Jackal

by Jackal in the Mirror (retail) (epub)

  “Thank you,” Sarah said, as the docent walked away.

  “Thank you,” Iris called out.

  The docent turned to them and waved.

  “Why don’t we go to the fort?” Sonia suggested.

  “In a bit.” Iris held Sarah’s arm. “Sarah, c’mon, call the ghosts to come and chat with us.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t. They won’t come near me.”

  “Why not?”

  Sarah hesitated a moment. “They can’t.”

  Iris frowned. “Why?”

  “Because I’m—unreachable at this moment.”

  “Make yourself reachable, then.” Iris insisted.

  “Iris, stop harassing her. If she’s not reachable, she’s not. C’mon.” Sonia took Sarah’s hand and led her toward the exit.

  An irritated Iris shook her head and followed.

  After a short drive up Highway 101, they wandered through the grounds of the fort and the museum at Humboldt Park.

  “So, you’re telling me you can’t sense anything?” Iris had run out of patience.

  “I’m afraid not.” Sarah responded apologetically. “Listen, as much as I would like to, it’s not likely to happen. Sorry.”

  “How come?” Sonia’s curiosity was aroused.

  “As I told you earlier, I found a book of poems at the Booklegger, and apparently it…well, it needs all of my attention.”

  This bit of news stopped Iris in her tracks. “Attention for what?”

  Sarah shrugged. “I’m afraid I’m in the dark about that at the moment.”

  “So, how did you conclude that it needs you?” wondered Sonia.

  “It’s difficult to explain, but it insists on being with me. It screams if I try to—”

  “Whoa,” Iris exclaimed. “It screams? A book?”

  “Only I can hear it, of course. It demands all of my attention and interferes very aggressively with any communication from other spirits. I’m useless except to the entity attached to that book. It kept me awake most of the night. That’s why I was late.” She glanced at Iris. “So, can you please cut me some slack?”

  Iris blushed. “Jeez, Sarah, sorry. I didn’t mean to push you. It’s very cool to have a psychic friend and—”

  “Don’t fret, Iris. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have been so secretive. It’s normal for you to expect me to sense all the spirits that roam around Eureka. And normally I should’ve. That’s what we all expected. But it’s not to be. The energy connected with the book has seized me. I should’ve told you a lot sooner. Please, forgive me.”

  “Is it talking with you now? The ghost, I mean.” Iris looked around.

  Sarah laughed. “No, it’s not here. At least I don’t sense it. It chooses when and where to show up, but keeps everything else at bay.” She shrugged apologetically.

  Iris frowned. “When it shows up, tell him he’s a pain in the ass for messing up our holiday.”

  “What if it’s a she?” Sonia winked.

  “Same thing. Bothersome all the way.” Iris squeezed Sarah’s hand. “I’m so very sorry. What a pain I’ve been.”

  “Yes, you have, but then, you always are,” Sonia interjected, “We’re used to it. Frankly, it’s your nagging that pushed us to do better year after year. It’s what made us the best of the best as teachers. So, no pity party here. Anyway, now that that’s settled, what should we do next?”

  “I’m really curious about a small town not too far from here called Alderpoint. On the way back we can drive through the Avenue of the Giants. The giant redwood trees are the tallest trees in the world and some of the oldest. How about it?” Sarah suggested.

  “Sonia, didn’t Steinbeck call them the ‘ambassadors from another time?’” Iris asked.

  “Yeah, he did.”

  “Okay,” said Iris. “Let’s do the time-traveling trees. I’ll drive.

  Turmoil

  Outside of an opulent reception area, a black marble wall pierced by ornate elevator doors bore bright brass letters that announced: ALDERCREST CORPORATION. Directly below, a bronze bust was labeled Robert McKenzie Jr. – Founder.

  Activity in the offices appeared subdued. Music played softly in the background. The voices of the employees were muffled by the partitions or glass doors so that only the mechanical tapping of computer keyboards stood out.

  One of the elevator doors opened and Daryl, briefcase in hand, burst through, followed by an obese man in his early forties. Daryl greeted the receptionists, and darted through the central corridor toward his office. The man desperately tried to keep up with Daryl, who smiled in every direction as he greeted his employees.

  “Mr. McKenzie, I told them the type of improvements you expected. I told them you had personally pointed them out to the staff when you were there in February, that you had ordered them finished by April, that after months of delays and excuses we needed to have results.”

  Daryl abruptly halted his frantic pace, raised an arm to stop the man behind him, and slowly walked toward one of the secretaries. The woman slightly chubby and in her mid-twenties, looked embarrassed by Daryl’s attention.

  “Well, well,” Daryl said with a broad smile. “If it isn’t Miss Motherhood herself. How are you, Sheryl?”

  “Fine, Mr. McKenzie. Thank you.”

  “How do you like being a mom? Is it as good as you imagined it would be?”

  “When I’m back to getting a full night’s sleep, I’ll like it better.” She giggled nervously.

  “Give yourself time. Don’t try to overdo it yet, either. If you need more time at home, take it. Simply ask.”

  “Thank you, Mr. McKenzie, but I’m ready, and willing to work. It’s a nice respite, to be honest. I leave the baby in the office nursery downstairs where I can feed him and be with him as often as I need to. It works out great.”

  “What did you name him?”

  “Uh-oh, I was afraid you’d ask that.”

  “My God, what did you name him?”

  She blushed. “Daryl—Daryl Jonathan.”

  Daryl burst out laughing and addressed everyone within earshot. “Ladies and Gentlemen, we have a lunatic in our midst. Not content with hearing my name all day long, she lays the curse on her own son.”

  Everyone laughed politely and went back to work.

  Daryl looked at Sheryl whose cheeks had turned crimson. “Nasty thing to do to a child. But I’m honored to share the name, and I thank you.”

  “We’re very grateful for the lovely presents. I really didn’t expect—”

  “That’s the whole point, isn’t it?” He winked.

  “It is indeed, sir.”

  “Enjoy motherhood.” He resumed his pace toward his office, followed by the big man who picked up right where he left off.

  “Of course, they gave me all kinds of excuses, but I told them they would have to answer to us and that I had already filed in Superior Court. I said the matter was out of our hands.”

  Daryl pushed through the glass doors and entered the reception area of his office, where several people were waiting. He walked by acknowledging each person politely.

  Susan opened his office door and Daryl hastened through without stopping. Susan stopped the man following Daryl. “A minute please, Mr. Lawrence.” She closed the doors behind her, staying just inside the door.

  “Good morning, Susan. How are you today?”

  “Fine, Mr. McKenzie. How are you?”

  “All right, thanks. Only one coffee for me, please. Let Lawrence in.”

  Susan opened the doors, ushered Lawrence in, and closed the doors behind her.

  Daryl placed his briefcase on the floor next to his desk and pointed to one of the armchairs as a cue for his employee to sit down.

  Lawrence obeyed, placing his briefcase on his lap and gripping it tightly.

&nbs
p; Daryl sat on the edge of his desk as his jovial demeanor shifted to stern. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I have the distinct impression that you’re trying to say you need my approval so you can file a lawsuit against Richardson Wineries.”

  “That is correct, sir. After examining the procedures followed by this company in the past, it was evident that it’s our only recourse. I told them that I had already filed it, but, of course, you need to approve such a move. Ogilvie is ready to file. I have it right here, ready for your signature.” He opened his briefcase and produced the papers.

  Daryl stared at the man from across the room as Susan entered with a cup of coffee, placed it beside Daryl, and left. “Mr. Lawrence, you are the perfect example of why I’m always reluctant to retain the attorneys that work in the companies I buy.” Daryl sipped his coffee and glared at Lawrence. “My father didn’t build this company on the smoldering ashes of others, Mr. Lawrence. The reason Aldercrest is as big as it is, is because instead of devouring the makers of products we’re interested in, or the wineries we acquire, we nourish, encourage, and propel them into greatness. We actively help them to become more profitable, which makes us more profitable.”

  Daryl set his coffee on the desk, and approached Lawrence like a predator moving in for the kill. He yanked the papers from the man’s hands, and tore them in half. “If you had researched Aldercrest—as you claim you did—you would’ve found that we don’t simply own two hundred and forty-six companies and wineries outright. We are engaged with them. We have a symbiotic relationship with them. What you have done is not only going to cause me a great deal of expense and wasted time, but also, a great deal of embarrassment.”

  Daryl towered over Lawrence, watching him squirm in the armchair. He tossed the papers at him and returned to his desk. “Now, you will call Ogilvie and tell him to cancel all action against Richardson Wineries. After that you will call Lionel Richardson, tell him personally that this was your mistake, and apologize for the inconvenience. And last, but most definitely not least, have your letter of resignation on my desk before lunch today. Good-bye, Mr. Lawrence.”

  Lawrence collected his briefcase and papers and gradually recovered from his bewilderment. His fear slowly turned to anger, and by the time he reached the door, he’d gathered his courage. “You haven’t heard the last of this.”

  Without so much as a glance at him, Daryl said coldly, “For your sake, I hope I have.”

  Lawrence stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

  Daryl sipped his coffee and picked up the phone. “Susan, let Furnell in. Apologize to the others for the brief delay, please.”

  He drank from his cup as he turned toward the city that stretched out at his feet.

  After a knock on the door Susan ushered Furnell in. A former army criminal investigator, Furnell was an imposing man, tall, muscular, and with a swagger reminiscent of John Wayne.

  Daryl turned toward him and placed his coffee cup on the desk. Then, he placed his briefcase on the desk, opened it, extracted a pink sheer scarf, and handed it to Furnell. “Find out who has been placing these—items in my briefcase. This is not the first time, but it had better be the last. Whoever is playing these childish pranks is to be fired. Take care of it.”

  “Very well, sir. May I have access to your calendar, both private and business?”

  “Yes. I’ll inform Susan.”

  “Were the materials on Ms. Jordan satisfactory?”

  “What?”

  “The background you requested on Ms. Karla Jordan, was it all right?”

  “Oh, yes. I’d almost forgotten. Big money, huh?” Daryl rummaged through the papers on his desk looking for the file.

  “It appears so.”

  “Remind me how?”

  “Her father inherited the family firm, and turned it into one of the largest construction and engineering firms in the country. She got a nice chunk when her trust came due.”

  “Respected in her own right, though?” He opened and closed several drawers in his desk. “Where in God’s name did I put that file?” he muttered.

  “Yes, indeed. She started writing in college, and worked in the UK after that. She’s got a flair for words and, apparently, a good eye for art.”

  “She got that from her mother, if I recall.”

  “Her mother is an avid collector of art, particularly modern art. They have quite a collection in their homes.”

  “Her place is in…”

  “Pleasant Street, in Nob Hill, a high-end duplex. Lives on her own.”

  “She owns?”

  “Outright.”

  Frustrated, Daryl slammed the drawer closed. “I give up. I must’ve left it home.” He came to his feet and extended his hand. “Thanks, Furnell. Well done.” After they shook hands, he escorted him to the door. “Find out about these damned scarves. Ask Susan to come in, please.”

  “I will, sir.” Furnell closed the doors behind him, and Daryl returned to his desk.

  Susan entered the office, closed the door, and approached him, holding out a piece of paper. “I prepared Mr. Lawrence’s letter of resignation. If you approve, all it needs is his signature. Is there anything you wish me to follow up on?”

  He took the letter and read it. “It’s fine. Ensure that everybody adheres to all the customary procedures. I need him gone today.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Give Furnell full access to all my calendars.”

  “Very well. Shall I ask Mr. Gibson to come in?”

  “Give me ten minutes.”

  Susan nodded and left.

  Daryl slumped into his chair, leaned forward, and rested his head on his hands. “Andrew, this has to stop.”

  “Is that why we’re going to Alderpoint?” Sonia asked.

  Sarah, her head resting against the car window, remained silent.

  “Hello? Earth to Sarah!” Iris called out as she drove.

  Startled, Sarah straightened up and looked at Iris. “What?”

  “Sonia’s telling us about this place from her research and asking questions, as she always does.”

  “Oh, I didn’t hear.” She turned to Sonia. “What did you ask?”

  “I read that the Rancho Sequoia area of Alderpoint is called ‘Murder Mountain,’ on account of the Carson serial killers in the eighties. The question was whether that’s why you suggested we come?”

  “Oh. Sorry. I must’ve detached.”

  “No kidding, you’ve been in a world of your own ever since we left. Anyway, are we here because you wish to connect with whoever has been killed in this area?” Iris eyed Sarah in the car mirror and winked.

  “Iris, what on earth do you mean?” Sarah asked.

  “Why are we here? I mean, look around. This is a really small town and very isolated. So, what’s so special about it? Other than the Carson murders Sonia told us about, why did you suggest we come here? I hope it’s to chat with the ghosts.”

  “No, only curiosity,” Sarah said absentmindedly. She hastened to add. “I read that this town attracts people who want to escape the intrusions of modern life. I thought it could be interesting.”

  “Sorry, but it looks desolate and frightening to me. Appalachia meets Humboldt County,” Iris said. “And that’s without taking into account the curve-packed and horribly-marked road that you conveniently spaced out on. I don’t like it.”

  “This part is locally referred to as the Emerald Triangle for its principal crop. Guess what that is.”

  Iris arched her brows. “Sonia, you’ve missed the boat on this one. There’s nothing around here that even remotely looks like a farm.”

  “No I didn’t, but in any case we shouldn’t stop and get out of the car. It looks much too unwelcoming. I vote that we skip this place,” Sonia said. “Okay with you, Sarah?”

  “Sure. This is not where—” she s
topped herself. “I mean…this doesn’t look like I’d imagined it. And it doesn’t have a lake.”

  Iris and Sonia glanced at each other. “A lake?” they asked in unison.

  Sarah shrugged. “Somehow I pictured houses or cabins around a lake, and small docks with rowboats tied to them.”

  “Well, your imagination tricked you this time,” Iris muttered.

  “If we head west and join Highway 101 we’ll be on our way to the Avenue of the Giants in no time,” Sonia suggested.

  “Sounds good to me,” Sarah answered.

  “Then let’s get out of here.” Iris gunned the engine and sped off down the road.

  “You haven’t guessed what they grow here.”

  “Okay, I’ll try.” Iris rolled down her window and sniffed the air. “Wow! Is that what I think it is?”

  Sarah rolled down her window. “Oh, my gosh. You can really smell the marijuana.”

  “That’s because pot is the main industry here. It replaced lumber as the number one crop. They’ve grown and sold marijuana here for personal medical use since 1996.”

  “Where exactly are we?” Sarah closed her window.

  “North of Garberville. Maybe it’s where the Gerber baby food got started,” Iris asked.

  “Garberville not Gerberville, silly,” Sonia replied. “The postmaster, a guy named Garber, gave the town its name back in the 1800s.”

  “And now they’re all pot farmers.” Iris laughed.

  “They take it seriously in terms of the healing powers it provides. They even have a cannabis college.”

  Iris couldn’t restrain a chuckle. “Oh, c’mon, Sonia, you’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Well,” Sarah said, “nestled in the middle of the Redwood Forest is the perfect location.”

  “When do we get to the Avenue of the Giants?” Iris impatiently asked.

  Sonia checked the GPS. “We’re at the Southern entrance.”