by Shea Meadows
“Let me get it, Ricky,” David said. “Might be a reporter or worse. You shouldn’t answer the door if you’re here alone.”
“Yup, I’m just a weak helpless woman, but I swing a lethal purse. Maybe we should have a baseball bat at the door,” Ricky answered with a smirk.
“Not a joke. Someone tried to kill you yesterday,” David answered, trying not to smirk in return.
Ricky picked up the remains of lunch and could hear David talking to someone in the entry way. “Good to see you too, Max. Perfect timing. Ricky is in here.”
A man of medium height, with a short blond crew-cut, a polo shirt and jeans, holding a slim black folder with “Minneapolis Police Department” stamped on the front, followed David into the living room. He had a square face, big ears and wide-set eyes, all of this held together with a look of surprise when he saw Ricky.
“Oh, pardon me for saying. You look so like her, but at the same time different. Maybe the hair or something about the expression. Not sure. Oh, sorry, I’m Detective Maxwell Herman. I’m so happy you’ve decided to give this a try.”
Ricky extended her hand. “Glad you could meet us here to talk about the case. Moon is very adamant that I work with you. It fits in well with her plans while helping solve the crime.”
Max’s mouth fell open with an even greater look of surprise. “She does talk to you! A lot? Is she here now?”
Ricky smiled. “I’ve talked with her more in the last few days than I had in the last several years. We weren’t very close for a long time. Differences in how we saw life, but that’s all changed. She assures me that we will work well together. And to answer your question, I can’t hear or see her right now, but she plans to join us at the crime scene to help, if need be.”
“Wow. What can I say? She continues to floor me even after she’s gone. But not so gone, really. This will take some getting used to. Wow.” Max sunk into the chair facing the couch and David and Ricky sat opposite him.
“Tell us about the case, Max,” David encouraged.
Max opened the folder and spread some pictures out on the coffee table. They were all taken of a young Latino woman, with a slim figure and long black hair, stretched out on the bed, eyes red, face bruised, throat cut. “Hope you aren’t squeamish, some of these are pretty rough.”
“I’m a nurse, Detective. I worked in a trauma center for about five years, so don’t worry about upsetting me,” Ricky answered, even as she felt some of her recently eaten lunch moving back up towards her throat when she glanced at the pictures. Pigeon jumped up on her lap and cuddled against her chest as if he realized Ricky needed comfort.
“This is the victim, who went by the name of Rose Hernandez, according to her friends and work associates. She lived alone in an apartment in the Sunray Complex on Lake Street. She gave her age as twenty-six and her home town as Huston, Texas.
She worked at the Burger King on Grant Street as the day manager and had that position for two years and did general work at the same store for two years before that. She spoke flawless Spanish and almost flawless English. She very seldom socialized with coworkers outside the restaurant but was friendly and helpful on the job and an excellent manager.
She attended St. Mary’s of the Cross Catholic Church which has a high percentage of Latinos in the congregation. She was reported to be very devout and volunteered often, but no one was ever invited to her apartment. No one living in the apartment complex knew her other than to say “Hi” as they passed her in the hall.
Two days before her body was found, a male coworker became alarmed because she had not shown up for her shift at work. He reported this to the franchise owner since Rose was the manager and would usually be the one that handled absentees. He was unable to reach her by phone. Nothing was done at that time, even though this was highly unusual. She’d called in sick one time in the four years she worked there. The following day, everyone was concerned. They called us, and we got the keys from the apartment manager. She was found the way you see her. The medical examiner said she had been dead since the evening of the day before she was reported missing. Cause of death was suffocation, and the throat seemed to have been cut after the victim died because there was little or no bleed-out from the wound.
There was no sign of a struggle in the apartment, although there were defensive wounds on the hands and arms of the victim. She was dressed in her night clothes. No sign of sexual assault, or forced entry, no finger prints in the apartment other than hers, no evidence left behind by the assailant….” A large crash and a series of thumps resounded from the kitchen interrupting Max, and all eyes turned to the direction of the sound.
“Don’t worry. It’s only Nellie. She told me she wanted to scare you. Moon is dealing with her now,” Ricky assured them with a grime look on her face.
“Should I go on?” Max asked in a shaky voice.
“You don’t need to, and I’m sure there will be no trip to the crime scene. Moon said this is a four year old case which she helped to solve. Knowing that, I imagine what we are having here is a job interview,” Ricky said. “I wish you’d been honest with me, but if this is how you determine if I can be helpful to the police, I’ll play along.”
She looked down at Pigeon, petting the sleeping cat as she told the story that Moon had opened up to her as Max showed her the pictures.
“Isabelle Serantas was born in Mexico and crossed over the border into Texas. She had been living in Taos, New Mexico. Her boyfriend, Hasa Ramona, was involved with a drug cartel operating in Texas and New Mexico with bosses living in their old country.
Isabelle had enough of Hasa’s life of crime, so she moved out on him, took a new name and traveled to Huston and got a job as a live-in nanny. She was employed by a wealthy Anglo, and then experienced what she saw as a miracle. Her charge, a three year old boy, choked on a cherry pit, stopped breathing and was turning blue. She panicked, forgetting all she had learned about foreign objects and was sure the child would die. For some unknown reason, the pit exploded full force out of the child’s mouth and the child s trachea opened and he was good as gold. Moon tells me that his Spirit Guide saved him.
The father was the local state congressman so the story ended up on television and in the papers. Isabelle was interviewed, much against her will, but she brushed her hair forward in a new style and wore glasses and hoped no one would recognize her. A friend of Hasa’s who was working in the Texas branch of the cartel say the interview and remembered what Hasa had said about Isabelle. Hasa made up some story about her disloyalty to the overlords of the organization so no one would think she had been disappointed with him as a man.
Hasa’s Texas friend came after Isabelle, and she escaped his attack by the skin of her teeth. This frightened her enough so that she bought documents for a new identity, left Texas and journeyed up Highway 35 to Minneapolis. She was now Rose Hernandez. She stayed under the radar, found a job at the Burger King and worked her way up. She built her life around her job and her new-found devotion to God that had been engendered by the miracle in Texas. She stayed to herself, not really sure she was safe, and in fact, even four years after moving, Hasa and the cartel caught up to her.
Beany Hortez, whose real first name was Bueno, came to work at Burger King. He was a scout for the cartel, working the Burger King job part time but really checking out the territory to see if there was room on the streets for the organization. It took him a while to make the connection, but he’s seen a picture of Hasa’s disloyal girlfriend when he was a runner, back in New Mexico. Hasa had a reward on her and it wouldn’t be Beany’s first kill.
He made friends with her, asked her out and didn’t act disturbed when she declined a date. He acted like a younger brother, going so far as attending Saturday night Mass with her whenever he could. She started to trust him, but when he looked at her, all he saw was the money.
Rose kept her purse in the top left hand drawer of the desk at the manager’s station. She never kept more than five dollars
in it so she’d gotten lax about locking the drawer. Too many keys on the manager’s key chain already. Beany opened it up when she was in the ladies room during a slow day at the restaurant and stole her apartment key. He had a break coming, and he left the store as soon as he could. He had the key duplicated and the original was back in her purse before she noticed anything had happened.
That night, Rose went to Church before going home. It was to be her last Mass. Beany declined her offer to come along, saying there was a “family thing” he had to go to. When Rose left church, she was bone tired. She picked up some pizza for dinner and ate it as she walked the mile from the church to her apartment. It was summer and still light so she felt safe on the street. She’d stopped looking over her shoulder for the cartel, life seemed good. She loitered in Powderhorn Park for about an hour, relaxing, looking at the water, the ducks and the squirrels, then as dusk came in and exhaustion hit her, she finished the walk home.
Nothing was out of place in the apartment. She took a quick shower and washed the smell of burgers and fries out of her long black hair. She took a fresh summer nightgown out of her second-hand pine dresser and slipped between the sheets that she had just washed at the Laundromat on her day off. She read from a Spanish language romance for about a half hour but her eyes started to cross from lack of sleep. She had worked a ten hour day. She picked up her Bible and read the first part of the gospel of John which the priest had quoted in his sermon. “In the beginning was the word….” And then she fell asleep, light still on, book open across her chest.
Silence in the room, the only sound was Rose’s breath and a small snore that Hasa used to tease her about when they slept together, back in the bad old days. Beany very quietly came out of the closet; carefully he turned off the light. Rose stirred a little, sighed in her sleep and flipped the Bible to one side, never fully waking again.
Beany hesitated. He really liked this girl. He was only three years younger than her. She’d never done anything to him. She never met him when he worked in Taos. She’d already moved to Texas before he was part of the organization. Maybe he should keep quiet. Maybe he could wait until more of the cartel moved to Minnesota and let someone else off her. But that would make him look really stupid, working with her all that time and not recognizing her from the picture that Hasa had made them memorize. The rule was to cut the throat of traitors. He’d done it once before but it had been a big ugly dud with tats all over his face and garlic on his breath. Not sweet little Rose who’d always treated him descent.
In the end he smothered her with a blanket. She woke up but he was stronger than her. He had a bite mark on his left inner arm and nail gashes and bruises from the struggle but in the end, she died. Then he cut her throat, just as he was supposed to.
Beany was the one, all worried and upset because Rose didn’t come to work. He was a good actor, should have been in the movies. The police really thought he was hysterical when they told everyone at work the news. It was only partly an act, he felt like the biggest jerk in the world, but even as he sobbed, he was wondering when it would be safe to approach Hasa for the pay off.
Then a detective named Max brought a psychic named Moon into the case. She told Max the story I’ve just told you. Beany was questioned again; a more complete background check was done. His arms, clothed with a long sleeved shirt, were checked for signs of a struggle. He started to sweat, sob and quake and finally confessed to the murder. He killed himself with a stash of drugs a friend brought in to jail during a visit.”
Ricky took a deep breath, looked up and turned a sad smile toward Max. “Is that how you remember it?”
Max’s face was red and he had a difficult time looking Ricky in the eyes. “It was just how Moon told it. Lots of detail there that wasn’t written in the report. There’s no way you could have read it. Moon told me she never kept records of the cases anywhere in the house. Once it happened, she could pull it from something she called the Akashic record. She told it like she’d been there. I apologize, Ricky. I didn’t mean to scam you. I had to be sure you were the real thing. You sounded so negative about the whole thing on the phone. Would you still consider working with us when we need you?”
Ricky answered slowly. “Moon wants me to, so I will. It will be hard though. I could see it all happening. It was like watching a movie. I was right there in the bedroom. I could see Beany struggling with himself and his higher self losing the argument. I imagine it will be like that every time I help you.”
Max nodded, inspecting his cuticles. “It’s a paying job ya know. I have a contract here for you to go over with your lawyer. You have Stan Jacobs?”
Ricky nodded.
“If you want to change it at all let us know, and we’ll see if we can come to an agreement,” Max continued. He stood up. “I don’t want to take up anymore of your Sunday. I’ll be going. We’d appreciate an answer sometime next week.” He extended his hand to Ricky and he encased her smaller hand in his two large ones. “Again, my condolences at the loss of your sister. Glad that she’s sticking around for all of us.”
David went with him to the door, and Ricky could hear their murmured conversation and the door being opened. Quiet for a moment, then David running back into the room. “Ricky, are there some latex gloves in the kitchen or even rubber ones?”
“Ya, I think so, under the kitchen sink. What’s wrong? A dead animal on the porch?”
“No, a box that seems to be for you with a strange greeting on it in big block letters. Not liking the looks of this.”
Chapter 12
Does it ever end? She queried Moon who was still talking to Nellie in the pantry. The answer came back quickly. No. Not if you’re in an earth life. It’s all about opportunities to evolve. The challenges are needed to motivate forward motion.
Just to make it clear, tell the men to bring the package in the house, open it and document the contents. It’s creepy but a good clue. Something we can trace.
Okay, Ricky answered, I’ll let them know. And, by the way, Moon. Ya should have warned me about Max. What a dirty trick.
A laugh from her sister. Wasn’t it fun to watch him sweat? Don’t get down on him; he’s a good egg even if he is a little hard boiled at times. He’s going to be really helpful right now. So go tell them, if they are wondering if the box will explode, tell them it won’t.
Ricky pushed up from the couch with a sigh and walked to the door and the big wooden front porch where the men where carefully turning a paper-wrapped package over and checking all sides. On the front side it said in dark block letters: A Gift for the Witch’s Sister.
“Hey, Detectives, Moon says it isn’t a bomb. She said to go ahead and open it carefully, take pictures as you go and realize it has clues for our investigation.”
David looked up. “Thanks, we were just about to do that, but it’s addressed to you, kind of, so we wanted you to look at it first.”
Max looked up as well with a confused expression. “What investigation are we talking about anyhow? Is it about your attempted murder or your sister’s accident?”
“It’s about both along with a whole bunch of other things that Moon wanted us to help track down. They seem to be connected. Let’s take this into the house so the crazy that left it won’t be able to watch us and take pictures to sell to the tabloids,” Ricky suggested.
“Okay,” David replied. “We’ll document the package location first.”
Max went to the car and took out a camcorder which he handed to David who videoed the package on the porch and included the house address and used a measuring tape to show how far it was from the door. They then brought the package in and carried it to the cellar, placing it on a work table under a strong light. David continued the documentation with a narrative as Max opened the package.
“There is a box that appears to be about the size of shoe box, one foot square, ten inches deep. The outside wrapping appears to be packing paper that might be used to wrap items during a move. It is tied with
twine that appears natural in color, no additional dyes used. On the wrapping is the legend: ‘A gift for the Witch’s sister,’that appears to have been written in indelible black marker.”
Max carefully cut the twine and unwrapped the paper without cutting it. Inside was a box stuffed with tissue paper. David recorded this describing the packing material. Nestled inside the paper was a doll that appeared to have been created from ceramic materials.
“Oh my gosh,” Ricky reacted when she saw it. “That’s Moon, or me or both of us.”
It appeared that the doll had been hand made by an artist, perhaps from a picture of Moon. The hair appeared human, long and dark, carefully attached to the head with some type of glue. The dress was like the white gossamer shift with gold metallic trim that Moon often wore when doing classes and readings for large groups. The dolls’ expression was pained. No smiling doll face but a look of horror, green eyes wide, cheeks narrowed in, mouth in the act of screaming. The most frightening aspect of the caricature was splashes of dried-on blood across the dress and streaming down one side of the face. More blood was evident on the palms and feet of the doll and a large stain over the left side of the dolls’ chest.
Still wearing the latex gloves to avoid additional finger prints, Max carefully searched the tissue paper under the doll and found a note, in a smaller version of the black block letter printing that had been on the outer wrapping.
Max read the note aloud: “Sister of the witch, know this. She was sacrificed for standing in the way of progress. She would not join me so she became my enemy. She refused my invitation, so now her time has passed. Know that it is now your time. She talks in your ear, urging you into the lion’s mouth. Do you really want to follow her there? Your turn is coming unless you try to understand the value of this exercise.”
Ricky shook her head and vacillated between grief and anger. Is this from him? She asked Moon in her thoughts.