“You have amazing hearing, girl,” Sylvia said. “I don’t know what that was all about, but, it was in his message. The nun asked me to come to Father Morales’ funeral tomorrow at 2:00 PM and she would give me the package after the service.”
“So, are you going?” Heather asked.
“Of course,” Sylvia said.
“Steve!” Heather called out. “Sylvia and I are taking off tomorrow afternoon to go to a funeral. So, don’t be charging us vacation or anything.”
“No problem, I assume the other Quarts can handle the load,” Steve called back from his office. “Plus, I’m off tomorrow, anyway, so, you could have probably skipped out early and I would have been none the wiser. But, now that I know—”
“—You little bastard,” Heather snapped.
“What are you doing?” Sylvia asked as she glared at Heather.
“I’m going with you, of course. This kind of thing is right in my wheelhouse.”
“Well…, you can come if you want. I am sure I would enjoy your company, as always, but…, can you behave? You know this is a funeral, right? It is not a joke.”
“Sylvia!” Heather cried in mock indignation. “I’m an adult. I know how to behave at funerals, and besides,” she added as she passed her hand over her customary long black dress. “You certainly know I have the right outfit to wear. I am funeral ready 24/7/365.”
Sylvia chuckled and shook her head. “OK, but, please don’t embarrass me.”
“I promise I won’t. I’ll be good as gold. But, the thing is, I have to go now. I am very intrigued about all of this. Far too intrigued to miss out.”
Chapter 30
May 7th, 1996 - Pikeville Police Department - Pikeville, Kentucky - 9:45 AM
“Pikeville Police Department, may I help you?” the receptionist answered.
“Yes,” the voice on the other line said. “This is Captain Dave Karpinski of the New York City Police department. I was hoping to speak with a…, Captain Buddy Johnson?”
“Oh, certainly,” the receptionist said. “He is in a meeting right now, but, I can go get him.”
“Thanks, I would appreciate it.”
The receptionist covered the receiver of the phone with her hand and mouthed. “It’s the New York City Police on the line.”
Buddy Johnson, standing by the coffee pot, nodded, pointed to his office, and went inside. The receptionist prepared to transfer the call.
“OK, sir, I am putting you through,” the receptionist said.
“Thanks.”
“Captain Johnson speaking,” Buddy said.
“Yes, Captain Johnson, this is Captain Dave Karpinski of the New York City Police Department.”
“Glad to speak with you,” Buddy said.
“I was wondering if you could help us out up here.”
“I’ll try, although, I don’t know what some Podunk police captain can do to assist the greatest police force in the world. But, I will certainly give it my best shot.”
“We are tracking down leads on a missing person case up here. We have some information that leads us to believe the person in question may be in your area.”
“Oh? Ok, give me the rundown.”
“The missing person is a John Delaney. He is a resident of New York City and is a Junior partner at the law firm of Fitzgerald, Cameron, and Duncan. He is married and is six feet three inches tall and—”
“—Is this guy looking for his son, by any chance?”
“Yes! So, you know where he is?”
“Well…, to be honest, I am looking for him too.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The guy came into town about a week or so ago, and checked into the Daniel Boone Motor Lodge, room…, 214.”
“Well, you seem to know all about Mr. Delaney. He must have made an impression on you.”
“Oh, yes,” Buddy said. “He made quite an impression around here. Quite an impression indeed. I know for a fact he pissed off every merchant and waitress in Pikeville in the brief time he was here. Ran all over town making all sorts of wild accusations. He even came in here, talking about some wacky, dark conspiracy to kidnap his son. Frankly, I think the guy has a screw loose.”
“Well, Captain Johnson, his son, Billy Delaney, was kidnapped and there is an open investigation on his case. But…, your information about the Daniel Boone Motor Lodge checks out with the credit card records we subpoenaed. I called the motel and they referred me over to you.”
“Oh, no doubt they did,” Buddy said. “Look…, I’m sorry the guy’s son was kidnapped. I really am. And…, that may explain some of his behavior. Hell, if someone snatched my little boy, I would probably go nuts too.”
“So, what happened to him, Captain?”
“The guy totally trashed his room at the Motor Lodge. He ripped fixtures out of the wall, peed on the carpet, kicked in the TV. Real lowlife vandal kind of behavior. He also came in here and said all kinds of crazy things to my receptionist. Kept saying that voices told him that aliens, or some such thing, took his son out west somewhere. I think I heard her say it was Oregon, but, I wouldn’t swear to it.”
“Aliens?”
“Yeah…, crazy, isn’t it? Look, I don’t really care what folks believe, it’s a free country and all. But, I got involved after Raj Patel, the owner of the Daniel Boone Motor Lodge, filed a complaint for the damages.”
“I see.”
“No one has seen hide nor hair of him in over a week,” Buddy said. “Hey…, you said the guy was married, right?”
“Yes.”
“Would it be possible for me to speak with his wife? I know this must be trying for her, but, there are the damages at the—”
“—Mrs. Delaney is in a deep coma. Has been for a few weeks now.”
“Oh, I am sorry to hear that. Well, shoot. I don’t really have much more to add about Mr. Delaney. I really wish I could have been more helpful to you, Captain.”
“No, you have been very helpful, Captain Johnson. Very helpful indeed.”
“How so? You don’t know any more about where John Delaney is than when you first called me.”
“Oh, I know plenty,” Captain Karpinski said. “Now I know at least one place in America where John Delaney is not. He is not in Pikeville, Kentucky. That’s something, at least.”
Buddy smiled and said, “Yep. I reckon you are right. My guess is he might be out in Oregon by now.”
“I’ll put out something on the wire,” Captain Karpinski said.
“And hey, if you find that guy, tell him he owes Raj Patel, owner of the Daniel Boone Motor Lodge, $384.76 for damages.”
“I…,” Captain Karpinski said before he paused. “It was good speaking with you, Captain Johnson.”
“Same to you, Captain Karpinski,” Buddy said as he hung up the phone. A few seconds passed before the receptionist entered the office and broke the silence.
“Do you think he will buy it?” the receptionist said.
“Oh yeah,” Buddy said as a greasy smile crept across his face. “Hook, line, and sinker. You heard the Captain. He knows Pikeville is the one place in America where John Delaney ain’t.”
The receptionist grinned and nodded as she ran her tongue slowly over her lips. “Yeah…, well, sort of.”
Chapter 31
April 28th, 2017 - Café Del Sol Mexican Restaurant - Mountain View California - 6:30 PM
“It was a really nice service, don’t you think?” Sylvia said. “Really nice.”
“It was OK, I guess,” Heather said. “But, there seemed to be a lot of getting up and down.”
“You must mean the kneeling and the standing,” Sylvia said.
“Yeah, halfway through the service I was about to stand up and ask; is this a funeral or a jazzercise class?”
“My God, Heather,” Sylvia said. “The things that come out of your mouth.”
“I had to fight the urge to yell out to the priest conducting the show to not hog the bong. I mean, it is only good
manners to pass that thing around every once in a while. Give someone else a toke. It isn’t polite not to share.”
Sylvia slapped her hand to her forehead and said, “First of all, it’s not a show, it’s a service. And second of all, do you mean the thurible?”
“Hey, I don’t care what you call it. My old roommate called hers Betty, and, I had a boyfriend in college that made one out of a plastic toy dinosaur. He named it Bongzilla.”
Sylvia laughed. “You aren’t serious, are you? This is too much, even for you.”
“No,” Heather said as she chuckled. “I’m not serious. I’m not stupid, Sylvia. I know it was incense. I was just trying to lighten the mood a bit. Funerals are a big downer, you know.”
“Yes, it was a somber occasion,” Sylvia said. “Even though I haven’t been to church in years, it was nice to be back in the pews, even under such dark circumstances. Being at Saint Sebastian brought back a lot of good memories with my Mom and Dad at the Church of the Blessed Sacrament in New York. They were both the staunchest of Catholics, you know.”
“I think you mentioned it.”
“Once inside, it all came back to me. It really felt like coming home,” Sylvia said.
“And you were worried about me acting up and ruining everything,” Heather said. “See, I behaved, right?”
“You did,” Sylvia said. “You surprised me and rose to the occasion.”
“I clean up nice, occasionally. I thought the eulogy was very moving.”
“It was,” Sylvia said. “Although I didn’t really know Father Morales very well, it appeared to be an accurate tribute. He seemed like a very nice man. And obviously he was very well loved and appreciated by the congregation and his many former students. There was not a dry eye in the place.”
“Well, I do know one good thing,” Heather said. “Thank God those Catholics don’t have open caskets at the wake. I was glad to avoid the ‘Oh, doesn’t he look good’ conversation I am used to having at other funerals I’ve attended. Those talks are both creepy and insincere. The dead always look dead.”
“Yes, they do,” Sylvia said. “I saw my fair share during my residency back in New York. You never really get used to it, though. Everybody is so…, grey.”
“But, I will give Father Morales…,” Heather said as she smiled. “See…, I didn’t call him Father McHottie.”
“You are making progress.”
“I will give him credit, though,” Heather continued. “He sure had good taste in restaurants. Damn, these burritos are to die for.” She paused and added, “figuratively, of course.”
“Yes,” Sylvia said as she smiled.
“And it sure seems appropriate to have dinner here after his service,” Heather continued.
Sylvia nodded and said, “It does, and plus, the margaritas aren’t half bad either.” She raised her glass and added, “To Father Morales.”
“To Father Morales,” Heather said as they clinked their glasses. She paused after they took their sips. She pointed at the stack of papers next to them on the table and asked, “So…, what are you going to do about all of this now? Pretty creepy, eh?”
“Yes, pretty creepy is a massive understatement,” Sylvia said. “I don’t quite buy into all of the supernatural elements Father Hector alludes to in his notes.”
“No, that is all obvious bullshit,” Heather said.
“But…, it doesn’t mean there is not something to be genuinely concerned about here. There don’t have to be literal demons in order for people to commit some pretty heinous crimes in their name. I mean…, the description of the Feast of Moloch is chilling…, just chilling.” She turned to Heather and asked, “What kind of person was Alyssa, really? Did she seem like the type to be involved in something like, like a…”
“Like a Satanic cannibalistic cult?” Heather asked. She smirked and added, “I would not have thought Alyssa the type, but, hey, you learn something new about a person every day, right? Ironically enough, knowing about all this now only makes her seem more interesting to me. She was always a bit too vanillish for my taste. Now, she seems almost cool.”
“Cool? Are you joking? I was planning on calling the police about all of this. I mean, you saw the flyer Father Hector took from that bookstore. Beltane is the thirtieth. That’s this Sunday! And, the flyer specifically mentions the high priest coming in for a special Feast of Moloch. I think the police need to know about this.”
“Yeah, well, I want to hear how that call goes,” Heather said. “Be sure to let me listen in.” In a mocking tone, she said, “Yes officer, you see, this priest friend of mine died recently, and he was convinced there is a cannibalistic Satanic cult that kidnapped my neighbor. Where? Oh, up near those fancy vineyards near Floriston. Yes, that’s right, right off exit four. Oh, no officer. No one has reported her missing. Why, yes officer, I know this ‘so-called’ crime is being advertised in broad daylight, in some kind of hippy bookstore, but I am certain it is going to happen. Yes, you agree? Wonderful. I think you are right, twelve Blackhawk assault helicopters should do the trick.” She rolled her eyes and said, “Sheesh. They will laugh you right off the phone.”
“Well…,” Sylvia said. “I feel we should do something. I mean, Alyssa is missing.”
“Is she?” Heather asked. “I am still not so sure. I think she was just pulling a prank, and you and Father Hector just got caught up in it. I mean, those crazy messages, and the phantom ice cream, and what not? How do you explain all of that? I would not be a bit surprised if Alyssa and her boyfriend, Dickweed—”
“—Darryl,” Sylvia corrected.
“Whatever,” Heather continued. “She and Darryl are up there in Floriston right now, dropping acid out on that big ashram and having a big old laugh about all of this. Frankly, she seemed more of that type.”
“I don’t know,” Sylvia said. “You do make a good point, but, I still think I should call the police. I feel I owe it to Father Hector.”
“I tell you what,” Heather said. “It’s the weekend and I don’t have any plans. Do you?”
“My schedule is open.”
“I say Sunday, I pick you up early. We drive on up to Beelzebub Lake, or whatever the hell they call it, and make a day of it.”
Sylvia laughed and said, “Beelzebub Lake! You crack me up, sometimes.”
“We will have our cell phones,” Heather said. “So, if we see anything weird, we can call the police. Otherwise, when nothing happens, we can just sit back and enjoy the crazy show. I bet there is some freaky shit that goes on up there, and hey, who knows, maybe there will be some sexy Satanists to hook up with? You know, those devil boys are always so hot. I dated this guy in a Death Metal band a few years ago and let me tell you something, that guy was smoking!”
“—You want us to go up there by ourselves?” Sylvia interrupted.
“Why not?” Heather said. “Look, now I kind of want to go. It seems pretty exciting and, well, my Netflix queue is empty.”
“I don’t know Heather, this seems like a bad idea,” Sylvia said.
“It’s only three hours away,” Heather said.
“Still…, I think—”
“—And how about this, there are a bunch of wineries up there. We can hit the road early and stop at a few on the way up.”
“So, you are proposing we have a combo winery trip / satanic cult-busting weekend? You are crazy!” Sylvia said as she laughed. “I think I’ll pass — although, the winery option is tempting. But no. I am going to do what I originally said I was going to do, and just call the police and tell them what I know. That’s my good deed for the—”
“—You’re no fun,” Heather said as she pouted. “Well…, you can do what you want. I can’t stop you. But, as for me, I am going to go check out this devil festival for myself. It sounds like a fricking riot.”
“It sounds dangerous, Heather,” Sylvia said. “I really think you should think this through.”
“You know I won’t,” Heather said. She smiled
and added, “you know I have an impulse control problem.”
Sylvia laughed and nodded. “Yes, I know.”
“And this is all about nothing anyway. It’s all just a bunch of nonsense. So, when you see me back in the office on Monday, with a deep tan and a sunny disposition from having a nice relaxing day in wine country, you can eat your heart out.”
“That’ll never happen,” Sylvia said.
“Oh? Just try me,” Heather said.
“You never have a sunny disposition,” Sylvia said. “There isn’t enough wine in California.”
“Touché,” Heather said. “But…, I bet my disposition would get a lot brighter if you went with me. Please! It will be so much more fun if you came along. I hate traveling alone, but, I will.”
“Heather,” Sylvia said. “I don’t want to sound like your mother, even though I am old enough to be her. I really don’t like the idea of you going up there alone.”
“Don’t be so melodramatic, Sylvia,” Heather said. “I am telling you, this whole thing is nothing but a big hoax.”
“A woman has gone missing!”
“Please, stop with that,” Heather said. “I doubt very seriously anything is going to happen at some Hippie festival, right out in the open. Do you realize how crazy this sounds?”
“I don’t care. I think it is way too dangerous.”
“The only danger I envision encountering is the danger of seeing some unfortunate fashion choices. No doubt there will be nothing but a sea of tie-dyed peasant skirts and Birkenstocks up there.”
“But still…, Heather, in all seriousness, it isn’t safe. You don’t have to believe in some sort of Satanist conspiracy to realize it is dangerous for a woman alone to go to some bizarre event like this. Who knows what these people are capable of?”
Heather reached into her purse and pulled a taser up to the top edge, just revealing the intimidating looking metal prongs over the lip of her bag. “Don’t worry about me. Any Satanic Cannibals that try and make a snack out of me will find their asses shocked into next week. This thing can drop a moose in one jolt.” She winked and said, “and plus, nobody puts any teeth on my body without my express invitation! And even then, only after plying me with a half a dozen jello shots at least.”
Eye Bleach Page 31