The Gemini Bridge

by Shea Meadows

  She stood with her mouth open, unable to take in what she was seeing. “What is this anyway?”

  “It’s Moon’s meditation room. I’ll explain everything to you tomorrow, if you’d like, but we’re here because it’s where the safe’s hidden.” Beth Ann picked up the jade Buddha and examined the felt-covered surface under the figure. With a turn, the bottom came loose and a key dropped out of the statue into her hand. “Just where Chester said it was.” She then got down on hands and knees and looked under the table that held the Hindu goddess. She turned over to face the table’s underside, and Ricky could hear a piece of wood sliding to one side. “Here it is.” Beth Ann handed up an eight-by-ten, flat, stainless-steel box with a moon and stars engraved on top.

  “This is her safe?” Ricky had expected something more substantial.

  “Chester said it’s for very private papers. I have the rest of the stuff in the office: her contracts with publishers, agents, bank statements, house deed and other business documents. This, according to Chester, is related only to her death.”

  Ricky felt weak in the knees so she lowered herself to a meditation cushion next to Beth Ann, who handed her the key. Ricky slid it into the lock and the box opened. On the top, was a red envelope with “last-will-and-testament,” written on it and beneath it, a green envelope with “body instructions and memorial service.”

  “Did Tilda have a lawyer?” Ricky picked up the green envelope and started to open it as she spoke.

  “Stan Jacobs wrote all her business contracts. I’m not sure if he drew up the will. I never saw a bill for it. Moon was pretty independent. I wouldn’t be surprised if she did it on her own.”

  “We’ll look at this one tonight and see what she says about cremation arrangements. The will can wait until tomorrow when my dad is here.”

  Ricky skimmed quickly through the document and found what she needed. She called the corner’s office to convey the information, then called the cremation facility. The urn had already been purchased, and the remains would come back to them within three days.

  With that unpleasant task accomplished, Beth Ann led Ricky to a bedroom down the hall with an attached bath. “This is Moon’s room. She’d want you to stay here. Some of the group cleaned up and changed the sheets and gave you fresh towels. Are you okay with this? You can use a guest room if it’s too upsetting.”

  Ricky could barely see the room through partially closed lids. “It’s alright. I’m exhausted. You’re sleeping on a bed on the porch?”

  “Yeah, the futon out there is really comfortable. I’ll see you in the morning. Do you need anything? Food or water, maybe?”

  Ricky shook her head. “Thanks, Beth Ann. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.” Beth Ann reached over and hugged Ricky. It was unexpected but Ricky leaned into Tilda’s friend’s embrace, all old feelings of blame erased by their time together. Beth Ann staggered sleepily from the room and closed the door behind her.

  Ricky stripped to her underclothes, washed up, and was in Tilda’s queen-sized bed within minutes. She was sound asleep soon after.

  *

  A persistent droning forced Ricky out of a jumbled dream about Roy and Julie. The sun blazed through the window directly into her eyes. She was in Minneapolis, Tilda’s house, room, bed. Tilda died in a horrible accident. Reality was too big, but the persistent sound continued, not allowing her to sink back into oblivion. She finally recognized it as the phone ringing next to the bed. She hesitated. What will I say if it’s for Tilda? Someone who hasn’t heard about the accident? She spoke into the phone.

  “Hello, this is Ricky Banner.”

  “This is Detective David Clark from the Minnesota State Highway Patrol. I hope I’m not calling too early. Your father told me where you were. Would it be possible for me to come over and ask a few questions?”

  Ricky shielded her eyes from the sun. “I don’t know how I can help; I really don’t know anything you haven’t been told by the doctor or Tilda’s friends.”

  The detective cleared his throat. “That’s one of my problems. I haven’t been able to find Mr. Townsend. I need to talk to him. Could he possibly be there also?”

  “I have no idea. I’m just waking up. I’m not sure who else is in the house. Beth Ann Aims, Tilda’s personal assistant, was here last night, but she didn’t get the phone…”

  Before she could say more, something big and black pounced on the bed. Ricky shrieked and dropped the phone.

  “Ms. Banner, is everything okay?”

  Ricky stared into the dark green eyes of one of the biggest black cats she’d ever seen. It seemed to hate her instantly. It parked itself between her and the phone and hissed, twitching its pink nose between hostile facial gestures. Ricky and cats didn’t get along, and the creature seemed to know that instantly. She could hear David Clark calling her name, so she gingerly reached over the feline and retrieved the phone. To her relief, it didn’t try to scratch her, but instead glared and jumped from the bed, leaving the faint odor of kitty-litter trailing behind.

  “Sorry, apparently my sister had a cat. It jumped up and startled me. You can come over if you’d like and see if Beth Ann knows anything more about Tilda or Chester. Give me about a half hour to get dressed and have a bite to eat. I haven’t eaten in about two days.”

  “I’ll be generous and give you forty-five. It’s the York street address?”

  “Yeah, but don’t ask for directions. I don’t have a clue how we got here last night.”

  “I know the way. And Ms. Banner? If Mr. Townsend happens to be there, don’t mention I’m coming. He seems to be avoiding me.”

  “Right, see you soon.”

  Ricky’s stomach grumbled, letting her know food was a priority. She looked over the edge of the bed to see if the cat was close enough to lash out at her ankles when she got up. She spotted a long black tail hanging down from the top of a window seat. The animal’s green eyes watched her intently, it’s pink nose twitched as if smelling something unpleasant.

  “Look, cat. Please be kind. I miss her just as much as you do. I can’t help it if I’m a dog lover. We’ll find a good home for you. I’m sure there are people who love you; I just don’t happen to be one of them.”

  The cat turned its back to Ricky and flicked its tail back and forth in angry response. It looked over its shoulder, stretched its back and jumped to the floor, and then ran out through the slightly-opened door into the hall.

  “Good bye and good riddance.” Ricky muttered, feeling a bit guilty. I wonder how it got in. I’m sure Beth Ann closed the door last night. Tilda probably loved that cat; I should try to at least get to know it. Thinking of her sister brought tears to her eyes, but she’d made up her mind not to stay stuck in grief and self-pity. Too much was up in the air to become paralyzed with emotion.

  Ricky looked around the bedroom. It had light lilac carpeting, a four poster bed, with an indigo lace canopy and drapes of the same fabric. Beautiful antique light fixtures hung from the ceiling and sat on the oak dressing table. A small bookcase under the window seat held titles that looked unusual to say the least. The large closet, with the ornate door knob, had built-in shelves and was supremely organized. The light blue and purple tiled bathroom featured a claw-footed bathtub and a marble-topped vanity. Her sister had enjoyed beautiful things and seemed able to afford them.

  Ricky quickly cleaned up and dressed in jeans, blue T-shirt and sandals. Detective Clark would arrive soon. She walked down the hallway, glancing in the open door of the meditation room. The morning light glinted off the gemstone clusters sending prism rainbows all around the room. The room felt restful. If only I could sink into the pillows and take time to collect myself. But I’m no good at quiet contemplation.

  She went downstairs into the living room, which was much larger than most homes built in that era. She glanced around and realized that the walls had been restructured, and the dining room, usually present in older houses, had been eliminated. The house did have a
breakfast nook off the kitchen with a table big enough to squeeze in six. She followed the front hallway to the door and admired the stained-glass window which held a night-time celestial scene, complete with moon, stars and angels. Off the hall were the doors to two rooms. One seemed to be a treatment/ conference room of some kind with comfortable chairs and a massage table. The other was an office with filing cabinets, computer, fax and all the business accessories.

  Ricky still hadn’t seen anyone. She seemed to be alone except for the hostile cat which was nowhere in sight. She strolled into the kitchen, then through to the porch. Looking out at the backyard, she located Beth Ann, who was kneeling on the ground in one corner of the property, gardening.

  Ricky backtracked to the kitchen and found an orange, some strawberries and a banana, which she peeled, sliced and consumed, along with a cup of Earl Grey tea, the only thing with caffeine she could find. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this exhausted after seven hours of sleep.

  Ricky cleaned up her breakfast mess and then wandered out to the yard. The air was wonderful. It smelled more like the country than the middle of an urban area. Lake Harriet was probably close.

  Beth Ann looked up with a dirt-smeared face and smiled as Ricky approached her. “This garden wouldn’t leave me alone until I worked on it. Moon bought the herbs days ago. If they don’t get in the ground soon, they’ll die. She wouldn’t want that.”

  Ricky nodded. “I got a call from Detective Clark who’s investigating the accident. He’ll be here fairly soon. He asked if Chester’s been here today. Apparently they’re having a hard time finding him to ask about the living will.”

  “Darn him, he has a way of disappearing when he’s stressed. He might be gone for days. You’d think he’d fight the urge to flee when he’s needed.” Beth Ann pulled up from the ground with a groan.

  “We don’t know for sure that he’s done that. Let’s wait and see,” Ricky soothed. “Maybe you should clean up before the detective gets here; it should be soon.”

  Beth Ann looked down at her muddy pants. “Good thing I keep extra clothes in Moon’s guest room.”

  As they walked into the house, the front doorbell chimed, and Beth Ann quickly ran upstairs to freshen up. Ricky felt strange greeting people at Tilda’s house, but unless the cat was well trained, she didn’t have much choice. She was surprised to see a tall, blond woman with a serious face and violet eyes, who wore a pastel green business suit, and was followed by a bald-headed, stocky man with a video camera.

  “Ricky Banner? I’m Alice Thomas from KSMP. Any comments on your sister’s accident? There’s speculation it might be suicide or possibly homicide.”

  Ricky started to close the door, but the woman appeared to be an accomplished door-jammer. “Ms. Banner, I’m sure you have an opinion. Moon Angel had an impressive local following, but there were people who thought she was a fraud. Do you think anyone could have harassed her to the point of causing the accident?”

  Ricky wanted to scream in the woman’s face and break her nose with the door, but instead, took a deep breath, and spoke quietly. “The authorities are investigating the cause of the accident. As for her work in the Twin Cities, I just arrived yesterday after living in Chicago for ten years. I don’t know anything about my sister’s teaching activities. Her family and friends are grieving. Please respect our privacy.” Again, Ricky tried to close the door, which was still blocked by the reporter’s size eight shoe.

  “Ms. Banner is there any truth to the rumor that Chester Townsend knew Moon Angel was going to have a fatal accident?”

  Ricky stood with her mouth open for a moment. “I have no comment on that.”

  The reporter moved a step closer. “Surely, you have an opinion.”

  The tall man with curly black hair, who Ricky had seen speaking to the doctor, seemed to materialize out of nowhere. He stood with his back covering the video- photographer’s view of Ricky and addressed the reporter. “Ms. Banner gave you a statement. She indicated she has no further comment, now leave her alone.”

  When Alice Thomas started to protest, the man flashed a badge. She smiled and turned to Ricky. “Here’s my card. If you’d like to do an extensive interview, give me a call.”

  Ricky took the card and shoved it in the pocket of her jeans, and then turned to the detective. “Please come in.”

  The detective moved between the reporter and Ricky, then followed her into the foyer. Ricky closed the door firmly in the news-team’s faces.

  “Perfect timing, Detective Clark,” Ricky said with a shaky smile. “I almost lost my cool and screamed at her. That wouldn’t have gone over well on TV. Do you know how they heard about the living will?”

  The two of them walked into the living room. “Alice Thomas was interviewing the people holding a prayer vigil at the hospital last night. She might have heard something from them. The State Patrol hasn’t made any statements to the press. We won’t until after the autopsy is complete. Right now, we’re trying to reconstruct the accident.”

  Ricky sat on the couch facing Detective Clark who sat in an armchair. She couldn’t help but notice his cobalt blue eyes, perfect nose, strong chin, curly black hair and muscular body. In the moment that this took, Ricky heard a voice that sounded like Tilda’s: You two look great together. You’re children would be gorgeous. The whisper was faint but distinct. Ricky looked nervously around the room for some visible speaker but saw only the tail of the cat disappearing into the breakfast nook.

  Chapter 4

  “Ms. Banner, are you okay? You look faint.” Detective Clark seemed to be one of those rare, compassionate cops.

  Ricky took a deep breath. “I’ll be alright. I had my own drama before I came to Minneapolis. Everything’s swamping me.”

  Detective Clark reached into a battered briefcase and withdrew a folder. Ricky watched as he flipped through some printed pages. Her mind raced in different directions. Am I going crazy? Is it stress or lack of sleep? That’s twice that I thought I heard Tilda. She was always trying to fix me up with her friends. Maybe I’m just remembering. That’s what she’d say if she was here. That’s it. I’m remembering. But he is kind of cute… What am I thinking? This isn’t the time to be ogling a good-looking cop.

  The detective’s deep resonate voice broke into Ricky’s derailed train of thought. “I’ll be recording our conversation. Is that okay?”

  Ricky nodded.

  “I’ll begin with the autopsy results. I already shared this information with your father. You’ll get an official copy soon. This is a summary from the coroner’s office. Your sister had extensive cranial damage from the accident. The internal bleeding was from around the spleen. He cleared his throat. “Bottom line is that all of the injuries seemed to be caused by the accident. No signs of a heart attack, seizure or stroke but some things, like the flu or a severe headache, wouldn’t be evident.”

  Ricky stifled a sob, shuddered and brought her hands to her face. “So, the autopsy doesn’t tell us anything new.”

  “Speculation is she fell asleep behind the wheel or was distracted long enough to run into the median. That’s what it looks like from the traffic observation tapes from the scene and the reconstruction. There’s still the question of intentional suicide because of her living will. That’s why I’m here. We’re looking at Matilda’s frame of mind before the accident. You can help us with that.”

  “This is horrible to admit. I don’t have any idea about Tilda’s frame of mind. The last time we spoke was a month ago. We’d lost touch. Our lifestyles were very different.” Ricky looked into the Detective’s eyes, then down at her lap. “And to be honest, I knew nothing about her work and spiritual beliefs which were her main focus. It’s horrible for twins to be so disconnected, but it’s the truth. Even when she visited me in Chicago three months ago, we never got past rehashing our childhood and talking about what was going on in my life. I’m sorry. I’m really no help at all.” Ricky got up and started pacing around the roo
m, touching things that caught her eye, avoiding the detective’s searching stare.

  Tilda had a lovely home. Oriental rugs on polished wood floors with burgundy drapes in a light fabric. All sorts of small statues of gods and goddesses and cats. Cat statues of every type. Crystals and stones. Tilda did love bright shiny objects.

  Detective Clark cleared his throat to regain her attention. “Was there a reason? From what little I’ve heard, she was pretty famous. Did her activities embarrass you?”

  She picked up a crystal prism sitting on the coffee table in front of the couch. “See this? Tilda thought she could heal someone by sending energy through a stone. I see it as a beautifully formed and polished piece of rock. If someone wants healing, I’d refer them to a physician. It was as basic as that. Tilda believed in the whole “new age” thing, and I believe in science. We never got past that. There didn’t seem to be any place to meet in the middle, so we stopped talking about it, and since our beliefs were a big part of our lives, it became easier not to talk at all.”

  Detective Clark smiled. “I’ve got brothers like that. I say black, they say white, so we talk about the Twins and the Vikings. Politics, religion, relationships and about a thousand other subjects are avoided if we don’t want to end up screaming at each other.”

  She fingered the prism and smiled back sadly. “It wasn’t about anger with us. Tilda never lost her cool, but I could tell she was disappointed that I couldn’t relate to what she said. She wanted us to be going in the same direction, but our paths didn’t converge at all.” Ricky sat down on the couch, still holding the crystal as if it was her anchor to reality. “Now it’s too late to make peace, and there’s nothing I can do about it.” Tears splashed down on her hands, but she didn’t have the energy to do anything about them.