by Alexie Aaron
"There are no page numbers."
"Try counting the pages, moron."
Harry moved through the diary and shook his head. He recounted the pages and shook his head again. "There is nothing on page thirty-six. Look, the diary's hardly been written in. More distressing anecdotes about you, no wonder Betty hates you."
"Hand it here." I took the book. "Let's do a little numerology and add the three and the six together and we have page nine." Finding the page, I saw that written between the lyrics of Onward Christian Soldiers was a message.
I’m involved in some research on behalf of four Chaplains of the Roman Catholic faith. If you are reading this I may be overdue or dead. Either way, please find me and bring me home.
"Lets hope it isn't the latter, Michael," I said aloud. I showed the passage to Harry.
"It explains the four army guys."
"But that's all I’m afraid. Who are these guys and where do we find them?"
"I'll start with the computer files and move onto the Internet."
"You don't have the password," I pointed out.
"Yes I do. Come on." Harry pulled me to my feet, and I followed him over to the desk. He sat down and turned on the computer. While it was booting up, I tried to explain to Betty about what we had found and asked her if she knew anything.
"No. But I did find something belonging to you." She held up a large silver and crystal wand on a chain. She put it in my hand and pointed to some engraving on the back.
"Betty that says sin S I N. My name is spelt C I N." I was about to hand it back to her when I noticed a small button on the back. I pushed it inwards and the wand shuddered and a knife blade sprung out of the long end of it. I tested the strength of the blade and how it now resembled a stiletto. I sighed. "Maybe you're right. It’s mine." Watching her face I realized that I was back in Betty's bad graces.
"Wicked blade," Harry's voice cut through my thoughts.
"Sorry. Okay, so now that you are up and running, what's the password?"
"What else besides the bogus diary and army men did we find in the wall?"
"Pooh bear."
"Nope. I mean what was out of place."
"The diamonds!" Betty shouted out.
"More specifically." Harry turned to the keyboard and typed in Four Diamonds and the password was accepted.
Betty clasped her hands together with such force that the clap deafened me. I got up and worked on retracting the blade. "Harry, you keep looking. I need to go to confession."
"You're not Catholic."
"No, but a confession I must make." I pulled out my cell phone and dialed my daughter’s number. I shuddered to think of what penitence I would have to make when I unloaded the information of what Harry and I were up to. I broke all the rules she set up. Number one: Do not let Harry talk you into anything. Number two: Do not play with knives. Number three: Do not put yourself in harm’s way. I patted the bag of marbles in my pocket and placed the wand around my neck. I walked outside and sat on the top step. I hit send on the phone and waited for the call to go through.
Chapter Seven
After I had finished explaining everything to Noelle, there was silence. Not a pause in conversation silence. Was it a “wait while I put you on hold and call a good psychiatrist” silence? Maybe it was a “wait while I think” silence. Still silent, this couldn’t be good. The coward’s way would be to hang up and pretend that the cell phone quit. I had eased my finger toward the end-call button when she started talking.
“So let me get this straight. Michael’s aunt asked you for help.”
“She...”
“Don’t interrupt. She asked you to find Father Michael. So, you and Harry go with her to Savannah to find him, although he is supposedly in Palm Beach. You find out that he may be up to something involving very large diamonds and military priests, but you don’t know what. Harry is right now breaking into his computer looking for clues. Anything else?”
“He knew I would come looking for him because he left me a secret message, but it didn’t say where he was going or what he was doing.”
“Do you think this is an elaborate joke? You’re pretty gullible.”
“Don’t remind me.” Several hundred moments of gullibility flashed through my mind, giving me a headache. “I think he was doing something for the church or these church guys that he thought might be dangerous. I think he set up his aunt to go looking for him at our home with the suggestion that he was going to visit me, er, us. When he didn’t return, she would pick up his trail with me. He assumed that I would get involved, but even though he set up these safeguards he didn’t finish them. Maybe he left too soon?”
“Or the information was too important to risk someone besides you finding it.”
“So you think there is more hidden here?”
“Perhaps, or enough to lead you to it.”
“Do you think I should proceed or hand it over to the police?” I put the decision in her hands. She was being way too calm.
“You don’t really have anything besides diamonds, and they could be fakes. Although I don’t suggest getting them valued because I’m sure it will only bring on trouble. Best thing for right now is to pretend you didn’t find them. That goes for megaphone Harry as well. Best place to hunt for priests would be the church, but best place to hunt for military chaplains in Savannah is Lucy Blues.”
“Lucy Blues? Is this a place or a person?”
“It's a place, a club, but you can’t go there, send Harry. It’s very important that you don’t go in there because not only won’t they talk to you because you’re not former military, but you’re also a woman.”
“Whoa, how would you know about this place?”
“We’ll discuss it later and not on a cell phone. Take this name down. Ready?”
“Ready.”
“Bill Townsend. He’s the concierge at the Marriott. If Harry doesn’t come back, he may be able to help, but don’t bother him unless you’re in dire straits. He’s a former boyfriend, and we didn’t end well.”
“Understood. Any suggestions about what to do with the diamonds?” I asked sweetly.
“Where are they now?”
“In my pocket.”
“Keep them there. And don’t take a commercial flight home. If the company jet isn’t available, rent a car.”
“Why not fly?”
“You would have to go through Atlanta, Mom.”
“And Atlanta is bad why?” I expected her to say something ominous like “people vanish in Atlanta” but she didn’t.
She said, “Your favorite silversmith is in Atlanta, and I will kill you if you bring home one more piece of Indian jewelry. Remember when we went over your budget when dad lost his job?”
“Yes, but he has another job.”
“Still, your money is tight.”
I thought about telling her about Harry’s detective agency scheme but thought better of it. “Okay, I will avoid the airport.”
She hung up or ended call or whatever we do now with cell phones, and I sat awhile on the step, digesting the conversation. I wasn’t in trouble for being in Savannah. I was in trouble for shopping in Atlanta Hartsfield International Airport. My daughter knows of dangerous bars and dangerous people and doesn’t mind me carrying around what could be thousands of dollars worth of diamonds in my pocket, but I can’t be trusted to not buy any silver? She doesn’t worry about Harry in this dangerous bar, but just in case he gets into trouble, here is the guy to get him out. Who was my daughter anyway?
I got up and walked back into the apartment to check on Harry’s progress. Betty waved me over to the kitchenette and poured me a cup of tea.
“Sit yourself down. You look a bit confused.”
“Not a bit confused. Let’s say very confused. Thank you for this.” I raised my cup and smelled the aroma.
“British Breakfast,” Betty said proudly. “I hear this is your favorite.”
“It is, and I won’t ask who told you. Let�
�s keep it a mystery. Speaking of mysteries, where is your southern accent?”
“Comes and goes,” Betty said without explanation.
I nodded my head over at Harry. “Any progress there?”
She smiled at me. This was the first smile from Betty. I started to feel a bit more confused.
“Harry told me about you. That this stuff Mikey wrote was gibberish to throw red herrings around. Although I don’t know what fish has to do with this. So, I figure I would let you speak for yourself. How did you get mixed up with the father?”
I told her about meeting Michael on the plane over to England and about finding Donald Williams’s corpse in the bog behind the music school I was visiting. I told her how he got shot before we could interrogate his namesake Michael Sherborn. My voice had shook with emotion when I related how he came to my rescue, as damaged as he was, and how he saved my life. I had stopped and steadied myself before I told her that between he and I there was a lot of negative energy, and I had taken great pleasure in the past pissing him off. There may be an attraction there, but it wasn’t physical, it was juvenile.
“So you’re like brother and sister.” Betty nodded.
“Much older, irritating vain brother and sweet uncomplaining little sister.” I smiled. “Speaking of irritating. Harry!”
“What?” he answered, not turning around.
“Any luck yet?”
“For your information, luck has nothing to do with it. I’m applying skilled deduction here.”
“And?”
“Nothing.”
“Why don’t you come over here and confab with us.”
Harry’s eyes narrowed. “So, confab isn’t raw garden snails.”
“I could have brought some in from the garden,” I said sweetly.
“No, you wouldn’t touch snails,” he said as he walked over and drew up a chair way too close to me for comfort.
“Okay, confab is short for confabulate which means to converse informally, chat.” I smiled.
“Always the joker,” Harry growled and accepted a cup of tea from Betty.
“In this case, we’re going to chat about what to do with the information we do have. I want Betty in on this because I live in fear of her disapproval,” I said looking at her. “You know this town, and I trust you.”
Betty gave me a nod of approval and poured me another cup of tea. I jumped up and grabbed some paper from the desk, the diary and sat back down.
“I was outside talking to Noelle, and she gave me some avenues to walk down or look into. I will get to them later. First, let’s put all our information together.”
I tried handing the pen and paper to Harry to take notes, but his hands were full of tea and cookies. Betty grabbed them and nodded for me to proceed.
“Okay, first the info we have. We know that Father Michael left here...”
“Three weeks ago, Thursday,” Betty filled in.
“His intended destination was somewhere in Palm Beach County, Florida. But we don’t know where. According to his diary he was helping four Roman Catholic priests.”
“How do we find out which priests?” Harry asked.
“Well, we know from the clues that these men were or are military chaplains. Noelle suggested that Harry do some undercover work at a club called Lucy Blues.”
“Lucy Blues?”
“Evidently it’s a military or veteran club. Betty, do you know where it is?”
“Lucy Blues is a bar on the riverfront. The club must be a member’s only place, probably over the bar. I don’t know how young Harry is going to get into it.”
“I’m twenty-one.”
“Yes, but you’re not military.”
I reached over and lifted one of Harry’s raven locks.
“I’m not cutting my hair.” Harry pushed my hand away and crossed his arms.
“Harry, Harry, and you wanted to be a detective.” I sighed. “No, you don’t have to shave your head and don a uniform. I have a better idea. Betty, do you think you could get me a picture of Michael, lets say, twenty-one or twenty-two years-old?”
“Yes.”
“Not a fancy portrait just a snapshot.”
“Yes. But why?”
I told her and Harry my plan. It took awhile for Harry’s eyebrows to return to normal, and when the mischief entered his eyes, I knew I had him convinced. Betty on the other hand kept insisting that Michael’s aunt better not get wind of this or there would be hell to pay. The chill going down my spine at the mere mention of her name was nothing compared to the discomfort of what she would do to me if she found out. I knew that I would have to risk this if we were going to have a chance of finding Michael.
Chapter Eight
It was my turn to outfit Harry properly. I had him tone down his Brooks Brothers look. As I rifled through his and Father Michael's clothes, I picked out things my son Alex would wear. I wanted Harry to appear to not care about his appearance thus giving him a more everyman type of look. Betty came up with the photo, and she almost cried when I creased it by bending it here and there. It needed to look old and worn, a keepsake that resided in someone's wallet for some time.
Lucy Blues was in an old converted cotton warehouse on River Street. Its entrance was just inside the cobblestone alley across from Maggie's, a bar where Betty and I planned to spend the evening. Maggie's was chosen for a little known back door for a quick exit and the large windows where we would be holding vigil.
We worked out a code if anything went wrong. If Harry exited Lucy's and dropped his backpack off his shoulder and didn't adjust it, this meant he was in trouble. If he moved it from one arm to the other it meant to wait a minute and follow him. If he ran out of there it meant we should run too, and he would meet us at the Marriott if he made it that far.
Betty and I would enter River Street from the opposite way from Harry. Harry would meander in and out of the stores that were still open and end up at Lucy Blues.
It all went according to plan. Betty and I arrived at Maggie's, and she muscled her way in and got us situated at the window. It was great to watch. All she did was walk up and stare at the tourists occupying the table we wanted, not saying a word. It wasn't but a minute before they picked up their drinks and moved across the room. I sat down and held the table while Betty got us some drinks and bar munchies. I was dressed in blue denim: jacket, jeans and an indigo shirt with button down pockets. Betty had chosen the masculine look. She had changed out of her finery and wore old blue jeans, a flannel shirt and gelled her hair back. We must have made a great couple because although people whispered as we went by, no one approached us.
I saw Harry enter Lucy's just as Betty brought over a couple of bottles of beer and a whiskey chaser. I didn't want to make an issue of not drinking, so I took a beer and pushed the remainder of the boilermaker Betty's way. I noted the time on my watch while Betty and I talked about books we were reading. Her tastes were literary and mine were trashy. I did know some of the books she read as my daughter Noelle insisted that for every four trashy books I read, I must read something literary of her choice. Betty asked me to tell her more of what had happened over in England, and I did so, carefully editing any supernatural occurrences out of my narrative.
After an hour and a half of nursing our drinks we saw Harry exit the bar. I watched as he moved the backpack from one arm to the other. Betty settled our tab at the bar, as I kept an eye on the windows and saw Harry cross the street and head down the river walk towards the park. We got up and pushed our way through the standing customers. By the time we exited the bar he was out of sight. We followed in his direction and walked right past him. He coughed discreetly to get our attention and wadded up a candy bar wrapper and left it on the bench he had just vacated. Betty walked over to the bench and sat on the wrapper while I looked around us to see if Harry or we had been followed.
"I'm getting tired. Aren't you ready to head home yet?" Betty's gruff voice demanded.
"I guess so, but I really hate to w
alk all that way in these boots," I complained.
Betty got up, and we walked up river for a while before she directed me under a park light. She handed me the wrapper. Inside of it had an address in Savannah, nothing more. We walked over to the Hilton where Betty hailed us a cab. Once inside the cab we rode in silence until we stopped in front of a set of row houses backing a very small Catholic church. I looked at the address again and moved toward number eleven. Betty stopped my progress with a reach of her arm. There was someone running towards us in the dark. It was Harry, and before he passed us we could hear another set of running footsteps. Betty and I walked toward the pursuer and basically with our combined bulk blocked the sidewalk.
A small man narrowly missed colliding with us in the dark.
"Hey, watch it buddy," Betty growled.
"Sorry, didn't see you, man, er, ma'am." The man tried to look around Betty.
"Is there something wrong?" I asked innocently. "Not a nice neighborhood for a midnight jog."
He stepped to the side of Betty and looked down the street. "Did you see where that kid went?"
"The other midnight jogger?" I asked.
"Well, the kid that I was chasing." The man dug his foot into the uneven easement.
"He got in the cab we got out of, why?"
"Ah shit, never mind." He turned around and walked a few steps before an approaching car slowed down and stopped. He babbled something I couldn't understand and got in the car. It started back up. It passed us, but the passengers never looked our way. They just stared ahead.
"Well, that was interesting," I said as I watched their lights disappear before we turned back around and headed for number eleven. "Whatever happens tonight, Betty, Harry and I won't go back to Diane's house. Wait a few days and ship our stuff to us."
"You don't have to explain."
"Good." I wished I could afford an assistant like Betty. She was worth more than the diamonds in my pocket.
Number eleven's door opened before we had a chance to knock. We entered the dark foyer and didn't breathe until the door closed after us. A hushed voice at the door beckoned us to follow him. The light that came in through the windows gave us enough illumination to see the voice turn into a shadow of a man, and for us to navigate after him. It wasn’t until we made our way to the back of the house and behind another door that the lights went on.
