his shoulders. "I wouldn't worry. It'll turn up."
"It's a problem."
"Christ, Cin, it’s only shoes," he said irritated.
"Would you mind coming in my room for a minute?" I didn't wait for an answer. I walked back through the bath to my room. "Come on." Harry followed me and got two feet in the door before he started crossing himself.
"Wicked use of the icons."
"Never mind that, remember what I asked you to do with my shoes?"
"Pack half in the suitcase and half in the gym bag. Why?"
"Horrible Harry, you packed just the right shoes in the suitcase!"
"Right as in fashionable," Harry nodded.
"No. Right as in the shoes for the right foot. I imagine that all the freaking left ones are in the gym bag!" I started tossing the partner-less shoes at him.
"Ouch! Cut it out! I suppose this is my problem." He ducked. I just missed him as my running shoe breezed by his head.
"You had to help me out. I was doing fine. You had to invite a woman to our home that hates me. Yes, she hates me. And now I’m in her home where she still hates me. Her maid is convinced I will bring evil to this house." I open my arms wide encompassing the whole room so he could get the full picture. "Plus, she notices everything. I think she’s going to notice that I’m wearing the same shoes to everything. Probably will point it out to passersby. Excuse her, madam, for wearing two right shoes, she is over compensating for having two left feet."
"She really hates you? Who could hate you?" Harry started picking up the shoes. He moved quickly as I just missed kicking him in the behind by a toe.