Jackal

by Jackal in the Mirror (retail) (epub)

  “Good. Call me later today after your explorations with Iris and Sonia.”

  “I shall. Love you, Dr. Watson.”

  “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

  She hung up and pressed the phone to her chest. “I do wish you were here.”

  She glared across the room at the book. Moments later, she turned off the light, and pulled the covers over her head.

  But the book beckoned and sleep refused to come.

  After tossing and turning for half an hour, she reluctantly turned on the light, crossed the room, snatched up the book, and returned to bed. “All right, you win.” After a deep breath, she braced herself and opened the book.

  Counterpart

  A kettle whistled in the kitchen as a shoeless Karla emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a terrycloth robe, drying her hair with a towel. She crossed to the kitchen and made a cup of tea.

  Holding the teacup, she sauntered to the living room and snuggled into the sofa where a pile of mail awaited her. She blew lightly on her tea and sipped it while examining the mail. She flipped through several bills, a couple of letters, and some magazines.

  Close to the bottom of the pile, one envelope caught her eye. Addressed to her in hand-printed letters, it had no stamp and no return address. Intrigued, she set her cup down and tore open the envelope, only to find what appeared to be a copy of a magazine article. The photographs in the article had been carefully cut out and were missing. She avidly read the article and examined the envelope, but found no clues about its sender.

  She opened her laptop and soon found what she sought. “I’ll be darned.” She grinned.

  Moments later she hurried to her bathroom, blow-dried her hair and put on makeup. She slipped on a navy blue pinstriped three-piece suit, a green blouse and green high-heeled shoes. Checking her image in the wall mirror she smiled. After transferring the contents of her purse into a matching green one, she hurried out the front door.

  Twenty minutes later, Karla found herself waiting in an opulent private reception area. The wall directly in front of her was emblazoned with Aldercrest Corporation, written out in large bronze letters.

  A middle-aged man sat across from her with an attaché case on his lap. He kept glancing toward the double doors to his right, while his legs jiggled up and down, and his fingers tapped fitfully on his attaché case.

  Karla noticed sweat trickling down the man’s neck and collecting in his shirt collar.

  An attractive, impeccably dressed woman in her late twenties emerged from the double doors. She left one door open and glanced toward the man.

  “Alright, Mr. Dawson, he’s ready to see you.” She crossed the reception area and took a seat behind her desk. “Please close the door behind you.”

  The man exhaled audibly as he rose to his feet. “Thanks, Susan, wish me luck.” He took another deep breath and walked decisively through the open door, closing it behind him.

  Susan smiled uncomfortably and glanced toward Karla. “Sorry, Miss Jordan, but he had an appointment.”

  A young man entered the room through a door behind the receptionist toting a stack of letters and magazines. “Hey Susan, I got two tickets for the concert Saturday. How about it?” He stacked the mail in an in-basket at one end of her desk, leaned forward, and faced her. “Come on. I had to move mountains to get these.” He flashed a pair of tickets.

  She gave him a condescending smile, slid out from behind the desk, and walked toward a bank of file cabinets on the opposite side of the room. “Sorry. I have to go visit my parents this weekend. Why don’t you ask Lisa? I bet she’d love to go.”

  Melodramatically disappointed, the young man leaned against the wall, staring at his tickets. “Lisa’s so young.”

  “Precisely.”

  He glanced at Susan and sighed, then exited the office the same way he had entered.

  Susan cocked her head when she noticed Karla smiling. “I’m sorry you’ve had to wait so long. Are you sure you can’t come another day?”

  “I have to meet with him. It could save someone’s life.”

  Jarred by the comment, Susan glanced at Karla and discerned sincerity in her eyes. “I understand.” She returned to her desk and glanced discreetly at the appointment book.

  The wooden double doors opened and Dawson emerged, back first, addressing someone inside. “I’ll get on it right away, sir.” Visibly shaken, Dawson closed the door and heaved a deep sigh. After a moment, he looked at Susan. “I should’ve broken a leg and stayed in Aspen.” He wet his lips, sighed once more, and walked off, an invisible burden upon his shoulders.

  “Like I said, it isn’t a good day. Let me try once more.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

  Susan tapped the door lightly before slipping inside, closing it behind her.

  Karla glanced at her watch and got to her feet. After stretching her neck and back, she ambled about the reception area. At the entrance, she glanced through the glass doors that looked out into a sprawling workplace. The floor had been split into three parallel walkthroughs, each framed by offices hidden behind square or rectangular partitions, and bordered by secretarial desks. She noticed no loitering or chatting as in most offices. Everyone’s attention was focused on a task.

  Karla turned around as the wooden double doors opened behind her. Susan glanced at her. “Ms. Jordan, he will meet with you now. Please come in.”

  Karla picked up her purse, and walked toward her. “Thank you, Susan.”

  Susan stepped aside to let Karla in. “He’s on the phone at the moment, but have a seat and he’ll be right with you,” she said, and closed the door behind her.

  The formidable, elegant office was bathed in soft sunlight coming through floor-to-ceiling tinted windows that bordered two sides of the room. Behind an immense desk, a man sat with his back to Karla facing the city below, and holding a phone.

  Subtle hidden lighting fell directly on paintings, sculptures, and mementos scattered about the enormous space. Across from the desk, at the opposite side of the office, a large leather sofa stood against an art-covered wall, a coffee table in front, and leather armchair on each side.

  Karla’s breath caught for a moment when she realized that one of Andrew’s paintings hung on the wall behind the sofa. It depicted a family of jackals, two adults and two snarling cubs ready to pounce.

  “That’s my favorite painting. Do you like it, Ms. Jordan?”

  Karla jumped at the sound of the man’s voice. Startled she spun toward him. “Andrew?”

  The man holding the phone laughed—Andrew’s laugh. “No, Ms. Jordan, I’m Daryl.”

  Daryl was the spitting image of Andrew—clean-cut and far more elegant, but identical nevertheless. He allowed her to stare at him in silence for a few seconds.

  After a long pause, Karla found her voice. “But—”

  “Andrew is my twin brother.”

  “I noticed the resemblance when I found your photograph online, but your voice…”

  “We’re identical twins.” His demeanor changed as his eyes looked down to the papers on his desk. “Yes, that’s correct,” he growled into the phone. “Call back with the final number.” He hung up and came around the desk, his hand outstretched, and a smile across his lips. “I’m Daryl McKenzie, and you’re Karla Jordan. Correct?”

  Stunned, Karla hesitated. “Yes.” She stretched out her hand.

  He shook it firmly. “Judging from your reaction, I presume our voices are the same.”

  “Presume?”

  “I haven’t seen Andrew in…well, a very long time.” He motioned for Karla to sit on the sofa while he took one of the armchairs.

  “What can I do for you, Miss Jordan?”

  “I am…well, was…Andrew’s friend.” She reached into her purse, took out her business card, and placed it on the coffee table. “I’ve been writin
g a piece about Andrew for WOA magazine. Are you familiar with that publication?”

  Daryl glanced at her card and smiled—Andrew’s smile.

  Karla stared at him in disbelief. “I’m sorry about your mother.”

  For a moment a dark cloud flashed across his face. “Thank you. My assistant said something about life and death. I’m very busy, Miss Jordan. Today is a bad—”

  “Yes, I’m aware of that. This won’t take a moment.” She frowned. “Andrew has disappeared. Someone ransacked his studio, and there was a painting of your mother there. An unfinished portrait.”

  Daryl hesitated for a moment. “I wasn’t aware Andrew painted portraits.”

  “You’re correct. Never portraits.”

  “Is that right? You say his studio was ransacked?”

  “Yes. The police are looking into it. “

  Daryl cocked his head. “Go on.”

  “I was sent an article in the mail about you and your corporation.”

  “Yet you were surprised when you saw me.”

  “The article didn’t include photographs.”

  “That’s not unusual, is it?”

  “No, but what’s curious is that in this case the photos were all cut out intentionally. I can see why. Whoever sent it intended to shock me.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Why else?” She studied his solemn expression for a moment. “But getting back to Andrew, has he contacted you?”

  Daryl sat erect in his chair. “I haven’t heard from Andrew in twelve years or more. What makes you think he’d wish to talk to me?”

  “Because he’s your brother. I had no idea he even had a brother, let alone a twin brother. Now he’s disappeared and I have no idea why. But we need to find him. All I have is your mother’s portrait, the newspaper article about her death, and this mutilated article about you. I simply followed a lead. I’d never even heard the McKenzie name. When I researched your mother, I couldn’t find any connection to Andrew.”

  There was a long pause. Karla hung on to the silence with the expectation of a response. Daryl leaned forward and studied her.

  “Miss Jordan—”

  “Call me Karla, please.”

  “As you wish, Karla. Maybe Mother’s unfortunate death brought back some memories and Andrew simply needs to be alone. Like I said, it’s been a long time since we’ve been in touch. But I’ll see what I can do. Let me make some phone calls.”

  “Thank you. You have no idea how much I’d appreciate it.”

  Daryl stood and helped Karla up. “I’m sorry I can’t give you more time today. But let me assure you that I’ll look into it. If you and I join forces it might be easier to find him. How about getting together for dinner tomorrow? We can compare notes.”

  “Terrific. Where?”

  “The Big 4 at seven o’clock. Do you know where it is?”

  “Yes. I’ll be there.”

  “Very well. I look forward to it.” He extended his hand.

  Karla reciprocated. He gripped it a bit too firmly for comfort, but she slid her hand out of his grasp and headed for the double doors.

  “Allow me.” Daryl moved past her and opened the door for her.

  “Until tomorrow.” She went out.

  “Indeed.” Daryl shut the door behind her and crossed his office in a couple of strides. He reached for the phone. “Susan, cancel the rest of my appointments for today. Ask Furnell to find out anything he can on Karla Jordan.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Top priority.”

  “I understand, sir.”

  “Get me a copy of a magazine called WOA. Can you find it?

  “Yes, sir. Is it W, O and then A?”

  “It could be. You’ll have to research it.”

  “Very well, sir. Anything else?

  “Tell Furnell to look into that magazine as well.”

  “I shall.”

  Daryl hung up, turned toward the city, and sighed. “Andrew, what have you done?”

  The loud ring of the hotel phone startled Sarah. Book in hand she reached for the handset, “Yes?”

  “Sarah, we’re waiting. What’s going on?” Iris said irritably.

  “Sorry. I had a bad night and…never mind. I’ll take a quick shower and meet you downstairs in a few.” Without waiting for a response she hung up and glanced at the book.

  A poem waited to be read.

  WHAT REMINDS ME OF YOU

  What reminds me of you

  Is not the way the sun

  Catches your hair

  Or the way your eyes reflect me

  It isn’t the way that you smile

  Every morning

  It isn’t your hand holding mine

  Or the kiss of your sweet tender lips

  What reminds me of you

  Is not your warmth next to me

  And isn’t the things that you say

  It isn’t the fact that my

  Dreams all come true

  Every time that you’re in my arms

  What reminds me of you is that

  When you are gone

  My life and my dreams are gone too

  8

  The Obstruction

  “Sorry ladies, James isn’t here,” said the woman behind the desk at the Booklegger bookstore. “Had to go on one of his job calls. He’s out of town for a while.”

  “When do you expect him back?” asked Sarah.

  “In a while.”

  “But what’s a while? Is it a day, a couple of days, a week?” asked Iris impatiently.

  She shrugged. “When James leaves, it’s always for a while.”

  “Do you mind leaving him a message for me?” Sarah suggested.

  “I can give you his cell number and you can leave a message there. Hard to imagine when he and I will cross paths, so no sense in leaving it with me.”

  “I’ve got his number. Thanks.”

  The three friends headed out the door.

  “Well, that sucks,” said Iris.

  An hour later they strolled through the Clark Historical Museum, taking their time viewing the displays of the rich history of the county. The docent had told them all about the local Native American cultures, the gold rush settlements, the success of the lumber industry, and the thriving ranching and farming trades, as well as those livings wrung from the sea. The period room gave them an enjoyable glimpse of Victorian elegance, its remarkable craftsmanship seen in everyday work, home life, and play.

  “A psychic visited the museum eight years ago and sensed four spirits in four separate locations throughout the building,” the docent told them. “Four years later, the Humboldt Area Paranormal Society found the same four ghosts in the same locations.”

  “There’s a society that studies ghosts?” Sonia shook her head in disbelief.

  “They do investigations to scientifically identify or debunk paranormal sightings.”

  “No kidding.” Iris could hardly contain her enthusiasm. “Can we visit with them? Do you have an address or phone for them?”

  The docent shook her head. “No. I’m told they can be found online on Facebook. I’m not into social media, so I can’t help you.”

  “I’ll look them up,” Iris said. “I’m on Facebook.”

  “Good. I’m happy to guide you through the museum and answer your questions, but that’s as far as I can go. Can you guess in what rooms the ghosts reside?”

  Sonia and Iris turned to Sarah, expecting her to impress the docent with her perceptive powers, but Sarah shook her head and shrugged.

  The docent giggled. “Not to worry, honey. You’ve got to have pretty special psychic powers to sense them. These ghosts passed on a long time ago.”

  “How come they’re here?” Sonia asked.

  “
During the 1870s the museum was the Bay Hotel, and Eureka’s Chinatown was up the street. One of the ghosts is believed to be a young girl. Her true identity is yet to be determined, but it’s possible that she could be the daughter or wife of a merchant named Kwan Sing Long. The ghost resides in the museum’s basement where he used to store his goods. Apparently she’s not interested in leaving.”

  “Can we go down there and meet her?” asked Iris.

  “I’m afraid not, dearie. Unfortunately visitors can’t access the basement. It’s not safe for the public. ”

  “From a hotel to a museum?”

  “Well, not quite. In 1911, the Bay Hotel was reconstructed into the Bank of Eureka. The museum currently occupies the same reconstruction footprint as the bank. I’m sure you noticed the bank teller windows when you first came in.”

  “What about the other ghosts?” Iris asked.

  “Another female ghost haunts the lounge outside the second floor bathroom. A psychic claimed the woman was angry because she didn’t have a place to sit after the reconstruction. The museum puts out a folding chair every night to keep the ghost happy.” She giggled.

  “We can go by that one, right?” Iris asked.

  “No, we don’t allow visitors there either. Sorry.” She smiled. “The third spirit is a child that loves the piano in the Victorian room. It is said that every once in a while, a couple of piano notes can be heard.”

  “Have you ever heard them?” inquired Iris.

  “No, not I, but my colleagues have.” She winked. “I’ve already told you all about the Native American wing of the museum, but what I didn’t tell you is that the bear costume is home to a spirit that is said to protect the museum from unfriendly energies. That’s why this museum and its ghosts are friendly to visitors like you.”

  Sarah frowned, frustrated at her inability to sense any of these entities, thus thwarting her friend’s hopes of an in-person paranormal encounter.

  “I’ll leave you to it, dearies. You can wander about and check all the exhibits at your leisure, if you wish.” She looked at Sarah, “When you’re done here, you might enjoy visiting the Humboldt State Historic Park Museum. It houses some wonderful displays of the former U.S. Army Fort that operated from the1850s to the 1870s, and shows the interactions between European Americans and Native Americans. It’s a couple of miles down Highway 101, on a bluff overlooking the bay. A beautiful view.”