Into the Light

by Bernard Burgess

  “Yes, I can see that it’s getting colder out again,” she said.

  “Yeah, I know, I couldn’t believe that woman was running around the side of the church with just a skirt and short-sleeve shirt on,” he said. “Guess these are hardy people here. Or she wasn’t going far. Or, maybe she was in a hurry to talk with her equal.” He laughed. “I’m more than happy to have this fleece-lined coat on.”

  He turned around in the parking lot, slowing as he studied the figure of the Holy Mother on top of the central church building. He thought the artwork to be very beautiful as he drove down the entrance lane and on highway 75 back toward the motel. The lengthening shadows from the late afternoon sun gave a new look to Mother Nature’s palette as they splayed across the low rolling hills and intertwined among the scattered trees. A handful of geese were winging their way across the southern sky, probably looking for a night resting place. Bert imagined he could hear their distant honking, despite the hum of the vehicle engine. As he glanced at Norah, he was mesmerized by the fiery glow of her hair as the sun shown in the passenger window. He wondered if he was seeing the natural intensity of her spirit or if the sun really could create such a patina around the head of a ghost. It didn’t matter. Either way, her light shined brightly, silhouetted against the setting sun. He felt himself a blessed man that he had the gift of this second sight.

  Tonight, Bert would relax and enjoy the companionship of this lovely spirit and their working companion animal. This seemed to be one of those insignificant, nickel-dime days when the nuggets received were small. Tomorrow would bring a new day in their hunt for the missing. Vicki was somewhere out there, perhaps around here, and he believed that her spirit was trying to be found. He, like Norah, could sense some faint vestige of the woman and mother, waiting to be brought back to her son. Waiting to be brought back into the light.

  Chapter Eight: A New Day

  Monday morning was another typically cold day with high thin clouds hinting at the approaching front, which promised that another storm system was on the way. Becky Thompson checked her winter weather traveling gear before she left Cody at 5 a.m. The roads were clear for her six-hour drive to Laramie, but she knew to plan for the worst case. With a couple of stops, she planned to be there by noon. She’d be meeting with the Assistant Director for the Young Un’s Daycare, a lady named Sonya. This lady should be able to shed more light on Jeremy’s personality and traits in dealing with small children.

  Becky entered the small town of Thermopolis around 6:30. Appropriately named from the Greek words for “Hot City,” this would be one of those expected stops. She kept wishing she could spend some time in this seat of Hot Springs county, with its population of about 3000. The hot mineral water sounded great to her, especially in this cold weather, and she really wanted to bathe in the famous “Big Spring,” purported to be the world’s largest geothermal and mineral hot spring. Because of a treaty signed in 1896 with the Shoshone and Arapaho tribes, the springs were free to the public. Being a self-proclaimed naturalist, Becky also wanted to visit the nearby Dinosaur Center and browse over the many fossils recovered from the area. Unfortunately, such a visit would have to wait for another time.

  This morning, she proceeded straight ahead to the east on Broadway where highway 20 turned south in downtown Thermopolis. Making the U-turn on Broadway Street, Becky returned and pulled in front of the Storyteller bookstore. It was a neat little book, gift, and coffee shop. Right now, she needed a cup as well as a brief break to stave off the sleep monster which was tormenting her the past twenty minutes. She dared to hope that they were open this early in the morning. To her delight, they were.

  Ten minutes later, she removed her winter coat before hopping back into her warm truck. Travel cup in hand and filled with her favorite hot beverage, she resumed her journey to the south on highway 20. The remaining drive to Laramie would be bearable now.

  Soon she was driving along the huge Boysen Reservoir and Boysen State Park. Formed by a large earth-filled dam on the rustic Wind River just south of the majestic and stunning Wind River Canyon, this water and camping playground was another of the favorite stops for Wyoming travelers. She knew she had better enjoy the scenery here, because the next two hours were mostly what she considered drudgery. It was mostly undulating hills, gullies, and arroyos, interrupted by the frequent antelope, before hitting Interstate 25 at Caspar. An hour before Caspar, though, Becky passed up another point of interest. She once again made note of the covered bridge over the old highway just north of highway 20. Every time she passed this relic of the past, she continually reminded herself that she needed to learn about its history.

  The last four hours to Laramie passed as if in a trance, lulled into a semi-hypnotic state by the interstate highways. Becky rolled into Laramie just after noon. She found her way downtown to the Turtle Rock Café, where she was meeting Sonya. Another opportunity for coffee, and another opportunity to struggle for the willpower to resist the many dessert temptations. She looked over the menu while waiting for the woman to show and battled the hamburger and fries demon until deciding on a tossed salad. Around her was the increasing hustle and bustle of the noontime rush of college students from the University of Wyoming. She enjoyed watching and listening to the ideological gamesmanship of these young people, so confident in their beliefs despite their lack of meaningful experience in the real world. Her people-watching was interrupted by the arrival of a neatly dressed brunette, looking to be about forty years old. Becky knew instantly that she was Sonya.

  Sonya Olivette was a stocky woman with a stern, unsmiling face. She came across as a stereotypical teacher: firm, direct, and authoritative. She had barely sat down at the table with Becky before she wanted to see Becky’s driver’s license and P.I. license. Then she demanded to know about the company that Becky worked for.

  Becky smiled sweetly as she entertained a quick thought to herself. “Bossy bitch.” She handed her licenses to Sonya and waited for the woman to study them as if evaluating an entrance exam.

  After Becky described her company and answered several questions about herself and very general questions about the case she was investigating, Sonya seemed to kick one stirrup from atop her high horse. She had the demeanor of someone who was too busy to put up with such trivia and had more important things to do.

  “Make that an egotistical bitch,” Becky thought silently. She smiled again and explained that Jeremy was working at a daycare school in Red Lodge and she just needed to know how he performed and related while here at her Laramie school.

  “Well, to be honest, I always wondered why a 20-something male college student would want to work at a daycare with little kids,” Sonya said.

  Becky realized that Sonya’s bias would probably taint about anything she had to offer about Jeremy. “Did he ever do anything that caused you to question him?” she said.

  Sonya replied, “Oh, just his demeanor with the kids was too rough. And he was such a big guy that his size intimidated some of the children, especially the girls.”

  “Oh really,” Becky said, “I didn’t realize he was a big guy.”

  “He was probably about 6 feet 5 I’d guess,” Sonya answered. “He was so tall that he seemed rather slim, but he must have weighed over 200 pounds.”

  Becky then asked the central question. “Did Jeremy ever do anything with any of the kids, especially the girls, that you considered inappropriate.”

  Sonya weighed her words carefully. “Well, no, not really, but many of the little girls didn’t like him. I think he was just too firm and unfeeling with them. I couldn’t help but wonder if there was more that I didn’t know about, but I never became aware of anything blatantly inappropriate.”

  “Okay, well thanks for sharing those observations. I do appreciate it. You can’t be too careful when you’re considering whether a man is going to be allowed to care for little kids.” Becky was ready to get this interview over with. She did not like Sonya.

  Sonya added, “You
know, it might just be that Jeremy’s size is intimidating, even to me. I think some of the kids were scared a little because of that. Maybe he’s in the wrong profession.”

  “I think you may be right, Sonya. Again, thanks for your inputs about him. I need to be going, so I hope you have a great day.” Becky was about to call for the check but realized she hadn’t even had her salad.

  Sonya said good-bye and left. Becky called the waitress to her table. “I’d like a small hamburger with the works, no fries.” The diet and salad could wait. Her taste buds craved a burger.

  A half hour later and with happy taste buds, Becky left the café and headed for the University of Wyoming. She was glad she’d made an appointment to talk with Jeremy’s child development professor. Maybe he could shed some light on the lad’s demeanor. She didn’t feel that she got much from Sonya.

  At UW, she located the student union, where the gentleman wanted to meet. At first she didn’t see him, until she finally realized that Billie was a woman with a somewhat deep and raspy voice. It hadn’t been hard to mistake her for a man. With that discovery, Becky introduced herself to the portly little grey-haired lady and sat down. She had an enjoyable talk with Billie, who was certainly a more reasonable woman to talk with. However, the only thing she took away from it was that Jeremy was perceived to be genuinely interested in the childcare profession, but as a business. Billie said he talked frequently about starting a system of childcare establishments. An ambitious guy, then, thought Becky, and maybe he realized his shortcomings in dealing directly with the kids.

  Becky checked the time. It was just 3 p.m. and she was done in Laramie. A new storm system was supposed to reach the region by Wednesday. If she got on the road now, she could be in Cody tonight and back in Red Lodge tomorrow, before the storm hit. She hugged and thanked Billie for meeting with her and left the student union for her truck. She could feel the stares from several of the young guys she passed, and knew they’d be surprised when she got in her big Dodge Ram Hemi pickup. It was a source of pride for her that she was not your stereotypical blonde chick. Maybe she had the looks to draw glances, but she was happy to be a country girl who liked the outdoors and her truck. Oh yeah, don’t forget the hamburgers. She sighed; nothing but fruit the rest of the day.

  The six-hour drive back to Cody seemed to take forever. She listened to the radio at times, but often she liked to just think as she drove. It amazed her how many issues she could solve while driving. If she ever wrote a book, she’d probably write the bulk of it in her head while on the road.

  It was 10 p.m. when Becky pulled up to her B & B in Cody and went inside. She was exhausted from the long day’s drive. This night she didn’t even feel the usual loneliness very much. She just wanted to get in bed. One looks out the window to check the temperature. It read a chilly 20 degrees. It would be going down again in another day, so she knew she’d better enjoy this relative heat wave.

  She realized that she hadn’t called Bert and Norah today. This had been one of those days with plenty of time but also plenty of distractions and she simply forgot. There really wasn’t much to report about this day’s efforts, anyway. She hadn’t learned any great revelations about Jeremy. He was no more or less a suspect now than he’d been yesterday. Tomorrow, she’d call on her way to Red Lodge. Tonight, as she snuggled under the covers and felt the creeping warmth from the cotton sheets and thick comforter, she wondered how their investigation was going over there in Nebraska. She tugged the covers up to her chin and worked her head into the pillow. The question faded as she drifted into sleep.

  ***

  In eastern Nebraska on this Monday morning, Bert sipped a coffee in the motel room as he chatted with Norah. He was taking his time before taking Missy out for her morning outing. They were discussing how best to proceed with Robert’s case. Missy was starting to pace the floor, so Bert knew he couldn’t delay very long. The glow in the eastern sky hinted at the coming sunrise.

  “Well, my Darlin,” Norah said, “it seems to me that we have the phone call question on the day that Vicki disappeared. There’s also the matter of her car. Why was it where it was?”

  Bert answered, “You’re right, Sweetheart. Are you still having the vision about the phone call, and about Patty holding one of the keys to solving this crime?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I keep seeing a phone; just a phone. And I feel that Patty knows something of great importance, but she doesn’t know it.”

  “The phone, Honey,” he asked, “what kind is it? A cell phone?”

  Norah was at first surprised by his question. “Why, it’s like a wall phone, I think. Doesn’t look like a cell phone. I’ve been seeing it as a generic phone of any kind. Maybe it really is a wall phone that I’m seeing.”

  “I’m not sure what we can learn from that at this point in time,” he said. “Probably no records now. But, what if she did go to make a call, as Robert thinks, and her cell phone was out of charge. She might have used a wall phone. That would explain no cell phone record of such a call.”

  Norah replied, “Yes, you’re right, Honey. It doesn’t sound like the police considered that. Maybe that’s why I keep seeing a phone.”

  “Well, what do you say to a visit back to the Buck Snort bar and see what we can find out?” Bert said.

  “Good idea, Sweetheart,” Norah replied. “Maybe the phone office would still have the record. We won’t know unless we ask.”

  Bert and Norah took Missy to a different field a bit farther west on highway 20 toward Lincoln. It was just a couple miles before he saw an ideal spot on the north side of the highway. The small hillside field, about five acres in size, had a wind break of twenty-foot pine trees defining the west and north sides. A dirt road led into the place. Bert parked just off the road. There were no houses or people in sight, so he walked Missy along the line of trees, enjoying her sometimes hectic pace of investigating the sights and sounds. He wished he could perform his investigations as quickly as she did hers. After about ten minutes, he called her back to the doghouse. With ears lowered, she reluctantly got back in the cargo compartment and turned her back on him again.

  “Geez,” he said aloud, “I can’t spend all day walking you out here. Look how wet you are.”

  They both laughed as he entered the vehicle and drove back to the motel. He needed to see when the bar opened as it was only about 9 a.m.

  Back at the motel, Bert called the bar. They didn’t open until 11. They needed to go with plan B. They’d go to the local phone company office and see what they could find out. Before going back to the doghouse, Norah suggested that they call Dori, the young medium they met at the church, and see if a local medium might know of spirits which she and Bert couldn’t connect with. To Bert’s surprise, she answered immediately. He half figured she would be in school. She was in school, but on a short break. She said she could talk for about five minutes.

  “Do you connect with spirits in specific locations around the city?” he asked her.

  Dori said, “Yes, absolutely. There are numerous old historic sites around town with considerable activity. Of course, the cemeteries and a couple of the churches.”

  “Do you ever connect with a woman who disappeared and died about seven or eight years ago,” Bert asked.

  Dori answered slowly, “Well, I don’t know for sure. You know, they don’t really talk with me much. There is one entity who thinks she was killed about ten or eleven years ago. She says she was never found. She just kinda wanders aimlessly. Could she be the one you’re looking for?”

  “I doubt it,” Bert said. “The one we’re looking for is more recent than that. Out of curiosity, though, where do you usually see her?”

  “Oh, I always see her near one of the churches. She just seems to roam around. She only talks a little about being killed there. She’s just a lost soul.”

  “Which church?” he asked her.

  Dori responded quickly, “The catholic church out west of town. The Holy Mother, I think i
t’s called.”

  Bert had a thought flash through his mind. “What does she wear when you see her, Dori?”

  “She was killed and disappeared during the summer, so she’s always wearing a skirt and a short-sleeve shirt.”

  Bert asked her, “Are her clothes light blue, by chance.”

  “Why yes they are,” Dori replied, surprised. “Have you seen her?”

  “Yeah, I think I did, yesterday, when we drove out to look at that church.”

  “Wow, that’s pretty amazing,” Dori said. “Hey, guys, class is about to start up, so I have to go. Please call me again sometime if you’d like.”

  After they hung up, Bert turned to Norah. “Hmm, Honey. So, if the spirit we saw at the church is a woman who died maybe ten or more years ago, she can’t be Vicki.”

  “No,” said Norah, “but, why is she at Vicki’s church and why is she missing like Vicki?”