by Dale Mayer
“I think so,” Mason said readily enough. “What did you find?”
Geir explained about the little book and the writing on the corner of the wall.
Mason’s voice was sad when he said, “Unfortunately that activity is prevalent in our society. Let me look up the number for Detective Nelson.” A moment later he came back and read off a number.
“I don’t have a pencil, can you text that to me?”
“Will do. Give him a call and tell him what you found and where you found it.”
“We have to come up with a cover story as to why we’re here,” Geir said with amusement in his voice. “It’s hardly legal.”
“Well, the door was probably unlocked, after all these years of kids busting into it, so I doubt that’s an issue,” Mason said, his tone neutral. “And, if you explain what you’d heard about your friend Mouse and this Poppy guy, then it doesn’t take too much to understand how you found the room.”
“Right.” Geir stared around the room. “There’s such an empty sadness here.”
“Think about what those boys went through,” Mason said quietly. “Chances are, whoever wrote that journal either is leading a very rough life of drugs and alcohol dependency or committed suicide or could even be living on the streets with no future because of this.”
“Well, let’s hope we can at least find him. Maybe the cops can get him some justice.”
“How many do you think there are?” Mason asked. “If ever there was a cause I’d like to stamp out, it would be pedophiles.”
“Considering what we’ve learned so far, I imagine he was careful with his victims. I think he knew exactly how to groom these young boys to be what he wanted. Like the journal says at one point, he gave Poppy anything he wanted because he got back love and affection and drugs,” Geir said. “But once they’re into that kind of a dependency trap, it’s almost impossible to get out of it.”
“Keep me posted. I want to know what you know,” Mason said.
“Will do.” Geir hung up and waited until the text came through. It was there almost instantly. He hit Dial and walked outside, wanting to put some distance between himself and what they’d found. When a man’s voice answered the phone, he said, “My name is Geir Pavla. Mason told me to contact you with something we found. It’s a little sensitive, and we’re not exactly sure what to do with it.”
“Do you want to talk over the phone, or do you want to meet in person?” the man asked. “I know Mason well. If he told you to call me, then I want to meet with you.”
Geir smiled. “How about a coffee shop?”
“Where are you?”
Geir gave him the address of the school and heard the detective sigh.
“That school was one of the most run-down, troubled schools in the area. It was constantly being broken into. It was set on fire twice. It was a common drug hangout. People hated that place.”
“We have a journal from somebody who was here. It’s pretty rough.”
Chapter 12
After the men left once again, Morning wandered into her father’s rooms. She didn’t know what had happened to her life, but it was no longer looking as nice as it had.
When her phone rang, she pulled it out, seeing it was her father. For the first time in a long time, she was delighted to answer the call. “Long time no hear from you,” she said in a happy voice.
“Well, considering the last couple times were a little heated,” her father said in a dry tone, “I figured I’d give you time to calm down.”
She laughed. “Yes, you’re right. I wasn’t exactly easy to talk to.”
There was a surprised silence, and she realized how much the last couple phone calls might have affected him.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I keep forgetting to remind myself how much you did to help me over the years. I was so focused on not losing the safe haven this home was to me that, every time you brought up selling it, it terrified me.”
Her father sighed, a heavy one full of a wealth of knowledge. “I know. It’s one of the reasons why I dropped it for the moment. I was hoping eventually you would feel comfortable enough in the world around you that you could move. Instead it just seemed like you became more and more entrenched. Fear is a great teacher. But you still have to push it into its place so you don’t stop living.”
She wandered in his room as they talked. “That’s very apropos right now. I’m prepping for my first-ever art gallery show and am terrified the gallery owner won’t like the work I’ve done.”
“An art gallery show?” her father asked in surprise. “I had no idea.”
She chuckled. “A friend got me the showing, but I have to turn up tomorrow with some of the paintings to give him an idea of what I can do. And I’m terrified.”
“And again, that’s all about putting fear in its place and doing it anyway,” her father said. “And, as much as I love that house you’re living in, I need to move on too.”
She sighed. “Do you want me to sell it?” And again she knew she’d surprised him by his startled silence.
“Are you ready to sell?” he asked cautiously.
“I’m not sure that I am,” she said honestly. “But I am getting to the point where I understand why it might be necessary and why it would be the right thing to do for your sake. I know it’s been my home and also my income, but, at the same time, it might be holding me back from a lot of other things.”
There was approval in his voice when he said, “It sounds like you’re growing up.”
“Well, I am sorry it took so long,” she said apologetically. She sat down on the bed and looked around at his two rooms. “The market is huge right now. I might be able to find a small house out of town and not have a mortgage.”
“That would be great,” he said. “I don’t want you to make any decision right now. But I do need the money. I’m trying to buy property and build a house here, and of course I’d like to marry Leann.”
“It’s about time.” Morning chuckled. “You and Leann have been together for what? Ten years?”
“Not that long. But, yeah, she said she’ll make an honest man out of me.” And then he chuckled loud and long.
Morning smiled. It was good to hear her father laugh. “I can always bring in a Realtor and get an estimate on what the house is worth,” she said impulsively. She could feel her stomach knot at the thought. But she knew maybe it was time. “What I do know is I can’t afford to buy you out, and so maybe this is the next best thing.”
“The problem is, it’s also your income,” her father said sadly. “And that puts me in a tough position. How can a father take away his daughter’s home and her job?”
“Well, at least I’m thinking about it and looking at options. So, if you are okay to wait a bit, give me a little more time, I’ll see what I can come up with for ideas.”
“Absolutely, and Leann wants to know if you’ll fly over for the wedding,”
“When is it?” Her smile reached her eyes.
“September.”
“Good. September, it is.” She giggled. “If I can make that happen, I’ll come.”
“Good enough.” And then her father did something he hadn’t done in a long time. As he hung up, he said, “Remember, I love you.”
She sat on his bed for a long moment, staring at the phone in her hand. It was a sign of how strained their relationship had been in the last year or two, since he had first brought up selling the house. It was always that big white elephant in the conversation between them. And it had set a tone that had made her worry and wonder, but, as long as she didn’t have to examine it too closely, she’d been able to push it away. Now she realized how much it had affected their relationship and how opening the dialogue again had helped heal some of that.
She looked around the room, a room she rarely came into. “Why does it have to be like this?” But, of course, there was no answer.
She got up, left her father’s rooms, locked them and then headed to her studi
o. She had a new sense of lightness in her step. A new lightness in her heart. She didn’t quite understand how much change this would bring into her world, but she knew now all kinds of things were possible. But it also meant she needed to walk through the door of that gallery tomorrow. This was too important for her. Like Nancy said, it could be a great source of income.
Maybe she wouldn’t have to do breakfast for strangers anymore. Not that she’d minded it, and having the house had been a great opportunity to make some money while she stayed at home and worked on her art. She stepped into the studio, put on her smock and put up a clean blank canvas. She stared at the white surface for a long moment, then shook her head and got a black canvas. She only had a couple of those.
She put it up and stared at it. “I need you to turn out as nice as the others,” she said. “I feel like an idiot, but I’ll offer up a prayer for it to happen anyway.”
And then she grabbed her paints and started. Working from a black background forward was different, but she needed that luminescence from a night scene to come to the forefront. She didn’t quite understand what she was doing until she grabbed white paint and put clouds into a night sky. And painted an early morning light breaking free over the top of them. She painted until her hand fell to her side, exhausted.
She stepped back, looked at it, but, from her extracritical eye, she couldn’t see if it was any good or not. That was always an issue for her. She got too close to her work, and she couldn’t figure it out. But she knew one thing: she was too tired to go on.
She put her paints back in the can, cleaned up her space, took off her smock and headed downstairs. She walked through the house, checked for messages, but nothing was on the answering machine. It had been a long time since she’d had no bookings coming in.
She had some people expected in a week or two, but business had definitely fallen off. She wasn’t sure how or why, but it was a concern if she was staying because the mortgage was pretty hefty and, like her father had said, since he’d cosigned for her, he also carried a portion of the debt.
Walking into the kitchen, she put on a pot of coffee and headed to the fridge to look for food. She pulled out her phone and texted Geir, asking if he was coming for dinner.
“Yes,” Geir answered. “Be there in about two hours.”
She checked the clock, realizing that would put them home at about six. She looked through the freezer for something to cook and found some of her favorite pasta sauce she had frozen. She pulled it out, estimated the amount of sauce, and put on her pasta pot full of water. Once it boiled, she threw in lasagna noodles. Now with the sauce warming while the lasagna noodles cooked, she prepped salamis, brought out the cottage cheese and started grating mozzarella. It only took twenty minutes to throw the whole thing together.
Before long she sprinkled the last of the grated cheese over the top, putting the whole thing in the oven. She still had some romaine lettuce, so she would make a Caesar salad to go with that. She did all the prep work except for the dressing and set it off to one side, waiting for the casserole to cook.
In the meantime, she headed to her office to tackle some paperwork.
When the landline phone in the office rang, she answered it automatically. Nobody was on the other end. She hung up and went back to her paperwork. But it rang again a few minutes later. She picked it up and said, “Hello?”
No answer.
The next time she answered, “This is Blossom’s Bed-and-Breakfast.” When again there was no answer, she asked, “Is this a wrong number?” She thought she could hear heavy breathing but didn’t know what that was all about. She hung up.
When it rang a fourth time, she picked it up in exasperation and said, “Morning Blossom’s Bed-and-Breakfast. How can I help you?”
“You can’t.” A male voice laughed. “Did you like the mouse?” And then the phone went dead.
She dropped the receiver onto the desktop, staring at it like an asp about to strike her. She could feel herself hyperventilating. Finally she pulled out her cell phone and called Geir. Again she didn’t question why she was calling him.
“Are we late?” Geir asked in a teasing voice.
“A man just called,” she said in a rush. “He said something about me not being able to help him and then asked if I liked the mouse.”
Geir was silent on the other end, and she could feel her heart willing him to tell her it would be okay, that all this would go away and that her life would return to normal.
And then he said, “Are you inside?”
“I am.”
“Are you alone?”
“Yes, I am. Why?” She walked to the front door. “I’m now standing at the front door.”
“Make sure you have locked the doors. All of them.”
“Damn it, Geir. What does this mean?”
“It means, you’ve been caught up in this web of deceit and lies that I’m in.” His voice was tired and filled with sorrow. “I’m so sorry.”
“Are you sure? Maybe it’s something else.” Panicked, she raced to the kitchen door. “Okay, the front and back doors are locked.”
“And now I want you to carefully go to all the French doors on that bottom floor, like your father’s, then go up to your studio and make sure all the French doors are closed and locked.”
“What about your room and Jager’s room?”
“One at a time, systematically lock all those doors. Do you hear me?”
“I’m back in my father’s room.” She walked to the French doors. And she stopped. “I can’t lock it,” she cried out in the panic.
“Why not?”
“It’s broken. Where are you? I want you home now.”
“We’re on the way. Just hang tight. We’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“Ten minutes might not be fast enough,” she said in a dark voice.
“Go up to your room and lock yourself in. Stay there until we get there.” And he hung up.
She poured herself a cup of coffee, though she didn’t need the caffeine, considering how hard it was to hold the cup steady, and went to the back staircase and up to her room. But, instead of going to her room, she went to her studio. There she sat down on the overstuffed broken-down chair she kept in there beside the futon. The French doors were open still because of the paint smell. She walked onto the small balcony and stared at her backyard. She hated this. She hated that she didn’t know what the hell she was supposed to do with this darkness, this evil. She shook her head at the term. “Why is this all happening?” But there was no answer to be found in her backyard.
Thankfully nobody was skulking around. She didn’t remember when she’d last checked that lock on her father’s door, but she’d closed it recently, or had she? She cast her mind back, but she couldn’t count on it. It was hard to know exactly what had happened when the days were just a blur.
Part of that was her painting. She’d become so unfocused, or so focused, on her painting that she’d lost track of everything going on around her. And that meant there was a good chance she wouldn’t have heard anybody coming in. She had always left the front door unlocked, but the bells let her know when somebody entered. And that was when she realized that maybe, just maybe, the bells weren’t working. How could she check for sure? She grabbed her phone and called Nancy. “Are you at home?”
“I just got in,” her friend said, sounding tired, her breath coming in puffs.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I just unloaded the groceries. Why?”
“I got a weird phone call today, and I’m kind of unnerved by it,” Morning admitted.
“Do you want me to come over?” Nancy asked. “I’m tired, but, hell, you’re just across the street, so it’s not a biggie.”
It was on the edge of her tongue to say, yes, and then she realized that, if something were going on here, she would be putting Nancy in danger. Morning took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Nah, it’s okay. I don’t want to put you out. The guys will be her
e any minute anyway.”
“Okay, if you’re sure?” she answered. “I don’t mind.”
“No, that’s okay. Did you have a good day?”
“Good enough,” Nancy said. “I did hear back from one of the jobs I applied for.”
“Awesome! Where is it?”
Nancy answered a bit cautiously, “New Mexico. Albuquerque, New Mexico.”
Morning sighed. “That sounds lovely. I sure hate to lose you.”
“Come with me,” Nancy said. “God knows I don’t want to move alone.”
“I don’t know that I’m ready for something like that yet,” Morning said. “I talked to my dad today. And he’s delighted I’m thinking about selling.”
“Are you?”
Morning looked around her studio, thought about everything that had happened in the last few days and how it was letting her drop many of the ties she’d hung on to for so long, ties she’d held so tightly because she was afraid to end up in the situation she’d started out in. “Yes. Finally. And my dad does need the money. I’m not sure exactly where I got the idea it was an option to not sell. I’ve been a very selfish daughter.”
“Well, don’t do anything too rash,” Nancy warned. “You do have some time yet.”
“I do have some time, though I’m not sure how much. He’s getting married again.”
“Oh, wow! To Leann?”
Morning chuckled. “Yes, to Leann. And it’s about time.”
“Where are they getting married?”
“In Switzerland. In September. I’ve been invited to the wedding.”
“That’s a nice olive branch,” Nancy said. “It’s time.”
After Morning hung up, she sat there on the broken-down chair, staring at the paintings. All of a sudden she saw the one she’d been working on—really saw it this time—seeing how the light, the cream, and the white moved through the clouds, as if something almost mystical was behind it. And she realized Nancy was right. Out loud to the empty room, she said, “Yes. It’s time.”
