Doug sighed as he watched Bernard join the two men and two women at the campfire. His assignment, as an angel, was never to interfere with destiny. He was simply there to offer an ear and a prayer to anyone who might want or need it. He felt that Bernard was at a crossroads of sorts; but he, also, knew that he had to be careful in the part he played in any decision Bernard might eventually make. He sighed again and looked around the area that was home to seven very different people; the only thing they had in common was that neither of them felt they could return to their real homes…to their real lives. He spotted the remaining two men, standing at opposite ends of the shelter site. They had more in common with each other than either of them realized, but Doug knew that it was up to them to discover what that might be.
Doug walked over to where Jason leaned against a tall pine tree. He glanced down and saw a sleeping bag neatly rolled up beneath it. “This is your bed?” Doug asked.
Jason stared at the man who appeared to be near his own age. He resisted the urge to converse, and simply nodded. He held out his hand for the offered sandwiches, fries, and cake. He raised his eyes and stared directly into Doug’s emerald-green ones. “Thanks,” he nodded again and walked toward the campfire for coffee.
Doug watched him leave and exhaled softly. “You’re welcome.” He looked into the bag at the remaining food. His eyes scanned the entire camp area, but he did not see the older man they called Skipper. He had been there just moments before, and Doug sensed that he was still close by. He strolled toward the opposite end of the camp and sat the bag down on top of another rolled-up sleeping bag. “This is for you, Skipper,” he spoke softly.
He looked toward the strange group of comrades who sat in front of the campfire, eating sandwiches and drinking coffee. Larry, Curly, and Moe were laughing and enjoying one another’s companionship. PJ smiled at their antics, but kept quiet and to herself; Stella scratched at old scabs on her scalp and grunted at how ridiculous she thought they all were, all the while, using her few remaining teeth to stuff the sandwiches and cake down her throat as fast as she could.
“I’ll be back in the morning!” Doug shouted to the group as he walked slowly through the dense brush and back toward the golden hue that glowed from the floating halo above the café.
The other two angels that operated the Heavenly Grille Café had listened in on Doug’s conversations with the homeless group across the street. Max, a former Gladiator, and owner of the café, was a huge black man with an even huger heart, filled with his love of God. His co-hort on earth was Bertie; everyone always remarked on her resemblance to the late actress, Shirley Booth, and the character—Hazel—that she played on television from 1961 to 1966. Bertie, also, had the reputation in Heaven as being the “Naughty Angel” due to her inability, from time to time, to control her foul language.
Bertie punched Max against his hard-as-rock shoulder. “Did you listen to them, Max? Did you? Whatever are we going to do with that bunch? Every single one of them could go back to their homes and their lives, if they wanted to; but, NOOOO…they would all rather stay outside in below-freezing weather and act like they don’t have a care in the world.”
Max grinned as he crossed the floor and opened the door for Doug.
“Thanks,” Doug said as he walked toward the counter where Bertie was already pouring him a cup of black coffee. “I don’t know either, Bertie. I’ve been over there every night, and every morning, for three weeks now, and I don’t feel like I’ve gotten any closer to any of them. Three of the men are pretty friendly, but careful not to express any real feelings; PJ is scared to death of being homeless, but too proud to return to her family; Stella is a time bomb set to explode at any moment; and, the other two men—the Veterans—they are extremely unapproachable and unresponsive. The older one only accepts the food every few days, but he never lets me see him do that. Those are the two that I worry the most about; they are lost souls searching for a reason…any reason…to go on living. I’m afraid they may be running low on inspiration for doing that.”
Max joined them at the counter and the three of them sat together for another 45 minutes talking, and praying, about the group of seven that God had sent for them to watch over.
Bertie finally stood up and straightened her apron and halo headband. She punched Max on the shoulder again and barked, “You know, big fella…when you said it was time for us to move the café again, I clearly remember you saying that our next move would be to Rome.”
Max grinned and nodded. “I did indeed, Bertie.” He flinched when Bertie punched him again.
“Well, Hells-Bells, why didn’t you tell me you meant Rome, GEORGIA! I’m pretty sure that I won’t be getting the opportunity to ever meet the Pope here!”
Three hours later, Bertie and Max had long gone their separate ways to the rooms they rented a few miles down the road. Doug lived in one of the two upstairs apartments above the café. Even though angels do not require sleep, the three of them often rested in prayer during the late- evening-to-early-morning hours.
Doug was in such prayer when the night was suddenly shattered with the sound of Stella’s piercing screams from across the road. He flung open his apartment door and flew down the stairs to the paved parking lot. He was across the road and standing in the center of the homeless camp ground in less than two minutes. His eyes quickly took in the scene before him. Stella was leaning against the concrete underpass wall, pulling at her hair with both hands and screaming as loud as her 82-year old, air-starved lungs would allow. PJ’s head poked out from her makeshift tent and she stared, dumbfounded, at the screaming Stella. Curly and Moe stumbled from beneath their cardboard boxes and crashed into each other. Jason and Skipper were nowhere to be found.
A small puddle of blood pooled at Stella’s feet, and Doug’s eyes travelled slowly from the puddle to the bloody splatters on the concrete wall, just above Stella’s head.
The Three Stooges were no more.
Norman Weissman lay dead at Stella’s feet. A piece of his favorite buttermilk cake was still clasped between his calloused fingers.
The remaining group of four gathered what belongings they could, scattered, and ran in different directions before Doug could stop them.
CHAPTER 2
Getting the Story Straight
Fourteen-year old Jimmy Crennan slumped down in the booth he shared with his mother, Cheryl, at nine o’clock Saturday morning. He tried his best to avoid looking toward the woods across the road from the Heavenly Grille Café. He wanted to forget what had happened there just a few hours earlier.
“Did you hear what I said, Jimmy?” Cheryl smiled at her slumping son.
“What?” Jimmy stared at her with a dazed expression.
Cheryl picked up her cup of coffee. “I said…I can tell something is bothering you. Do you want to talk about it?” She saw him turn to look at the area across the street, which had been cordoned off with yellow crime tape.
Jimmy shook his head. “No, Mom…nothing’s wrong. I’m just tired.”
“That’s another thing,” Cheryl spoke softly. “You missed your curfew last night by several hours. “I didn’t hear you come in until almost four o’clock this morning.”
Jimmy stared at his mother and marveled at how young she looked. Nobody ever believed him when he told them she was his mother; she looked more like an older sister. He shared her dark, auburn hair and green eyes, but, he assumed he inherited the rest of his looks from the father that he had never known. His mother had been born in Columbus, Georgia—an only child—and gotten pregnant at sixteen; she had gone to live with her paternal grandmother in Hogansville, Georgia after her mother had kicked her out and disowned her. Jimmy knew the story of how life had unfolded for her, how she and his father had hooked up at a party one weekend, had too much to drink, and she had lost her virginity to a total stranger. She had been embarrassed, but she had told him that she didn’t even know his father’s name—he really had been a total stranger—and, she had dran
k too much, in order to forget an argument she had had earlier that evening with her overbearing mother. She never saw that young boy again, and he never knew that he had gotten her pregnant.
Jimmy sipped at his own coffee, loaded down with lots of cream and sugar to mask the bitter taste that he did not particularly like. “I know, Mom. I’m really sorry about that…it won’t happen again, I promise. Kirk ran out of gas and it took us a while to find a station that was open that late. I didn’t mean to worry you.”
Bertie ambled over to their table, loaded down with stacks of pancakes for the teenager, and a sausage-and-cheese omelet for the pretty woman who sat across from him. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you two in here before,” she grinned. “You’re gonna love these pancakes, young man. Max, our cook, likes to call them hoe-cakes, but they’re really just extra-large, buttermilk pancakes if you ask me. I put some extra bacon on your plate, too.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Jimmy replied. “They look good, but I’m not sure if I’m all that hungry, to tell you the truth.”
Bertie studied the young man for a quick moment. Something was definitely bothering him, but the woman sitting across from him did not seem overly concerned. She placed the omelet in front of the woman. “I’m guessing you must be the sister, huh? You two look amazingly alike, you know? Of course, you probably hear that all the time.”
Cheryl inhaled the wonderful aroma that came from the steaming omelet. “It all smells so good, and, don’t worry, if he can’t eat all of his food, I’ll help him out.” She smiled up at the middle-aged waitress. It was strange, but she felt like she had known the woman all of her life; she shook her head at the thought. “Actually, we are told that all the time, but…I am his mother, not his sister. I’m Cheryl Crennan, and this is my son, Jimmy—the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“Mom…” Jimmy blushed with embarrassment.
Bertie punched the young man against his shoulder and laughed out loud. “It’s nice to meet you both. I’m Bertie.” She stared intently at the young man. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Jimmy; it’s your mom’s right to be proud of you. I’m sure you would never do anything to rattle that pride, now would you?”
Jimmy jerked involuntarily when the boisterous waitress punched his shoulder. It didn’t hurt, but his nerves jumped to attention at her question. He looked up to stare into intense blue eyes that seemed to be boring straight through him, before they darted discreetly to the woods across the street. There was no way she could know about his involvement in the incident that had happened in the wee hours of this morning. His mouth went dry and he couldn’t swallow.
Cheryl saw Bertie’s eyes move in the direction of the wood line adjacent to the café. “We noticed the crime tape over there. Do you know what happened?”
Bertie never lost eye contact with Jimmy. “A homeless man, by the name of Norman Weissman, was found dead there early this morning.”
Cheryl gasped. “Oh, no…that’s awful.”
Bertie nodded. “Yeah, it is pretty awful. Norman was a nice man, never bothered anybody. The police stopped by a couple of hours ago to see if we heard anything.”
The lump in Jimmy’s throat almost prohibited him from speaking. “But…you close at eleven…I mean, that’s what the sign out front says. How could anybody here have heard anything?”
Bertie took her time responding to Jimmy’s question. She waited until she saw Doug walk through the front door. She nodded in his direction. “That’s Doug. He works here, and, he sleeps in the apartment above the café. He heard the screams last night, and was the first one on the scene. He spent most of the morning talking to the police about the group of homeless people that live over there.”
The color drained from Jimmy’s face.
“Shucks, I didn’t mean to put a damper on your morning, folks,” Bertie grinned. “Y’all go ahead and enjoy your breakfast, and let me know if I can get anything else for you.”
Jimmy watched while the waitress spoke briefly with the man she called Doug. He flinched when Doug raised his head and looked directly at him. “Oh, God…oh, God…they know what happened…they know I was involved in what happened…oh, God…” his thoughts terrified him and he fought to retain control of his facial expression and emotions.
Jimmy’s cell phone rang and he glanced down to see Kirk Blankenship’s number lit up. He had felt special when Kirk and his friends decided to include him in last night’s shenanigans—filled with booze, girls, weed, and, a small murder on the side for good measure. “I’ve got to take this, Mom. I’ll be right back. Help yourself to some pancakes…” He pushed himself up and out of the booth before his mom could object, and rushed outside to the crowded parking lot.
“Jimmy, wait!” Cheryl cried out. She started to follow her son outside, but sat back down when she noticed several customers staring at her. She was never one to cause a scene; it wasn’t in her nature. She sat back down and sipped at the black coffee. She had an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach, and had suddenly lost her appetite. Something felt off with Jimmy, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. She sensed that he might be in some kind of trouble; he was a good kid—he had never, ever been in any trouble.
The Crennans were new residents in Rome, Georgia. They had moved there in late August of 2015, just in time for the new school year to start. Cheryl had no immediate family left. Her beloved grandmother, who had been her life support after Jimmy had been born, had passed away in her sleep just two years earlier. She had kept in touch with her father as best she could, and knew that he had sold his mother’s house when she died, took the money, and moved out west to California — as far away from his ex-wife as he could possibly get. Her father had tried to talk her in to moving to California with him, but Cheryl loved Georgia and could not imagine living anywhere else. She and her father never talked about her mother, so Cheryl had no idea where the woman had ended up; and, she didn’t care. She had hoped she could get through the rest of her life without ever having to lay eyes on Olivia Crennan again. Cheryl’s best friends, a married couple from Hogansville, had moved to Rome, Georgia after the husband had been offered a job there as a criminal defense attorney for the county. They had convinced Cheryl that it would be a good place for Jimmy to complete high school and go to college. She had discussed it with Jimmy, and he was game, so the two of them packed up everything they owned, rented a U-Haul truck, and prepared for a fresh start in Rome, Georgia.
“Is there something wrong with the food?” Doug’s deep voice cut through Cheryl’s memories. “I’ll be glad to get you something else.”
Cheryl blinked and stared up into the greenest eyes she had ever seen, not to mention, the most handsome man she had ever seen. “What…” she stammered, before exhaling and shaking her head. “No, everything is fine…better than fine; I’m just not as hungry as I thought I was. I will take a refill on coffee, though.”
“I’ll be right back with a fresh pot,” Doug smiled down at her. “That was your son who went outside, right?”
Cheryl nodded. “Yes. His name is Jimmy. He should be right back; he just had to make a quick phone call.”
Doug grinned. “I’ll bring him a refill, too. Be right back.”
Cheryl watched the manly merchandise make his way back behind the counter. He said something to the matronly waitress, and looked back at Cheryl, who promptly dropped her eyes and placed both hands on top of the table. “Oh, my goodness…he saw me watching him!”
Jimmy paced back and forth in the parking lot, waiting impatiently for Kirk to answer his call. “Come on, Kirk…pick up!”
Kirk Blankenship answered on the fourth ring. “Hey, Crennan, where the devil are you? We were all supposed to meet at the Clocktower an hour ago. Everyone showed up, except for you, so you can imagine what the others are thinking.”
“I couldn’t get away,” Jimmy offered in explanation. “My mom insisted on taking me to breakfast at a new café she heard about…”
Jimmy was quiet for a long minute. “I told you I wouldn’t say anything, and I won’t.”
“You better not…because if you do, something just might happen to that hot mama of yours…”
Jimmy cut Kirk off abruptly. “Leave my mother out of this, Kirk. If you want me to keep silent about what happened—about what you did—then, you just keep my mother out of it.”
“There’s no need to worry about what happened last night, Crennan. I took care of it. Nobody will ever connect us to that. He was just some old homeless freak, anyway. Nobody will even miss him.”
Jimmy broke the connection. He wished he could break his relationship with Kirk and his friends as easily as he broke the phone connection. He wished he had never met the group of three rich friends. “You don’t know that,” he spoke out loud. “He could have a family somewhere, someone who loved him, someone who missed him…you don’t know…”
He cast a quick glance behind him to make sure his mother wasn’t watching him from the window. She wasn’t, so Jimmy made a spontaneous decision that he hoped he would not regret. He quickly sprinted across the parking lot to the taped off wooded area, across the street. He lifted the crime-scene tape and pushed through some bushes until he came to the campground clearing. He saw a few cardboard boxes propped up, side-side-by side. He wondered if people actually lived inside those boxes. He saw the darkened ashes from a campfire and went over to squat down beside it. “Is this where you ate your meals?” he whispered. He walked over to one of the large, cardboard boxes and peeked inside at the old newspapers that covered the bottom of the box, maybe as a blanket against the cold, hard ground. “Is this where you slept?”
Star-Spangled Rejects (The Heavenly Grille Café Book 3) Page 2