by Arjay Lewis
If Wendy was involved with lawyer Jack, it might explain how the paper trail stopped at Wendy. A crooked lawyer wouldn’t have any trouble setting up the fake names and addresses for the corporation. If he had been Wendy’s beau, and she stopped sleeping with him—she was the perfect patsy.
That is, once she was eliminated.
I looked forward to meeting Jack Hoefler myself.
. . .
I spent the rest of my afternoon on research of any other mysterious fires, going back further in other local papers. I uncovered a few that sounded like his style. They were major financial situations where insurance picked up the tab—but no mentions of anyone named Jack or Nova.
I then took a walk to the men’s store I’d been to the other day and purchased a black suit and somber tie. I wanted to look good for Wendy’s funeral, not borrow a suit from Jon.
In the dressing room trying on the suit, I felt a weight descend on me, and I had to sit on the small bench. I was overcome by uncontrolled tears, yet at the same time, I was detached and watched myself cry over Wendy—both inside and outside of the emotion simultaneously.
It occurred to me that the last few days had played havoc with my feelings, between the return to New Jersey and the terrible events. Until that moment, I hadn’t allowed myself to grieve over her loss. It hit so hard because the added loss of a possible relationship stung me, pulling me back to when I’d lost Cathy.
Now I really wanted a drink.
“Hey, buddy, you all right in there?” I heard the salesman say.
“Yeah,” I replied and wiped my eyes. I still felt enormous loss, yet a part of me just watched my body act it out. It was the oddest sensation, but after I completed the purchase and the alterations, I began to feel more myself—more inside myself than I had in the last few days.
I walked to the Baines’s house with an overwhelming impulse to cook. I wanted something to keep me busy, to take my mind off of Wendy, Cathy, and any other losses.
In the kitchen, I went through the cabinets and found lasagna noodles and a bottle of spaghetti sauce. Then off to the refrigerator, where I located some frozen spinach and containers of ricotta and mozzarella cheese.
Perfect.
I started water boiling and laid everything out to make spinach lasagna, a recipe I can do entirely from memory. I worked away assembling the parts. I even found romaine lettuce, which I cleaned and made ready for a Caesar salad.
By the time Jenny got home at five twenty, I was baking the lasagna, had the salad and dressing ready, and was putting garlic and butter on a loaf of French bread.
“What smells so good?” Jenny asked as she walked in.
“I made dinner. I hope you don’t mind,” I said.
“Mind? I could kiss you!” she said.
I flushed red and focused on my bread.
“You get embarrassed more easily than any man I’ve ever known, Len.”
“It’s part of my subtle charm,” I said.
“Subtle, yeah, right,” she laughed.
At quarter after six, Jon arrived home to find the table set with a tablecloth and good china, Jenny’s contribution to the meal.
“Wow! On a Monday?” he said as he came into the dining room and looked around. “Am I in the right house?”
“Don’t get used to it,” Jenny said. “This can only be done when there are two people making dinner.”
“And one of them is unemployed,” I added.
“Well, I could get a second wife, if that’s OK with you, Jenn.”
“Sure, if I get a second husband. I think between the two of us, we could afford to keep Leonard.”
“This is my only recipe from memory, and I don’t do windows,” I quipped.
“Well, I know what Leonard costs, and only the university can afford him,” Jon said as he slipped off his jacket and loosened his tie. “And Len and I have shared a lot, but I don’t think I want to share you, Jenn.” He gave her a quick kiss.
“There you go, spoiling all my fun,” Jenny said, giving me her wicked grin. “I guess you’ll have to do without the extra wife.”
“The sacrifices I make,” Jon said.
We sat down to the meal, and both the Baines’s praised my cooking and fawned over how good it all was.
“So, Len,” Jon said between mouthfuls, “what are your plans?”
“It seems Wendy’s funeral is tomorrow,” I said. “And I’m going to attend. Then I’d like to stay for another few days.” I met his eyes. “I want to find her killer.”
“Shouldn’t you let the police do that, Lenny?” Jenn said, concerned.
“This guy killed her because she was with me. He could’ve killed me, too.”
“So, instead you have stitches in the back of your head,” Jon said. “I’m sorry, old buddy, but I don’t see you as a superhero.”
“Well, that puts the kibosh on my plans to be the next big action movie star,” I said.
“Seriously, this guy has some kind of weapon—for all you know, it’s a flame thrower,” Jon said. “Do you have any training? Self-defense? You’ve got good reflexes, but I don’t see you taking out bad guys.”
I sighed. “I promise I’ll tell anything I learn to Detective McGee and let him take out the bad guys.”
“Lenny, if this man saw you at Wendy’s,” Jenny said. “He might go after you.”
“All the more reason that I need to be on the offensive,” I said. “I’m hoping I’ll meet him at the service tomorrow.”
“The guy named Jack?” Jon asked. I’d told Jon about the entire situation while in the hospital.
“Jack?” Jenny said. “That’s interesting. I got a call from a man named Jack. He said he was the lawyer for the Nova Corporation.”
I tried not to jump out of the chair. “What did you do?”
She shrugged. “I took his number and called Detective McGee. He told me to call him if I heard from Nova Corporation.”
I returned to my seat. “Was his name Jack Hoefler?”
Jenny picked up another forkful of lasagna and looked at the ceiling thoughtfully. “I—think that was it. I’m not sure.”
Bingo!
Now I couldn’t wait for tomorrow. It seemed my adversary wasn’t nearly as clever as I believed.
. . .
Tuesday was a beautiful day, with the sky clear and the sun warm, but not too hot. At 9:30 AM, dressed in my new black suit, I was dropped off by taxi at the Williamson Funeral Home.
It was the same location that Cathy’s memorial service was held and far too reminiscent. I felt transported back in years, when I sat in a wheelchair and listened to the pastor of her family’s church speak of what a gracious person Cathy had been. And here I was again. Another lover, another death.
I didn’t even know if I could have made a relationship work with Wendy. We seemed very different. But to have even the chance of love ripped away—it made it very personal and the loss profound.
Funeral homes are tough for me. The mental energy of sadness and loss pervades the places, which can be difficult for my second-level senses.
But it’s more than that.
At Cathy’s service, my extra perceptions were new, and I was confused by them. I saw an old woman walking about, trying to talk to people, but no one paid her any heed. I was surprised that people could be so rude, and it seemed to frustrate the woman as well.
Finally, she approached me.
“Can you help me?” she said, clear as a bell. “I seem to have lost my way.”
The pastor was in the middle of the sermon, but I turned to her and very quietly said, “I can’t help you now. Maybe after the service.”
The woman smiled and said, “I’ll wait in the hall,” and walked away.
Cathy’s brother, Terry was next to me. He’d been the one pushing my wheelch
air. He bent close and whispered, “Who are you talking to?”
“The old woman,” I whispered back. “She was lost.”
He gave me a look, then glanced around the room quickly. “What old woman?”
A chill went up my spine as it occurred to me that she was a ghost.
When we left the service, Terry pushed me. I kept my head down and my eyes closed, so as not to see her. I hoped people would assume it was my grief.
But that was then, when my abilities were new and such things frightened me. Since then, I’d studied, worked in haunted houses, and a lost phantom didn’t shock me in any way. In fact, it’s a walk in the park. The only reason I didn’t want distractions today was so I could focus on finding Jack.
I used my training to suppress a certain amount of the ambient energy of the place and erected the walls so as not be overwhelmed by the emotions of sadness that pervaded the funeral home where hundreds had wept over their losses throughout the years.
The minister at Wendy’s funeral was very different from any I’d seen. Long hair and beard, he talked in a rambling speech of the mother/father spirit and Wendy’s specific path, with a lack of preparedness that made me think he’d gotten his ordination over the Internet and recently.
The group had several people I recognized from our first date at the Halfway House. Char was sitting there in a black shirt and pants, genuinely upset. Next to him was the angry-looking waitress who’d given me the evil eye. She wore a mannish black suit.
What was it about her that kept drawing my attention?
I looked around for anyone who could be Wendy’s sister and finally found a young woman in the third row who I thought was a match. She was pretty, though not as stunning as Wendy. But she seemed to possess the same nose and fine bone structure. She had a different mother, so there were differences, but there were also enough similarities. She held a handkerchief to her eyes, dabbed them, and blew her nose.
Next to her was a man. He was about five foot five but broad, with powerful shoulders and hands that looked like they could pick up a bowling ball without the holes. He possessed a simian quality that made his arms appear longer.
I turned back to the preacher, who may or may not have been coming to the point. It was odd. If the man I just looked at was Jack, why didn’t I get a feeling from him? Not even a little buzz.
When I’d stepped into the spot from where the fire was started, I received the impression of a very different face, not to mention the feeling—so intense.
I looked around the room a moment or two more, seeing if I could find the man in black from my visions.
“We will now listen to words from those who knew her best,” the preacher said, encouraging people to rise up and speak.
The waitress rose and moved to the front of the room.
“My name is Denise, and I knew Wendy in many different ways. She was a person who loved deeply and freely. She could accept you for who you were, and yet she could push you when you needed it. She was a great soul,” she said as tears overcame her and she returned to her seat.
The woman in the third row got up, still holding her husband’s hand.
“I’m Janice Hoefler, and Wendy was everything anyone could want in a big sister. She was there for me all my life and did her best to protect me. She helped get me on my feet and taught me to live on my own. And she always helped me and Jack with our own struggles. She will be missed.” She tearfully glanced at the ape-man and sat down.
A few others stood and gave glowing testimony to Wendy. I could only speak from the silence of my heart. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I should’ve been able to do more to save her.
Finally, the service ended, and several of the men, including the one I decided was Jack Hoefler, acted as pallbearers and moved Wendy’s coffin to the hearse.
There still was no one I could identify as the man from my vision, and I tried to get a reading on Jack. Janice seemed shy and very dependent upon him, but they appeared to be a married couple in grief over the loss of a relative.
I watched them get into their car and suddenly became aware I needed a ride.
“Can anyone give me a lift?” I said to the few remaining people.
“Yeah, I got a minivan,” came a deep female voice.
Denise, who I thought hated me, waved me over. She was still with Char, and they both stood near a red van that looked fairly new. I approached, thanked them, and slipped into the back seat.
“Leg keep you from driving?” Denise asked as I got in.
“It makes it complicated,” I replied, trying to be cheery.
Denise drove into place in the hastily assembled procession, and we ambled slowly from the parking lot.
“That was nice, what you said about Wendy,” I said as I felt the silence lay heavily in the car. “She was quite a woman.”
“You didn’t know her very well,” Denise said. “She was a collection of contradictions. Sometimes, I think she had the instincts of an alley cat in heat. Some of us wanted to see her settle down.”
“Well,” Char said. “You wanted her to settle in a specific way.”
“Yeah,” Denise said, “I admit it, I wanted her to move in with me.” I saw her eyes looking at me in the rearview mirror. “What’s your name?”
“Leonard, Leonard Wise.”
“He’s a doctor,” Char added.
Denise nodded. “That was her type. Anyone with a title—anyone successful. Look, Leonard, you barely knew Wendy…”
“Now, don’t go saying anything bad about the dead,” Char chided.
“What does it matter?” Denise said. “I loved Wendy—and, yes, I slept with her—more than once, though we didn’t do much sleeping, as I recall. I wanted her to live with me, but she wasn’t sure what she wanted except for money. She always wanted money.”
“There was more to her than that, Denise,” Char said.
“Oh yeah? Well, she did end up with a lot of money,” Denise said. “And she wasn’t too keen on anyone knowing where she got it from.”
“She invested in the Halfway House?” I asked.
“She kept the place going, especially in the beginning. She said it was the least she could do for an old flame.”
Interesting choice of words, I thought.
“You own the Halfway House?” I asked.
“Own it, no—rent the space, yeah. It was my idea. It was supposed to be a place where gays, lesbians, and transgenders could hang out—but I have to admit, we’re pretty mainstream. We mostly attract the aging Bohemian crowd.”
“We do have a nice mix of folks,” Char said.
“Yeah, the place is on the edge enough to be cool, but not so far out that people feel threatened.”
“Wendy mentioned a boyfriend—broke up with the guy about a year ago, said he was possessive?”
“All men are possessive,” Denise snorted. “Don’t want your ‘girls’ wandering too far.”
“I was just wondering, maybe she’s dead because of that man. His name was Jack,” I said.
Denise blanched but grabbed a pair of sunglasses off the dashboard and put them on. Char watched her, concerned.
“You know anything, honey?” Char said kindly.
“Don’t honey me, I’ll kick your ass,” Denise said. Her covered eyes looked up at me via the rearview mirror. “She had been with so many men…”
“She said she lived like a nun for the last year,” I said.
“So, she only got laid once a week instead of every night!” Denise said, turning red. “Look, I don’t know anything about a Tom, Dick, Harry, or Jack. Maybe we should drop it.”
“Of course—I’m sorry,” I said.
“Don’t mind her none,” Char said. “This is how she deals with grief, by being pissy.”
“Better than being pussy, you old fag,” Deni
se said to Char.
“Don’t blame me, you got the equipment—and I’m happy with what I got,” Char said.
We rode on in silence. In spite of the gibes, they seemed to have genuine affection for each other as well as Wendy. They both suffered the loss, and it made me realize how little I really knew her.
I could tell from Denise’s reaction that she knew exactly who Jack was—but she didn’t want to say anything. What was it about him that scared people so much?
Perhaps the power to cremate you with nothing more than his will.
Pyrokinesis…
We arrived at the grave site, a huge place just off of Route Ten. In fact, I was surprised that such a large memorial park was hidden back in an area of warehouses and factories.
The grounds, however, were beautiful: manicured trees, green lawns, and well-groomed headstones. The procession stopped at a particular site where the dirt was excavated and piled into a small mound. The open grave would be Wendy’s final resting place.
As we got out of the cars and assembled on the lawn, the pallbearers took the coffin from the hearse and, with help from a man in a well-worn black suit, who I assumed was the funeral director, placed the coffin into position in the metal frame that supported it above the open grave.
I noticed an extra car that wasn’t part of the procession and watched as Detective McGee walked over slowly to join our party. He gave me a silent nod.
The bearded man began again with a few more incoherent espousals of his unfathomable belief system. The driver of the hearse held a large bouquet of white roses that would soon be placed on the coffin by the guests.
Then—all at once—I felt him.
He’s here…
It wasn’t an overwhelming buzz like I often get at a haunted house, where the presence is just there and you grapple to understand your impressions. It was more like a chill that went down my spine. I could sense him, nearby, watching.
I turned slowly, trying not to draw attention to myself, as if standing six four in a crowd while leaning on a cane wasn’t obvious. I wished I’d worn dark glasses, because then, at least I could pretend that I wasn’t looking around.