by Ann Simas
They finished their coffee in silence, then walked back out to the street and parted at the corner. By mutual agreement, they decided a walk around the entire block was no longer necessary.
CHAPTER 5
Andi went back to work. Father Riley went back to the church, where he said he was going to pray on the issue. Andi decided she might do a little praying herself, at her desk.
The next day, Father Riley called and asked if Andi could join him for lunch. He named the Italian restaurant she liked two blocks away. She said yes, and they agreed to meet on the corner at noon.
While they walked, he told her that in addition to a lot of praying, he’d done some research since they’d talked the day before.
“I did a little of the former myself,” Andi admitted.
He looked down at her. “Prayer is a powerful tool.”
Andi shrugged. “I suppose so. I haven’t prayed much since I went off to college, but over the past six months, I’ve found myself doing it more and more frequently after I hear the voices.”
“I’m not surprised,” he said.
They walked the last block without speaking.
Inside the Trattoria d’Italia, Father Riley asked for the booth at the back. “For privacy,” he told Andi after the hostess had seated them.
“Thanks,” she said. “I don’t need anyone eavesdropping and spreading around what they heard.” She set aside her menu.
The server came with fresh-baked pugliese, greeting Father Riley warmly. Andi ordered lasagna and the priest ordered the sausage grinder.
“You can imagine what I prayed about,” he said, pouring a little olive oil and a healthy splash of balsamic vinegar onto his bread plate, “but as to the research, here’s what I learned. The mortuary only does cremations Monday through Friday. They keep meticulous records of each, not only for themselves but because it’s required by state law.”
Andi nodded. The server set down two glasses of water, a coffee, and a Diet Coke and moved on quickly.
“I’ve formulated a plan that might be helpful to you. It would involve the log you keep of all the voice sight—hmm, I almost said ‘voice sightings,’ but I rather think ‘voice hearings’ is more appropriate, don’t you?”
“We may be on the same wavelength,” Andi said. She withdrew the journal from her purse and handed it across the table.
Father Riley put down his bread and took the leather-bound book. He flipped through the pages, reading as he went. He looked up at her. “I’m impressed. Not only do you note what each voice said, but you also record days, dates, and times from each occurrence.” He shook his head and smiled. “Nice going, Andi.”
Andi shrugged modestly. “What can I say? I’m somewhat anal retentive. I guess that’s why I excel at writing game app software without getting bored.”
He continued to read, then went back to the beginning. “Your first day of work was May thirtieth and you smelled the smoke right from the onset, heard the first voice that day?”
She nodded. “But it only laughed. I didn’t actually hear any words until the second day.”
He put down the journal and retrieved a small spiral notebook from his pocket. He flipped over a few pages and said, “May thirtieth, in the year fourteen thirty-one, is the day Jeanne d’Arc—better known as Joan of Arc today—was burned at the stake in Rouen, France.”
Andi felt a frisson of…not fear exactly, but something run up her back.
“Jeanne was a young girl when she first began to hear voices, which she always claimed were the saints talking to her. They told her it was God’s will that she lead the King’s army against the English to save Orléans.” He paused a moment, raised his gaze to hers and said, “Ultimately, she did.”
Andi couldn’t believe she was hearing what she thought he was implying. “You’re not comparing me to Joan of Arc. Are you?”
He never broke eye contact, never blinked. “I don’t know, Andi. I just don’t know. She was executed under false charges of being a witch and committing heresy, but hearing the voices….”
Andi strove for levity but failed. “I haven’t had voices telling me to lead our country’s armies into battle against anyone.” She cursed the flush she felt in her face, the waver in her voice.
“No, but you have heard a voice that says she is going to need your help to do something.”
Andi tore her gaze away from his and reached for her drink with fingers that shook. She sucked madly on the straw, half-draining the glass. This was insanity. Madness. Totally freaking nuts! But he was a priest. Surely he didn’t jest about things like this. “I’m no saint,” she insisted.
“Neither was Jeanne when she first began to hear the voices. In fact, she was not canonized until nineteen-twenty. It’s not an easy process, becoming a saint.”
“I guess not,” Andi agreed. “At least until recently. Pope John Paul made it through pretty quickly.”
Father Riley conceded with a nod. “Would you like more coincidence?” he asked.
“I’m not sure I can handle it. Besides, I’m not even sure I believe in coincidence.””
Even though the corner of his mouth lifted with amusement, he was dead serious when he said, “There’s a reason you came to St. Gemma’s.”
“Because one of the voices told me to contact you.”
“It’s all interrelated. St. Gemma’s is named for Gemma Galgani, who was canonized in nineteen-forty, but who died on April eleventh, nineteen-oh-three.”
“April eleventh,” Andi parroted weakly.
He tilted his head at her. “Does that date mean something to you?”
“It’s my birthday.”
“Ah, another link.” He put down his spiral notepad and placed his hands prayer-style on the table. “Before our church was built, when it was still in the conception stages, a small battle ensued as to what the name of it should be. In the end, the unanimous consensus was that St. Gemma, who was known for always speaking to her guardian angel, even sending her guardian angel on errands for her, would be the ideal role model for the congregation, both then and in the future.”
“Because?” He had made a reference to her own personal guardian angel before. Over her lifetime, Andi had heard lots of people make nonchalant references to guardian angels. She’d never taken the possibility seriously.
“Because everyone has a guardian angel and perhaps attending St. Gemma’s, having her influence, would help the people not only acknowledge theirs, but learn how to speak to them.”
Andi mulled that over while the server placed their meals in front of them. She wasn’t even sure she was still hungry, but the lasagna smelled heavenly. She almost rolled her eyes over the unintentional pun.
“Come on, Andi. It’s not bad news. Dig in before your food gets cold.”
Feeling somewhat like a little kid who had to be told what to do, she picked up her fork and before she knew it, half her plate was cleared.
“Now what?” she finally asked, forcing herself to slow down as she ate.
“I know the owner of the mortuary. He’s a member of our congregation. I think you should mark the days, dates, and times on a calendar, which we’ll give to him. He’ll be able to confirm that cremations did, indeed, occur on those days.”
“That’s a good idea. Do you think he’ll do it without asking why?”
“No, but he’s in the death business, as it were. He’ll want a reason and when you give it to him, I think he’ll understand.”
“He’s a believer in the supernatural?”
“I suppose you could put it that way. He’s…shall I say, seen things that are inexplicable”
“Will he give us the name of the person who belongs to the voice that needs my help?”
“I believe he will, but again, you’ll have to do some explaining first.” He paused a moment. “Are you willing to share your experiences with him?”
Andi opened her mouth and almost said no, but thought it over for a few minutes and decided this t
hing, whatever it was, wouldn’t be resolved otherwise. “I don’t see any way around it. Will he keep what I say confidential?”
“He is a highly principled man, Andi. I would trust him with my life.”
Without hesitation, she said, “That’s good enough for me.”
The server replenished her empty glass and Andi reached for it, taking another long sip through the straw, as if that alone would give her the courage she needed to proceed. “Is there more to your plan?”
Father Riley finished the last of his sandwich. “Once we know the name of the woman speaking to you, we’ll know if this is something you can do on your own or….”
Andi feigned disbelief. “Or not on my own?” She couldn’t help grinning as she remembered her first thoughts about the priest. “Will you have to perform an exorcism?”
“No,” Father Riley said, his tone serious. “We’ll have to contact the police.”
“The police?” Andi practically squawked. “Why?”
“From the tone and content of the voice’s messages,” he said, his tone still grave, “I fear the woman may have been murdered.”
Andi had picked up her fork, but immediately dropped it back onto her plate. “Murdered?” she asked in a shocked whisper.
He nodded.
Andi wanted to deny it, but unfortunately, his conclusion made perfect sense, especially since the communication always began the same way: This is not the way it’s supposed to happen, Andi.
Those words haunted her. They had been uttered with a complexity of emotions that included disbelief, sorrow, and now that she thought about it, horror. “She was killed by someone she loved. Or at least trusted.”
“Probably.” He reached over and patted her free hand. “Look, let’s take it one step at a time. You get the calendar ready and I’ll give it to Phil Nelson. Once he’s had a chance to review his records, we’ll set up an appointment to discuss it further with him.”
“You think he’ll take this on just because you ask him to?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Without the needed explanations first?”
“To begin with. When he hears what you have to say, I have no doubt he’ll hand the information over to you.”
She leaned forward. “And then what? You think once we have a name we can just go waltzing into the police station and they’ll welcome us with open arms because I heard a voice in my head?”
“Oh, ye of little faith,” he chastised gently. “I know a lot of people, Andi, and one of them happens to be a homicide detective who attends mass at St. Gemma’s every Sunday.”
Andi shook her head, unsurprised. A man who had a direct link to God daily would have connections. “I’ll drop off the calendar to you before I go to work tomorrow morning.”
“Daily mass begins at 6:55, but we’re finished by 7:30. I’ll wait in the church for you.”
“In case I need to pray?” she asked, her tone dry.
“No,” he said, his tone more serious than ever. “In case I do.”
CHAPTER 6
Andi waited three days to hear from Father Riley. She knew the mortuary owner was busy. She smelled the fruits of his labor, so to speak, frequently. Sometimes three or four times a day. Her mother had always told her more people die in the fall. Almost like they were in synchrony with the season.
The pages in her journal began to fill more rapidly. Every day, at least once, Andi heard a voice that began its conversation by saying, This is not the way it’s supposed to happen, Andi.
She’d hadn’t heard the voice yet on this particular day, but then it was early still, only a few minutes after eight o’clock. Her cell phone rang, even as she had the thought. She dug it out of her purse. Finally. “Good morning, Father Riley.”
“’Morning, Andi. I just heard back from Phil and he can meet with us this evening. He has a viewing from six to seven-thirty, but he can see us after that.”
Andi had never given much thought to the long hours mortuary people must put in on some days. “So, around seven forty-five?”
“Yes, that will be fine.”
“Shall I pick you up?”
“No, it’ll be a nice evening. I think I’ll walk.”
“Okay, see you then.” She was dying to ask what Phil Nelson had said, but as Father Riley had already cautioned her to have patience, she held her tongue.
It was the longest day Andi had ever spent at Orion’s Belt, punctuated by five souls verbalizing their final thoughts in her head as they wafted away to the hereafter. One of those spoke twice, both times in obvious distress. In the morning, Andi heard, This is not the way it’s supposed to happen, Andi. I’m missing something. Something that will let you help me, but whatever it is, it’s beyond my grasp.
And then late in the afternoon, just before she was ready to leave: This is not the way it’s supposed to happen, Andi. I think the answer is at the mortuary, but how can that be? Maybe tonight you’ll figure out what it is I need to know.
Maybe, Andi thought, but she said, “I’ll try. Honestly, I will.”
You’re a sweet girl, Andi. Your life is going to be full of happiness.
“Can you tell me who you are?” Andi asked, desperate for any piece of information she could glean to help this voice move toward her final resting place.
It’s me, Andi. It’s Sherry. Sherry Spence.
Andi almost fell out of her chair. She’d gone to high school with Sherry Spence, but after graduation, though they’d corresponded via sporadic emails, they’d never spoken in person again. They had friended each other on Facebook, but Andi hadn’t logged in for years. Spending eight hours a day in front of a computer had turned her off to any kind of social networking. Certainly, she and Sherry hadn’t been best friends, but they had travelled in the same social circle for most of their school years since fourth grade and had always gotten along well.
Sherry had received a scholarship for a university on the East coast and that was the last she’d heard of her until Andi’s mom had read a short wedding announcement in the local paper. Sherry had married some start-up millionaire, but Andi hadn’t a clue who that was.
When she left work, Andi went directly home, changed into denim capris and a sleeveless shirt and sandals and sat down at her laptop. She logged into the local library website and began a search of their database, plugging in Sherry Spence’s name. She found about half a dozen articles. One, from twelve years before, talked about Sherry’s full scholarship to Vassar. Another, five years later, announced her marriage to J. Vaughn Hemmer, a big shot in the high-tech world who hailed from the Silicon Valley. He had moved to the Seattle area, where he’d met Sherry, who had her own real estate company across Lake Washington in Bellevue.
Next came a birth announcement of twins and after that, another set of twins, an unusual occurrence, to be sure, and then a magazine spread entitled, “Super Mom,” with a tagline, “Sherry Spence Hemmer manages a home, four kids, a husband, and a business, practically with her eyes closed and her hands tied behind her back.”
Finally, there was an obituary, just over a week before, which stated that Sherry, at age thirty, had died of unknown causes. The medical examiner was awaiting results of the numerous toxicology tests done at autopsy. The obit was from the local paper, which surprised Andi, because she hadn’t any idea that Sherry was again living in Edgerton.
Andi went to the Pacific Northwest Success website and paid for the “Super Mom” article. Once it was downloaded, she printed it off and read it over a glass of lemonade.
Sherry did come across as a wonder woman, but nothing in her reported achievements, or in the quotes used from her, indicated that she was engorged with her own success. On the contrary, she often gave credit to others, including her husband, for her accomplishments. She was grateful to her parents for encouraging her educational pursuits, which had resulted in an MBA at the age of twenty-two. She was grateful to her grandparents, who had left her a small trust that she turned into a multi-million
dollar real estate business that continued to thrive, even as the market took a downturn. She owed that success, she said, “to all the hardworking individuals who come to work for me every day, and to the hundreds of people who sought out my company for their real estate purchases and listings.”
She sounded like the same Sherry that Andi had known in high school. Level-headed, personable, intelligent, modest. And hard-working. Once she was a mom to four children under the age of five, she had become an involved, dedicated, and loving parent. Sherry attended church regularly and kept fit physically, not just through her daily home and work activities, but also through swimming and tennis. Andi remembered there had been talk of Sherry making the Olympic swim team if she wanted to, that’s how fit she was.
She thumbed through the pages of articles she’d printed out until she found the obituary. Unknown causes. At age thirty, it was unlikely she’d just keel over dead of natural causes if she was healthy otherwise.
Stymied, Andi went back to her computer and keyed J. Vaughn Hemmer into the search engine. Being a software magnate, over three hundred thousand hits came up. The first article answered one of her questions. Hemmer had sold his company to a software über giant for an undisclosed amount that was reported to be in the high triple-digit millions. Andi began to read through the articles that dealt with him as a man and as founder and owner of a mega corporation, skipping over all the junk hits as she went.
After an hour, she sat back, more confused than ever. Vaughn, as he was known to friends and business colleagues alike, was five years Sherry’s senior. A handsome man by anyone’s standards, he had a reputation in the corporate world as being ruthless, especially when involved in gobbling up smaller software companies. A couple of “entertainment” writers had hinted that he was not Prince Charming to Sherry’s Cinderella, but Andi didn’t remember her former schoolmate as the kind of woman who would put up with a man who treated her badly or cheated on her. True, sometimes people change, but Andi was more inclined to believe the writers had been trying to increase their publications’ circulation with invented stories.