It hadn’t come out until later that the secretary had a history of violent behavior, and a good sized checking account from when his parents had suddenly died the year before. Enough money to get a hit man, anyway. And suspicious enough deaths that Romeo almost wondered if the man hadn’t helped hasten his parents’ deaths.
So that being the case, and in order to keep his anonymity, this client would remain a married man for life. His paperwork wouldn’t show that, but he would know, and so would the team who worked with him.
Because of his acceptance and entry into the HUVA program, for the next three months, he’d be staying at the same hotel that Romeo and Calico had taken their honeymoon at. So, while he had surgery and his identity paperwork was changed, the two of them would be the primary source of security for him.
Still hungry, Romeo poured more cereal into his bowl and added milk once more, as he heard Calico begin to move around in the other room.
“Good morning,” he greeted her when she padded out toward him a few minutes later. “I was just about to head to the shower, so the kitchen’s all yours,” he told her before gathering his things again and giving her a kiss on the forehead. “Sorry if I woke you up.”
Calico heaved a sigh as she smiled tremulously at him. ”Nope… it’s not your fault. I tossed and turned all night, unable to find a comfortable sleeping position and then, had nightmares when I did fall into slumber.”
Romeo gave her an apologetic smile, then tried to prepare himself mentally for the day ahead. He was already looking forward to the end of the day…
And on that note, Lord, please help us to have the energy and insight we need for this client meeting today… and help us to keep as calm as possible while we’re at it.
Brice paced the room as he waited for the Fergusons to show up.
Where are they, he asked himself. They only live three blocks away… how could they possibly be late? I mean, I’ve got an active and rambunctious kid running around my house, and I’m still here.
His thoughts strayed momentarily to his daughter Camellia before he reigned them in, then glanced over at HUVA’s newest client in dismay.
“I’m so sorry it’s taking them so long. It should be any time now.”
Even as he spoke, he could hear a car pulling in and prayed they had finally arrived.
Romeo and Calico Ferguson had never been late before… so why now? It just wasn’t like them at all…
He glanced out the window and grinned, relief flooding through him. “They’re here, Sir. Once they’ve been apprised of the whole situation, and you’ve decided on a name, we’ll have our identity man, Justice, get right on it so we can get your surgeries scheduled and then, see from there.”
The man was short, balding, and rather round with Coke-bottle glasses and a handlebar mustache. He’d kept the same signature look for more than fifteen years, and knew the mustache would be among the first things to go, and a new head of hair one of the first things to be added.
Brice was just thankful that he hadn’t argued it much – not when he’d been reminded of the other alternatives.
Within a few minutes, the little group was seated in the chairs nearest the window and Brice was filling everyone in on what was going on. He knew that Romeo had gotten some of the details earlier, but wanted to be sure everyone was on the same page.
After a while, he asked the client, not for the first time, if he’d chosen a name.
“Well, come to think on it some,” he said, his voice thick with the sound of Texas, “I thought about a few ideas. Just hadn’t decided on one yet. Kinda an odd thing, thinking ‘bout how you’ll never hear the name your parents gave you, ever again. Not to be called by it, anyways.”
“We could sure help,” Calico told him with a smile. “Believe it or not, I’ve gone through the name-change process, myself, the hard way, and it sure helped me to bounce ideas off of someone I knew I could trust.”
“Well, I don’t rightly think I’d have guessed you was like me, Ma’am, in that you’d gone through somethin’ that pulled you from loved ones, but I guess that sounds good. I thought about the names Roscoe Judd, Silas Franklin, Oscar Lorcan, or Morgan Ballard… but I don’t rightly know if any of ‘em really fit me. Me and my wife, we never had any kids, so the only thing I ever named was that boat I bought her.”
Did he just say Roscoe, Brice thought with a smile. “Well, it’s ultimately up to you,” he said, trying not to laugh.
“True enough, Sonny, true enough,” the man said.
Why did he insist on calling every man younger than him “Sonny?” That was another thing that had to go, and pronto. Brice jotted it down in his notebook as the others continued to discuss the name situation.
In the end, the man had chosen Roscoe Judd Ballard, of all things.
And he insisted on being called Roscoe Judd, in full. No ifs, ands, or buts about it.
Now that they had something to call him, though, they could at least prepare his new identity and do what they could to create an image that matched up with it.
And there are worse things to live with than a name like that, Brice thought as he made a note of it.
He could have the church secretary and his wife being after him found out by the national papers, instead of only locally. Now, wouldn’t that make for a pretty thing to add to the issues within the church? One or two people make bad decisions, and suddenly, the whole church corporate is to blame for it. It’s happened both Catholic and Protestant, and its torn churches apart. It’s killed careers, church, media, and politic, tearing them apart like old, worn cloth. Not to mention excessive damage to families and friendships, as well.
Depressed at the thought, Brice shut his notebook and readied to head to his room.
This was proving to be more complicated than he’d hoped it would be, after all.
Eighteen
Portland, Oregon… May 11, 2020
Edward sighed as he pulled into the parking lot at work, glad to finally be released to light duty, and even gladder to be regaining some of the sight he’d lost during his time in the hospital, gradually but indisputably.
In the past ten minutes, as he’d driven, the clouds had darkened and it had begun to rain.
Malik and Jason’s cars were parked already, and they were just heading inside when he moved to join them.
“Good morning,” he said, smiling at first one, then the other.
“Welcome back,” Malik said, while Jason clasped him on the shoulder for a moment.
It had been way too long… but he felt ready.
His friends updated him on the caseload they were working on and then, Jason pulled him aside.
“I just wanted to let you know I learned a lot from the details you got from Rose. At least, a lot for us. Not necessarily for our client, to be honest. They might be looking into that baseball team, but what I’ve found pertains more to the… er… altercation and misunderstanding we discussed before,” he began, turning on his computer for the day.
Altercation?
Edward tried to think back….
Did he mean the one between Steven Wishart-Laurent and those two players? Oh, man… what were their names again?
So,” Jason continued, “if you’re still here at the end of the day, and you want to discuss it, just let me know; otherwise, it can wait,” he said, perusing a green-tabbed folder on his desk.
“Pinky Woods and Skeeter Newsome were pretty difficult to find much info on, outside their careers in baseball, but we were able to talk to a few people here and there and come up with a more… well, a more well-rounded understanding of who they were.”
Ah, yes… Newsome and Woods. That was it.
He’d gone over his files at home the prior week, in preparation of coming back, but hadn’t looked back through his notes from speaking with Rose.
“Well, I sure hope I make it through the whole day. I’d hate to come all the way here and not be able to do my job.”
“All
I’m saying,” Jason told him, logging in, “is take it easy if you have to. There’s nothing here that’s more important than staying healthy. If you need to take more breaks than usual for the first several days, then do it. If that means a walk, then take it; if it means a nap, then take it. I understand, and will, of course, accommodate that need in whatever ways possible. And that wheelchair is still in the front closet if you need it for any reason.”
Please, God, not the wheelchair!
He’d seen enough of those to last a lifetime after his surgery, and then again during the weeks in the hospital this last time around.
Quickly thanking his brother-in-law, Edward excused himself to his own desk, started up his computer, and began pouring over the file he’d been assigned. He typed in his first search term and soon, the rhythm of his typing pulled him back into the ways of the office.
The next thing he knew, Malik was knocking on his door, asking if he wanted anything from Burgerville.
“Well, a double cheeseburger would be nice. Maybe a small fry and a chocolate shake,” he replied, pulling out his wallet and handing over some cash. “It’s been so long since I’ve had anything from there, I can already feel my mouth watering, thinking about it.”
Once Malik left, he got back to work, making sure he hadn’t missed anything important. They’d worked with this client before, and he knew she was especially interested in the little details that others might dismiss.
Thankfully, he’d been able to find and print off several articles, read through them, and had an idea of how he wanted to write up the result. But to be on the safe side, he decided to research her topic from one or two more angles.
Genomics for RNA virus Deformed Wing in Honeybees, he typed. Varroa destructor transmission.
A handful of articles populated his screen, most of which he had previously found. Many of them were on detection and replication, as opposed to nutrigenomics or immunolocalization, which is what she was looking for.
With a sigh, he swept a hand over his face and pushed away from the desk.
Edward figured he knew more about bees and bee disease now than he ever thought possible. Not that he’d recall most of it in a year, or even wanted to. This was so far afield from all the history cases he was used to, he felt like he was swimming against the tide.
Slowly moving over to the couch and laying down, he figured a few minutes of down time as he waited for Malik to return would probably do him some good.
It wouldn’t help at all to end up with a headache on the first day back to work, and with the file he’d been given, it would be difficult not to.
“Hi, there,” Paloma greeted Edward when he called her later that day. “How you holding up on your first day back to work?”
He laughed before he could refrain himself from it. “Well, other than the subject matter I was assigned – since it was the shortest assignment in the stack, apparently – it’s been great,” he told her. “Just don’t talk to me about bees for a while, alright?”
“What?”
Edward resituated himself in his chair and pushed off, away from the computer. His eyes were beginning to bother him from looking at the screen so long, and he closed them as he continued speaking.
“Honey bee diseases, specifically. We have one particular client who is fascinated with anything that flies, and this time, it has to do with bees. I mean, she swears it’s for historic purposes, but it beats me if I can see any correlation. So, I just do the work and forget about the why of it. I’m not paid to understand why the clients request such odd things sometimes. At this point, I just do my job as well as I’m able, and am thankful to have it. And if it’s a fascinating topic, that’s a bonus.”
“So, I’m guessing no “bonus” so far on this one,” she asked him again, laughing. He could hear other people in the background and wondered where she was.
“Not exactly.”
“Well, look at the bright side. You wanted to go back this week, and the doctor let you. You work for someone compassionate, and it’s the shortest assignment they’ve got on the books, so he’s doing what he can not to overload you right away.”
She had a point.
“And besides,” she continued. “It gets you out of the house for more than two or two and a half hours at a time. I know you enjoyed spending time with some of the guys here and there, but….”
Edward smiled.
Paloma was right, again.
He’d gotten together twice with Tom, once with Francis, and once with the pair of them. Mark had taken him to lunch on his first outing after arriving home, and he and Paloma had gone out three times to the store. They’d spent a few evenings with Jason, Me’chelle, and their kids and one with Malik and his family, as well. That had been it, and he’d quickly been restless in between them, despite how introverted he was.
“You’re telling the truth,” he finally replied. “If I hadn’t gotten the go-ahead to come to work this week, I’m not sure what I would have done. I love quiet time, and family time, but I love my job – well, most of the time – too. And I really missed it.”
“At least, before you were researching honey bee diseases, right?” His wife laughed again, and he heard what sounded like a cash register dinging.
“That’s one way to put it,” he murmured back, trying not to grumble.
“Well, I better let you get back to it. I’m next in line here at the store, and this cashier frowns at people on the phone,” Paloma said in a rush. “Call me if you need anything, or have Jason call me,” she continued. “Love you.”
“Love you,” he replied as he heard her phone go dead.
And with that, it was back to work again. He glanced at the clock, and found that there was less than an hour until he was off.
He sighed…. Thank God, he thought.
He was exhausted to the point of knowing already he’d need to take a nap before he got behind the wheel to head home. He wouldn’t be safe on the roads otherwise.
Nineteen
Vancouver, Washington… May 12, 2020
Edward awakened with a start, only to find it was still dark outside.
Paloma was curled up against him, and he could hear her breath as it came and went in the night, evidence that she was still asleep.
Careful, so as not to wake her up, he turned his head to try to see the clock. After a few moments he gave up; no use. It was just out of his line of sight.
Well, he thought. May as well attempt to get more sleep. I just hope no more bees come after me.
For the next hour, he stared at the ceiling, his mind meandered from diseased bees to client meetings and then, finally, settled on the familiar topic of the mirror sitting in his attic, and how they could possibly learn more about it. It seemed like they kept hitting roadblocks with discovering new information about it, which made him all the more adamant to find the truth.
It was as if they’d run the course of what they could discover about it, even though the people related to it were popping up occasionally. He knew from what Rose said that Steven and Shannen Wishart-Laurent took the mirror with them from Gloucester to Boston, but where did it go from there?
He knew that somehow, between the 1940s and the 1980s, it made its way to California. But with who, and why?
He knew that it somehow moved from le chateau de Saint-Germain-en-Laye near Paris to somewhere in the Pyrenees Mountains, but how, and with whom?
For what purpose?
The two areas were so far apart, who would be stupid enough to trek it between them with roads that were nearly nonexistent in places?
From Rose, he knew the mirror had been moved from the Pyrenees to Bazeilles, of all places, and then, from there, it had traveled up the Meuse to Nantes and put aboard a ship for Boston… packaged but unaccompanied. He’d learned that her Uncle Peter took care of it until her grandparents arrived in the area, and then they took possession of it until a couple of years before they died, when they gave it to Rose’s mother. And th
at’s where she came through the mirror from… Gloucester, Massachusetts.
So it moved back to Boston with her brother, but then moved on to California, but how? What was it that brought about the change, and who transported it across the country?
With nearly forty years between the last known sighting in Boston and its sighting by that odd Ken Traylor fellow in Oceanside, what had happened to it?
How had it traveled, and for what reason?
Edward knew it wasn’t any of Rose’s family that had moved it – that was quite clear from what Rose had been able to learn from Peter – he still didn’t know, or even have an idea of who had. All he knew was that the mirror was still at Steven and Shannen’s during one visit, and a few weeks later, it was gone the next time Peter had visited.
It didn’t help things that Steven had refused to say why.
And what about before Mary Beatrice had given it to him as a gift, all those years ago. He remembered it looked so old then, and that was before it moved into the mountains.
He and Jason had found evidence that it had been in Spain because there had been a short note about “an antique mirror of odd formation, topped with an angel and with sides resembling fire,” in a journal that had once belonged to King Sancho, which said it had been in his father, Alfonso X’s, belongings at one point. And as they were both kings of Castile, Galicia, and León, it had helped that the reference point was Vizcaya – or Biscay – in the territory of Castile.
But that was in 1277, Edward thought, carefully turning over onto his other side. And we didn’t see the mirror until 1692. That’s more than four hundred years, with no knowledge of where it was, or how it traveled into Paris, and when Mary bought it. But if it was an antique in 1277, then just how old is it? Will we ever really know? Are we meant to?
The Angels' Mirror Pack 2: Books Four through Seven Page 12