Copyright © 2016 Tierney James
All rights reserved.
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No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted or transferred in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system or device, without the permission in writing by the author
Some historical events named in this story are actual events, however, any resemblance to actual people and events is purely coincidental. This is a work of fiction.
e-Book Press Publishing
an imprint of A & S Publishing
A & S Holmes, Inc.
Dedication
Dedicated to my father who taught me how to tell a story.
Acknowledgments
Jaycee DeLorenzo – It is always a pleasure to work with you in designing my book covers. Your creativity continues to inspire me.
Kate Edwards and Wizards of Publishing – Your toughness makes me want to be a better writer. Thanks for your guidance and support.
Paperback Press – Thanks for always believing in me and answering my crazy questions.
Chapter 1
Three women alone in a city like Chicago, taking in the sights and pretending their lives are ten times more exciting than is the reality, can let a false sense of security become the mantra of choice. Bright sunshine and clear skies hide the darkness that lies in wait for such reckless behavior.
Lake Michigan, with its glassy blue waters, carried the echoes of Navy Pier all the way to the Museum of Natural History where the women sat on the steps licking ice cream cones, melting faster than their mouths could handle. Anxious laughter floated toward other tourists as they struggled to keep the drips from soiling their identical blue T-shirts proclaiming the Chicago Cubs to be the best baseball team. The idea represented when they dressed in similar outfits in middle school and were not cool enough to know it was a fashion faux pas.
“Hey, the guy with the red shirt made a rude gesture toward us. Must be a Cardinals’ fan.” Julie bit into her cone, creating such a crunch the other two choked with laughter. Her round face broke into a lopsided grin when traces of vanilla ice cream clung to the corners of her thin lips.
“You’re losing your touch, Erica. Usually a man will come over and ask our names while staring at you.” Cleo took the last bite of her cone then wiped her hands on the sides of her jeans. Having a friend who reminded you of the cover of Vogue could be a real downer at times.
Erica glanced over her shoulder at the man who stumbled up the steps when she winked. “Not a chance.” Cleo turned in time to see the man sprawl face down against the granite steps. Her hand slapped across her mouth to cover an amused giggle.
Cleo stood, dusting the seat of her pants as she stared out at the water. “It’s beautiful here. See the yacht?” She pointed toward the horizon, but her friends only nodded as they started up the steps. Taking a deep breath, she followed her friends inside. “My dad used to bring me here as a kid.”
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Erica bent forward and kissed her on the temple. “How long has your dad been missing?”
“Three years. Seems longer.” The huge T. rex known as Sue loomed before them. Julie asked them to take their picture with the famous dinosaur. “I used to tell my dad I wanted to be a famous paleontologist.”
“You mean he didn’t try to get you to study Native American culture so you could work together?” Julie eyed the coffee shop and tugged the other two toward the smell of cappuccino and scones.
Cleo shook her head. “Well, maybe at first then, when I entered high school, he said he would rather I go into medicine, which is what I wanted to do in the first place. Said there might be a time people would need me.”
“And the rest is history.” Erica tugged on her friends. “When were you here last?”
“Three years ago, just before Dad disappeared. I couldn’t stay but a couple of days because the hospital was shorthanded. I left him at the hotel to catch a red-eye. He said he was coming here to work after everyone left for the day. Something had him excited.”
“Like what?” Julie spied the gift shop. “Can we go in here? My weakness.” She headed in that direction, periodically whirling around to walk backward with a childish grin as if waiting for someone to stop her.
The girls went inside, and Julie soon became consumed with souvenirs.
Erica nudged Cleo. “You didn’t answer the question. What was he so pumped about? Discover a lost tribe or something?” She lifted a necklace with a feather pendant.
“I don’t know.” Cleo shrugged. “He continuously said he found an amazing whatever. After years of hearing it, I really didn’t pay much attention. All I know is he made it to the museum the night he went missing. The police found no clues. The lightning storm took out the entire security system for two days.” She nodded with approval at Erica’s choice then helped her try on the necklace. “I wished I’d stayed.”
Erica held up three fingers to the sales clerk and paid for the necklaces. “Ridiculous, Cleo. Are you really going to wallow in a pity party for something you had no way of knowing? The outcome would have been the same. Your dad would not have been allowed to bring you here so late at night, and you know I speak the truth.”
The truth coming from a no-nonsense person like Erica erased the guilt beginning to well up like a choke hold. “I know. Thanks. All I’m saying is, I wish I knew what happened.”
The security footage showed Dr. Daniel Sommers heading into the building then toward the North American Indian exhibit. Lightning flashed through the high windows as he disappeared into the darkness. The cameras went off-line seconds later. The police found her father’s car keys. His outdated Chevy remained in the parking lot the next morning. Nothing appeared to be missing from the museum, and no damage to any of the displays indicated anything out of the ordinary.
Several days passed before anyone even noticed Dr. Sommers’s car in the parking lot or that he hadn’t returned to work. Since he had put in for vacation to enjoy his daughter’s long overdue visit, no one thought it odd he hadn’t checked in. When Cleo called the museum to speak to him, since he failed to answer her texts or calls, the staff contacted the police. There was no putting two and two together because no two and two existed. Nothing. Not even fingerprint evidence. Dr. Sommers had simply disappeared.
Cleo put on the feather pendant necklace her best friend bought her and helped Julie with hers. She fingered it and wondered, as she did every day, what had happened to her father. The three friends stood in front of a mirror and complimented each other on their new bling.
“Let’s get this over with,” Erica whispered as they arrived in the North American Indian rooms. “You know all this stuff bores me, right?” She took a seat next to a ten-foot-tall totem pole where a narration continued its informative loop. “I’ll wait here. My feet are killing me. Take as long as you want, Cleo.” She waved her away as if shooing a fly from her head. “Julie, don’t touch that,” she ordered as her friend tried to reposition something on the floor next to the totem pole.
“I’m going to the textiles exhibit, Cleo. Is that all right with you?” Julie designed accessories for a high-end boutique in Neiman Marcus. “The brochure claims it came here from France.”
Cleo waved her away. Erica stood and stretched like a lazy feline before meandering after Julie. Taking a deep breath, Cleo explored the different cultures of North America. She’d loved the Northwest tribes as a child. Her bookshelves boasted almost every title of Indian folktale. Books were the one indulgence her father had bestowed upon her after her mother died.
&nbs
p; Moving into the rooms with the cases of mannequins dressed in various tribal costumes always created a sense of belonging in her. Cleo was only three when her mother died. Her sense of family became these artificial characters dressed as Native Americans. She never told her father she sometimes talked about her problems to them, even in high school. Because he could be totally absorbed in his work at times, Cleo enjoyed telling them about the pranks she and her two friends played on some of the teachers.
Growing toward womanhood, she fancied one case in particular. The Pawnee warrior standing tall and majestic, holding his hatchet in one hand with his bow slung over his shoulder, inspired her imagination. She often told him to pick up the quiver of arrows off the ground before he forgot them. Sounded like a twenty-first-century thing to do.
She moved in front of the case, letting her eyes shift to the warrior in the next one. An Osage male, well over six feet tall and sporting what modern people called a Mohawk haircut. With his face painted red, he bore the visage of an angry warrior.
Cleo cocked her head up at the Osage. “I see you still have an attitude problem, Neosho.” Naming him after a river where the Osage lived had seemed appropriate at the age of eight. “You used to scare the dickens out of me. Most kids dream of the bogeyman when they’re young. I had you to creep me out.” She patted the case in spite of a sign saying Hands Off.
Stepping in front of the Pawnee, Cleo sighed with great emotion. “Hello, Wind Dancer. Have I ever told you I’m secretly in love with you?” She peered around her to make sure no one watched or could hear her. “Oh, the things I had you do to me in med school.”
A chuckle floated from her lips as she dug out her cell phone and wrote down her number on the memo pad. Holding it up to the case, Cleo winked.
“Give me a call, handsome. I don’t have much of a social life, but I promise to make time for you.” Staring up into the face of her imaginary hero, Cleo put the phone against her heart. “If only…” She couldn’t finish what would never exist. “How about a selfie?” She whirled around, leaned back against the case, and snapped several photos.
Stepping away, with her interest on the photos, a chill prickled along her spine as a new reality zoomed into focus. She stumbled away from the case in horror when the weight of what the phone revealed paralyzed her with confusion. The picture showed the Pawnee, within his enclosure, a hand against the case, beside her, his eyes wide open and beautiful as he stared at her. One raised hand extended as if to touch her hair. Neosho had moved to get in the picture and had raised his club in anger toward the Pawnee. His other hand, doubled in a fist, pounded on the glass for freedom.
With apprehension, Cleo lifted her eyes to stare at the case. Both men stood with their hands pressed against the glass. Still mannequins, but their eyes moved as if human and stared down at her like they had awakened from sleep.
Lights flashed around her. She wanted to run away, but the rooms fell into total darkness. Dim lights in the reconstructed Pawnee earth lodge beckoned her to safety. Gulping down a scream, Cleo ran toward it.
Once inside, the feeling of safety returned. How many times had she climbed upon the buffalo-hide-covered benches serving as beds for the Pawnee and read away the hours? The ever-present smell of sweetness and smoke calmed her nerves. The thudding of her heart forced her to sit down. Usually a storyteller sat at the far end of the lodge and entertained visitors. It must not be time for the program. A hide moved aside at the rear of the lodge and a pregnant woman dressed in buckskins peered inside. Cleo didn’t remember there being an opening there. Earth lodges had one doorway.
“Hello?” Cleo stood to face the woman. “Are you the storyteller?”
The woman glanced over her shoulder then to her. To Cleo’s surprise, she motioned her to follow, speaking in a language Cleo didn’t know.
“I’m sorry. I don’t understand.” Cleo rubbed her arms at the sudden chill sweeping in from the opening, making some of the items tied to the lodge poles shift slightly. The woman motioned again then disappeared the way she’d come.
Cleo moved to the buffalo hide and lifted it, only to find a solid wall of earth. She patted it softly at first then, with the kind of desperation someone with a mental disorder might display, cried, “No. No. No.” She whirled around and escaped out the front then around to the other side of the lodge. Her hands searched with the care of a surgeon for any kind of opening.
“There isn’t anything here.”
“No. There isn’t,” quipped Erica as she strolled from another entry point into the exhibits. “What’s with the lights being out at the other end? Can this place get any creepier?” She rolled her eyes at the surroundings as if a plague-infested rat might lunge at her any minute.
Cleo collected herself and took deep breaths as her friend turned a pinched expression in her direction. “Are you alright, Cleo? Did you see a ghost? Of course, in this place, that is very possible.”
“I want to show you something.” Cleo scrolled through her phone for the pictures. “They’re gone,” she whispered.
“Who?” Erica waved at Julie coming through the double doors.
Realizing what she’d experienced put her in the having-a-nervous-breakdown category, Cleo decided to drop it. “Never mind.”
“I’m starving. Are you finished, Cleo?” Julie patted her stomach. “I’m tired of being the chubby friend. You guys need to fatten up a bit.”
Erica smirked. “You’re not chubby, just short. Besides, you’re the one with all the personality. You know everyone or will before we leave.” Erica guided her friends toward the exit. “Your gravestone will say, for a good time, call Julie.” She laughed as they entered the grand foyer.
Although quiet, Cleo let the echoing laughter sooth her troubled mind. “Let’s get out of here. Can we take the water taxi to Navy Pier then catch a cab to my place?”
Her friends agreed the day continued to be too beautiful to pass up such a trip on the water.
The girls joined several others on the water taxi and inhaled the fresh air as they moved offshore. Cleo basked in her memories as the Museum of Natural History faded to a small outline on the horizon. Julie managed to pump information from the other passengers, passed out her business cards, and then talked about their short vacation, while Erica sipped on her bottled water.
The trip soon ended as the taxi puttered into the dock. Cleo watched a man with a limp move toward the exit and assist the other passengers out of the boat. He said something to Julie, making her giggle and blush. Erica frowned and refused help.
Cleo remained seated until everyone else exited. She wanted to feel the rock of the boat and hear the sounds of sea birds flying overhead as long as possible.
“Miss? You coming?” The man with a limp spoke with a French accent. He twisted his lips into what appeared to be a grin. His eyes matched the blue of Lake Michigan on a sunny day.
She stood and wobbled slightly as a wave rocked the boat. Before she could get her sea legs, another wave hit, throwing her forward. The Frenchman caught her and pulled her up straight. They stood nose to nose. Cleo tried to squirm free, but the man held her firmly without much effort.
“Thank you,” Cleo said as she watched her friends stroll up the plank.
“It is good to see you, Cleopatra.” The Frenchman’s tone grew low.
She jerked free and stared at the man. Cleopatra. Her father had given her the name as a child. “What did you call me?”
The Frenchman continued to smile, revealing a bottom row of slightly crooked teeth that did nothing to take away from his rugged masculinity. Such men always bordered on enticement for her. Very tan and clean-shaven, Cleo found his familiarity disturbing. His blond hair, with hints of premature gray, curled at the ends. His calloused hands and wiry muscles lent themselves to a man used to hard work. She guessed him to be a few years older than herself.
“Cleopatra. Your father called you the name as a child. No?” The mischievous twinkle in his eyes reminded her
of a boy with a secret. Cleo took a step away, but he followed. “You do not recognize me.” He shrugged. “I saw you once when I visited the museum with Wind Dancer.”
“I don’t know you.”
“Jacque Marquette. I’m known as the Frenchman.”
“Sorry. You must have me confused with—”
“No. I don’t. Another time, another place, Cleopatra.”
Cleo forced a frown followed by a snarl. “Leave me alone.”
The Frenchman reached out and grabbed her elbow stopping her in her tracks. “If I can’t get to you when the time comes, then go to the museum. Others will help you transcend.”
“Everything alright?” Erica looked down at her from the promenade above.
Cleo jerked free. “Coming,” she replied. Then she leveled her glare on the Frenchman. “Touch me again and I’ll file a complaint.”
The man nodded as he stepped away. “Be careful, Cleopatra. Others may cross over who mean you harm.”
Cleo hurried up the ramp to join her friends deciding a trip to a good therapist would be in order as soon as she made it back to work.
Waiting for a cab then traveling to her condo took nearly an hour in evening traffic. Her friends voiced complaints of being tired. Even she felt the excitement of the day cave in around her. The museum hopping and snacking on things normally off-limits to keep their figures added to Cleo’s discomfort. Since she’d made late dinner reservations at the Signature Room at the 95th at the John Hancock Center, the girls sprawled across beds and the sofa bed to maybe take a nap and watch the news. They took showers then snuggled in their robes to wait for the steam to clear the bathroom before applying fresh makeup.
“You got your TV on?” Cleo thought Erica sounded as if she were chewing on a crunchy bar of some kind. “It’s the Museum of Natural History. Something must have happened after all, causing that power surge.”
Dark Side of Morning (Wind Dancer Book 1) Page 1