by Andrews
"And why are you telling us all this?" I asked.
"Because like me, the ghost has got you, the ghost has hung you... isn't that what they chant at the ghoul pool gathering?"
"I wouldn't know. I haven't been there," I said.
"Well, to the precise point, Gio and I were lovers once. Then he decided he liked his boys younger and queerer." Traugh looked off in another dark direction of the theater, as if delivering his lines to a different audience, and he raised his voice as if playing to the balcony.
"So, he has them now. Of course, they're dying on him at a great rate, but he has them nonetheless."
"Where's Rose Ross, Elliot?" Callie asked.
"I'm afraid she's offended everyone by befriending someone who's been sharing our little secrets. Sometimes one of the boys can get away with that. All they have to do is fuck their way back into someone's good graces. Unfortunately for girls, there's no road back home. Your friend is in trouble," Traugh said, "and if I were you, I would pray for her." He reached up, clicked his fingers, and disappeared into blackness.
"Where'd he go?"
"Someone else is here," Callie said.
I grabbed her by the arm, swooped up Elmo by his leash, and dragged them both from the theater through a side door into the alley, not wanting to find out who, if anyone, was in the theater besides Elliot. Although as I left, I smelled cologne I recognized but couldn't place.
People on the street were going about their business oblivious to our fears. I suddenly realized, what a brilliant place for a murder. Orchestral tympani, explosives, every sound imaginable could be heard on these stages. Why would anyone think it was anything more than a rehearsal going on?
"He said pray for her. I feel that means she's at the chapel," Callie said.
Still clutching Callie and Elmo, I headed for our car. Outside, leaning up against the wall of the theater, Sophia was apparently awaiting our arrival, because she ran toward us the moment we hit the cement.
"Rose is missing, and I've got to find her. She left me a note saying she was going to meet Gio at the chapel. He wanted her to help him with a fundraiser there, but I phoned and there was no fundraiser, and she didn't come back. That was yesterday."
The three of us circled around to the parking lot and got into the car without exchanging another word. Elmo hunkered down in the backseat, staying firmly on his side of the car, refusing to cuddle up to the distraught stranger beside him. He let out a couple of short, high squeaks, which he only did under extreme stress, clearly indicating to me that he felt things were completely out of control.
"It'll be okay, buddy," I tried to reassure him, but he squeaked again, clearly not believing it.
As we drove, I quizzed Sophia. I was long past the elementary interrogation and was zeroing in on details.
"Who did Joanie Burr say attacked her?" I asked.
"She was dead when I got there," Sophia said.
"Who told you we were in the theater just now?"
"The theater community is pretty tight knit and cautious. We look out for each other—"
"Who?" I demanded tersely.
"I got a call on my cell phone saying you were in the theater," she answered me.
"From who?" I dragged the word out to illustrate my impatience and there was a long pause.
"Elliot," she finally replied.
Callie shot me a look that indicated that it couldn't be Elliot. From the moment he knew we were in the theater, we'd seen his every move—a fact that Sophia could not have known.
"Hey, everybody's fingering Elliot Traugh. Must be an unpopular guy," I said.
"Loomis," she came clean. "Loomis called me."
"Why?" I asked, but Sophia was silent, the wheels in her head turning.
Why would Loomis warn Sophia about anything? Sophia is just an insignificant showgirl, a little fish in a very dangerous big pond.
"How did you know about the Stellium in Scorpio chart and that it was supposed to be sent to Callie if the hotel was in trouble?"
There was a long pause. "Talk or walk," I said, suddenly slamming on the brakes.
"I knew Mo Black's daughter years ago. She gave it to me and she told me what it meant."
Of course! The photo of Mo and his first wife on Karla’s mantel. She mentioned he had children from his first marriage.
"So you must have known the daughter pretty well," I probed. Sophia clamped her jaw tightly shut. Conversation over. Even I knew that.
Chapter Twenty-two
We pulled the car onto the hilltop road that curved around the bell tower, ending in the dirt parking lot of the chapel. It was dark now and there was no one around. The wind swirled the dirt into the air of the courtyard and snapped the bell rope in strict warning to the penitent. There was no one visible: no priest, no parishioners, and no maintenance people. It was as if God had left for the holidays, leaving the doors open and no one at home. I cracked the car window a quarter of an inch and locked Elmo inside, telling him we'd be back and to stay quiet.
Leading the way into the darkened chapel, I found a light switch and turned on the overhead lights, waiting expectantly for someone to enter from the side doors behind the altar and ask what we needed. No one appeared. We walked to the front of the chapel and I crossed myself out of habit as I passed the crucifix.
"Never cross yourself. That's why the world is so burdened. A Grand Cross in astrology is the intersection of four squares, and people with that in their chart feel crucified and—" Callie lectured.
"Not in front of the children," I said in reference to Sophia.
"Are you an astrologer?" Sophia asked. "Are you able to tell if two people are meant for each other?" she added, without waiting for an answer.
"Apparently not," I said snidely in reference to Callie and me.
"There are compatibility charts," Callie replied.
"Okay, let's put the stars on hold a minute." I signaled them to be quiet as I gently slid the vestry door open. Inside, the long table with its green and gold embroidered cloth was bare, the chalice having been washed and stored. A large Bible rested on one end, next to the tall cabinet doors that housed the priests' vestments. As Callie walked across the room to examine a picture of an older priest in red vestments, she tripped on the long oriental runner that ran the length of the room. I caught her and bent over to pull the rug back into place. Under the rug was a circular design with smaller concentric circles. The smallest circle appeared to contain only a beautiful inlaid pattern, but on closer inspection that inlay was an embedded handle so perfectly carved that it lay as flat as the wood surface of the floor. I wondered aloud what it could be as I lifted it slowly and turned it to the right. From behind me, the wall with the priest's portrait slid back like a pocket door, revealing a narrow opening. So beautifully crafted was the seam that concealed the door, no one would ever, in a million years, have suspected the paneling of parting.
I made the decision that Callie and I would investigate while Sophia stood guard. If we didn't return in twenty minutes, she was to call the police. If anyone appeared, she was to shout for us. I commanded her to leave the wall open and not to move the floor handle at all. I didn't want to chance her not being able to figure out how to get us out.
Leaving her as the guard was a calculated risk. She could be one of them, whoever "them" was, but unguarded, the door could be closed by anyone wanting to entomb us. A voice in me said it would be safer to leave Callie guarding the door and take Sophia with me, but I'd let Callie go to her apartment without me after we first met, and she was kidnapped. I had decided then and there that she would always stay with me. The irony is that after this investigation is over, she won't be with me anyway.
I pushed that thought out of my mind and took Callie's hand and pulled her behind me into the darkened space. I stood still for a moment smelling the musty, but not unpleasant, odor of damp earth, and I thought perhaps a hint of wine, or maybe my mind wanted to believe I was in an old wine cellar rather than so
mething more insidious. Our eyes were growing accustomed to the dark. Ahead of us, the walls seemed to narrow down the long passageway, making the journey feel claustrophobic from the outset. We walked nervously, having no flashlight, only our hands to run along the earth-packed walls that ended who knew where. Fifty feet farther, an earthen wall rose up in front of us—the end of whatever tunnel someone had dug and then abandoned.
Maybe it had been an unfinished escape route for someone years before. Maybe it had been a hiding place for people being pursued. Maybe they had intended to line the walls and use it for storage. Whatever the intent, work was aborted and there was nothing there.
"Are you sure?" Callie whispered. "I just feel like there's more."
I was on my knees rubbing my hands across the dirt floor and up the side of the walls. Aside from the uneven earth, packed hard over centuries, this place held nothing. Fifteen minutes later, I led Callie back out, arriving in no time at the entrance to the vestry room. To my great relief the door was still open, and we walked out into the brightly lit room blinking like Punxsutawney Phil in search of his shadow. I whispered Sophia's name, but there was no answer. I spoke her name in a more normal voice. No response. We quickly exited into the chapel and called to her. Nothing. I was beginning to panic. Had someone taken her too? We walked briskly to the courtyard heading to our car. Under the windshield wiper was a note written on church stationery that said, Got a call and had to leave. I'll be in touch.
"What did she mean she had to leave? Did she spread wings and fly? There's no way out of here unless she drove, and we've got the car. Unless someone picked her up. Maybe she called someone and they came and got her. That would be fairly rude, since we were depending on her to make sure that we didn't end up locked in that tunnel," I said.
"Where would she get church stationery?" Callie examined the note. "I didn't see any church offices open."
I took a look at Elmo. His hackles were up and he was panting and drooling a little. "Judging from Elmo's condition, someone took her," I said. "Maybe she heard them coming and maybe she led them away from us before they took her. Otherwise, they would have enclosed us in that tunnel and let us rot."
"You're right." Callie looked at Elmo. "Who was it, Elmo?" she asked him, only unlike other people, she expected an answer.
"He says a big woman came and took her," Callie said.
"Elmo is talking to you?"
"The way animals talk—with mental pictures."
"A big woman? All women are big to a dog with four-inch legs," I said.
"He says he doesn't talk to you much, that you do most of the talking."
"Yeah, well, maybe that's because he can't talk with his mouth full—"
"Unkind," she said to me. "She doesn't mean it, Elmo," she assured my hound.
I pulled out my gun and told Callie to stay close. We walked around the grounds checking to see if there was another entrance to the building or a cellar or any place where Rose Ross and Sophia might be.
My cell phone rang and we jumped reflexively. I grabbed it as if to choke it into silence on this eerie night. It was Wade, in Tulsa, and he spoke loudly as if he thought I were deaf. "You still alive out there? Can you hear me? Listen, Tee, tell beautiful hello for me. She still with you or did she dump you?"
"Would you get to it, Wade?" I said irritably, since he'd pressed my Callie breakup hot button.
"Excuse meee, I'm bein' paid so much for this, I almost forgot to mind my own business. I got some info for you, hotshot. Mo Black, the dead guy? Well, his kid works at the hotel." My mind raced as Wade filled me in on the details. "That all mean somethin'?" Wade finally asked.
"Thanks, Wade, I'll get back to you," I said, and hung up as he was saying, "Tell me what the hell it means."
"He said Sophia did get the Stellium in Scorpio from Mo Black's daughter, Barbara Black, who married a guy named Loomis."
"So Manager Barbara Loomis is Mo Black's daughter!" Callie said.
"Loomis was married for a couple of years when she was younger, to a guy who worked at the newspaper, name of Pappagallo. Loomis's daughter is Sophia Pappagallo, which makes Sophia Mo Black's granddaughter," I said.
"She's either in the middle of what's going on, or someone has her because of what's going on. I would guess she knows something she shouldn't," Callie said.
"So that's why Loomis is calling Sophia; she's calling her daughter," I said.
"A woman in the middle of things.. .like the chart said. Sophia put the Stellium in Scorpio in your luggage, which meant to our mysterious surveillance squad that she was talking, and someone wants to put an end to that. You remember when I told you there's a Sabian Symbol for every degree of the zodiac on the Ascendant? In this case, the Sabian Symbol said 'an exotic bird listening and then talking.' Sophia's overheard something, listening, maybe to her grandfather, or her mother, and now she's talking, and that has put her in danger."
"How do you know the Sabian Symbol is talking about Sophia?"
"The Sabian Symbol is an exotic bird—pappagallo is Italian for 'parrot,'" Callie said.
The church bell rang, and I whirled around to see a young acolyte in his white tunic pulling slowly on the rope. I asked him if he'd seen a young woman moments before near our car.
"No, senora, no ha pasado nadie por aca. "
A few cars were kicking up dust on the road and several Hispanic women were walking toward the compound over the hill. I checked my watch. It was time for evening Mass.
It was at that moment that a soft, kind voice spoke from behind us. "Welcome to Saint Hidalgo. I am Father Ramon. You must be new to the area or perhaps you are just visiting." His English was laced with just the hint of a Spanish accent.
"Just visiting." I smiled at the young priest as Callie backed away from him, much as if he were a snake oil salesman.
"Come in, welcome. Mass will be taking place in only a few minutes."
"We have to—" I began my excuses to avoid putting Callie in a traditional church, but she interrupted me to say that we'd be delighted to attend. I looked at her as if she were possessed, as she walked toward the chapel doors.
"We're searching for a missing girl. Two missing girls, Father. Rose Ross and Sophia Pappagallo. Sophia comes here to Mass," I said, looking for a reaction.
"How long have they been missing?" he asked.
"One for several days, the other more recently," I said.
"Come inside. We will pray for their safe return." He looked saddened.
"Thank you," Callie said.
"You getting religion?" I said under my breath.
"Prayer is always good," she said. "The priest.. .there's something familiar about him.. .his mannerisms. I know him."
"Well, he's too young to have been here when the hotel was built, so you must know him from another lifetime," I goaded her.
∗ ∗ ∗ ∗
Mass began with the traditional prayers. Gloria Patri, et Filio, et Spiritui Sancto rang throughout the chapel as the young priest adhered to a lot of the old Latin, apparently ignoring the Vatican II dictates. It reminded me of my childhood as I accompanied my grandmother to Mass each Sunday and dutifully learned to pronounce the Latin words that I didn't understand, loving the way my leather-bound missal felt in my hands and admiring the gold leafing on the page edges and the colorful ribbons that hung from the top of the book, allowing me to mark various pages: the place for my name in the front, and information about my family. It made religion personal and beautiful, and I liked shaking hands with the priest at the door afterward.
The priest gave a five-minute homily on the importance of tithing, which felt a lot like a fundraiser telethon and took a little more away from my spiritual experience, but he did interject a short but heartfelt prayer for the safe return of Rose and Sophia. Then, we were at the point of communion. In theory, I couldn't take communion, being officially Episcopalian now and not Roman Catholic, but for my money, God didn't care, and I decided I would line up at the altar
rail. Callie saw me rise and tried to pull me back onto the pew. The idea of my drinking wine from a chalice from which twenty strangers had drunk was enough to send her head into a Linda Blair spin. I could read it in her eyes without ever getting the dialogue from her lips. I almost giggled at the frantic look. I leaned over and whispered, "I won't drink the wine; don't worry. But you're not kissing me anymore, so what do you care?"
"I care about your health," she said.
I got in line behind a man bent over in prayer as he proceeded to the altar rail. I knelt and gazed up at the crucifix, saying a prayer for the world, and my family, and especially Callie and for myself. The priest came by with the bread and placed it in my hand, making the sign of the cross. I closed my eyes and said another prayer as the acolyte rang the bell. Moments later the priest came down the row again, this time with the chalice, and I crossed my arms over my chest, signaling that I would not drink, but would take only the blessing. As he raised his right hand to bless me, I glanced up. The light caught the ring on his pinkie finger and I saw the bird, as clearly as a brand put there by the heavens, a rooster—a cock! I stared into his face, trying to conceal my shock at the horrible revelation. The priest has the ring! The same ring the dealers at the hotel have! What in the world is he doing with that ring on?
I hurried back to the pew and slid in beside Callie as she whispered her disapproval. I interrupted, "The priest is wearing the ring!" She turned fully toward me in shock. "Are you sure?"
"I'm absolutely positive," I said. "Get in line at the door and shake his hand. You'll see it."
The greetings at the door didn't take long. We were fifth in line. He took my right hand in his and then folded his left hand over the top of mine in a warm and comforting gesture. I bowed my head as if in respect when, in fact, I was getting one more look at the ring and giving Callie a chance to see it too.
As we walked slowly toward the car, like any normal churchgoers, Callie breathed, "The priest is in on it."
"Can't be," I said.
