by Becky Durfee
Elijah sat quietly as Mark continued to cry. After several moments, Elijah reminded him, “Well, you can do the right thing now and help us figure out who did this to her. Do you have any idea who may have done this?”
Mark sat up straight again and wiped his eyes. “No.” He took a deep breath. “None at all.”
“What about Adam? Do you think he was angry about getting shot down? Maybe he went back after you left and finished her off? You know, to keep her from telling everyone what happened?”
Shaking his head, Mark replied, “Adam doesn’t have it in him.”
“But you admitted yourself he was drunk beyond reason.”
“He still wouldn’t have done it,” Mark insisted in a much calmer tone. “To be honest with you, we could barely get him in the house. I can only imagine he went in and passed out within minutes. I don’t think it’s possible that he was able to go out again after that. He wouldn’t have had the strength.”
“Well,” Elijah said, “what if I tell you that we have a witness placing a small, silver car at the location Lena got shot. What would you say to that?”
“I would say that’s a coincidence.”
“That’s one hell of a coincidence, don’t you think? You pick her up in a small silver car, she humiliates your friend, and then someone in a small silver car—who knows where she was—kills her minutes later?”
“It’s strange, yes, but I swear on my children’s lives that it’s coincidence.”
“Do you know what kind of car Adam DeWalt drove back then?”
“He didn’t have a car.”
“What about his parents?”
Mark shook his head. “I don’t know. He wasn’t allowed to drive their cars. He always bummed rides.”
“What about Nick Bruccato. Do you know what he drove?”
“A red Mercury Capri.”
“And his parents?”
Mark shook his head. “Don’t know.”
Elijah stopped the video, turning to Jenny. “The rest is repetitive. He never deviated from his story. So…” he leaned his elbow on the table. “Did Lena have anything to say about this?”
Jenny looked Elijah in the eye. “Not a thing.”
“Are you serious?” Elijah asked. The disappointment reflected in his voice.
“Afraid so,” Jenny confessed. “Personally, I agree with you that it’d be quite a coincidence that a little silver car was involved in the shooting and those boys were driving around in a little silver car. But Lena didn’t have anything to say during the interview.”
Elijah stroked his chin again. “Shit,” he whispered under his breath. “Here,” he said suddenly. “Come with me.” He stood up with purpose and led Jenny quickly out of the room.
He unfolded his laptop on his desk, immediately searching for images of Geo Metros. He clicked on a silver one, slid the computer screen toward Jenny and asked, “Was this the car you saw in your vision?”
Jenny examined the picture for only a second before declaring, “No. It’s too round.” She traced her finger along the back of the car on the screen. “The car I saw was more angular.”
Elijah leaned back in his office chair, placing his fingers in a steeple in front of his mouth. He contemplated for a moment, grunted a couple of times, and finally declared, “I’ll have to see what types of cars their parents drove.”
Jenny felt badly that her information hadn’t supported Elijah’s theory; she felt personally responsible for his disappointment.
Elijah continued, “And I’ll have to get Nick and Adam in here…”
Jenny sat on her hotel bed, scrolling through pictures of older economical cars, seeing if she could determine the make and model of the car she’d seen in her vision. She would periodically close her eyes and replay the vision in her head, trying to hone in on the features that would distinguish this particular type of car from all others. While picturing the vehicle, a realization struck Jenny. She immediately reached for her phone and dialed Elijah.
“There were two people in the car,” she said immediately.
“What?” Elijah asked with surprise.
“The little silver car,” Jenny replied. “When I reconsidered the vision, I realized the car had pulled up on Lena’s left, and it was going the same way she was going. The passenger side faced her. And when I think about how far the gun was sticking out of the window, it had to be someone in the passenger seat who did the shooting. There’s no way a driver could have held the gun out that far.”
“That’s good information,” Elijah said, “although it does make our investigation more difficult. Now the person we’re looking for doesn’t necessarily own a silver car, but he knows someone who has a silver car. That increases the suspect pool dramatically.”
“Sorry,” Jenny said. “I’m just telling you what I saw.”
“No need to apologize. I’m used to setbacks,” Elijah replied. “It comes with the job. Have you had any luck determining the make and model of the car?”
“Unfortunately, no. But I’m not done looking yet. This just occurred to me and I wanted to let you know.”
“Well I appreciate it. Give me a call if you come up with anything else.”
“Thanks, Elijah. Will do.”
Jenny hung up the phone and rubbed her eyes; she needed to take a break from trying to discern a Toyota from a Honda, a Corolla from an Escort. She reached for the remote control, and when doing so the little notepad containing Roddan’s information caught her eye. Instead of grabbing the remote from the nightstand, she took the paper and studied it carefully. This poor unsuspecting man, she thought. His whole world is about to get rocked.
She traced her finger over his name on the paper, wondering what he was doing out in Orting, Washington. Was he still an artist? Was he married? Did he have any other children? Was he still growing his own food? Jenny laughed out loud at the last thought. If nothing else, her birth father was going to prove to be an interesting man.
She contemplated the uniqueness of his name: Roddan Andi. She remembered her mother saying it was Icelandic; perhaps that had been a popular name there. Jenny referred to her laptop; upon doing some research, Jenny discovered Iceland had a list of approved names for babies, and neither Roddan nor Andi were on that list.
Intrigued, Jenny looked up a second website that translated Icelandic to English. She typed in roddan andi, unsure if the phrase had a literal translation. When the meaning of the words appeared before her, suddenly everything made sense.
And her life changed.
Chapter 8
“It runs in the family,” Jenny announced as soon as Zack picked up the phone.
“What does?”
“Psychic ability.”
“Holy shit,” Zack proclaimed. “I guess you talked to your father, then?”
Jenny let out an exhale. “Not exactly. But I assume he has it. And even if he doesn’t, I think my grandmother must.”
“I’m confused,” Zack confessed. “How can you know it runs in the family when you haven’t even spoken to him?”
“I looked up the meaning of his name. My mom had told me it might have been Icelandic, and when I typed his name into a translator, the English translation of Roddan Andi turned out to be voice of the spirit.”
“That’s totally cool,” Zack replied. “And you thought his name was girly…”
Jenny laughed. “I know. My mistake. But that leads me to believe that at the very least my grandmother was psychic. I can’t say for sure if my father is, because even though that was his name, he would have been named at birth. How would his mother be able to tell if her newborn…” Jenny stopped herself.
“What’s the matter?”
Jenny’s hands shook with her realization. “You know what? I bet my father is psychic.”
“What makes you say that?”
“The same way I knew Susan was a psychic when I first met her, and how she knew I was one. Psychics give off this…aura…that other psychics can pick
up on. I only experienced it that one time, but Susan told me that true psychics can tell when they are in the presence of other psychics.” Jenny got off the bed and started walking in circles, trying to burn off some of her nervous energy. “Maybe my grandmother could tell the minute she held him that her baby had the gift too.”
“First of all, that would be friggin amazing if that was true. But second, it could have been your grandfather who was psychic,” Zack posed. “Let’s not jump the gun and assume it had to be your grandmother.”
“True,” Jenny replied. “That’s a good point. But either way, I think this is a trait that runs in the family.”
“That’s so awesome. Will you have a baby with me? I’d love to have a kid that’s a psychic.”
Jenny laughed. “Are you using me for my psychic ability?”
“Well, that, and because you’re hot. And a cool chick.”
Jenny responded to the comment with only a smile and a blush. “So I guess I should work up the nerve to call Roddan, huh?”
“It can’t hurt. And hey, maybe he’s a psychic in a different kind of way and he’s expecting your call.”
“Or maybe he’s out in his garden picking his vegetables for his supper.” Jenny put her hand on her forehead. “Dear God.”
“Well, for what it’s worth, the fact that he’s a hippie probably works in your favor. They’re usually pretty laid back and accepting people.”
“You’re right,” Jenny conceded. “I just can’t imagine how he’s going to take the news that he’s had a child for twenty-six years and he never knew about it.”
“There’s only one way to find out.”
Jenny paced the hotel room floor as she heard the phone ring on the other end. After three rings, she heard, “Hello?”
The voice was deeper than she had imagined. “Hi, may I speak to Rod please.”
“This is Rod.”
Closing her eyes into a tight squint, Jenny began, “Hi, Rod, my name is Jenny Watkins. You don’t know me, but I believe you knew my mother, Isabelle Mongillo.”
“Oh my goodness,” he said. “Isabelle. Yes! How is she doing?”
“She’s doing well,” Jenny replied.
“I’m glad to hear that. Gosh, I haven’t heard that name in years. And you say she’s your mother?”
“Yes, sir.”
“If I remember correctly, last I knew she only had boys. Three of them, I think. You must be a younger child.”
“You have a good memory,” Jenny replied.
“So I’ve been told,” Rod said. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this phone call? There’s no bad news, I hope.”
“No,” Jenny stuttered. “Um…not bad news. Just…news.”
“Oh, and what is that?”
Jenny had to admit this man at least sounded pleasant. “Well, first let me say that I’m sorry for springing this phone call on you, but my mother told me that you and she used to be…involved.” She paused before continuing, unsure how to say it delicately. “Romantically.” She made a face, hoping her word choice had been okay.
“Yes, that’s true,” Roddan confessed. “But that was a long time ago.”
“Twenty-seven years, in fact,” Jenny replied, well aware of just how long it had been. She started to open her mouth to say the rest, but all that came out was a deep, anxiety-filled breath. Eventually she mustered, “I really don’t know how to tell you this, but I am under the impression that I was conceived during your relationship with my mother.”
The pause on the other end was very long. Finally a clearly emotional Roddan said, “You mean there’s a chance you may be my daughter?”
Jenny swallowed hard. “Well, after speaking to my mother, it appears you are the only man who could be my father.”
Roddan paused again, during which time Jenny’s heart threatened to beat out of her chest. “Oh my God,” he whispered. “I have a daughter. You are my daughter.”
He sounded happy, but to be safe Jenny said, “I’m sorry to be telling you like this, over the phone…”
“No, don’t apologize. This is incredible. I have a daughter.”
Jenny smiled. “Yes,” she replied with great relief. “You have a daughter.”
The sniffling on the other end of the line indicated that perhaps Roddan was crying. His shaky voice provided confirmation. “I have so many questions right now I don’t even know what to ask.”
“I know. Me too,” Jenny said with a relieved giggle. “Why don’t you start by telling me a little about yourself? I only know that you currently live in Orting and that you used to be an art teacher. I’d love to know more.”
“Oh, gosh. I’m not even sure I can remember anything about my own life right now.” He let out a nervous laugh.
“Well, my mom said you once hiked the Appalachian Trail. You can start there.”
“Yes, I did hike the AT. I’ve done a lot of traveling, actually. I didn’t settle down and get married until I was forty five. I spent most of my life before that exploring—exploring nature, trying to figure out the mysteries of the universe, that kind of thing.”
Jenny wondered if trying to figure out the mysteries of the universe was the socially acceptable way of saying doing hard core drugs, but she kept that to herself. “Did you figure anything out?” she posed with a smile.
“A thing or two,” he replied. “But I’ll save that for another time. I eventually decided I was too old for that kind of lifestyle. I got a real job for the first time in my life, and I met my wife Marcia. We got married about ten years ago. Now I live a much more traditional life than I once did.” He let out a laugh. “I guess you could say I’m boring now.”
“What do you do for a living?”
“I work for the Mount Rainier Forest Reserve.”
“What do you do there?”
“Park maintenance, education…in the summer I help coordinate the rescue of stranded hikers. A lot of people underestimate the power of Mount Rainier; she can be unforgiving if you’re not prepared for her. But enough about me,” he replied. “I want to know about you. Please, tell me about yourself.”
“Well, I’m an artist. A painter,” Jenny began, “and I believe I got that trait from you.”
“Wow,” he said with disbelief. “An artist. Is that what you do for a living?”
Jenny wasn’t ready to go there yet. “No, that’s just a hobby.”
“It is hard to make a living as an artist,” Roddan conceded. “I used to sell my paintings, but I didn’t make a ton. I made just enough to live off of until I sold my next one.”
“I’ve never tried to sell mine,” Jenny said. “I’ve always just painted for me.”
“And that’s the best person to paint for,” he replied. “I’d love to see some of your work.”
Jenny smiled genuinely. “Well, all of my stuff is at home in Georgia, and I’m in Virginia right now. When I get back, though, I can take a few pictures of my work and send them to you.”
“That would be great. I can’t wait to see them,” Roddan said. “So are you married?”
Another sticky subject. “Kind of,” Jenny said. “Legally I am, but we are separated. He wants to work things out, but I don’t know what I want.”
“I believe you do,” he replied, causing a chill to go down Jenny’s spine.
“What makes you say that?” she asked.
“The soul always knows,” he explained. “The brain often out-thinks it, trying to conform with what’s socially acceptable, but deep down the soul always has a very clear idea of what it wants.”
“Is that one of the mysteries of the universe you discovered during your travels?” Jenny posed with a smile.
“Actually it is,” he said cheerfully. “I’ve got a million of them, but that’s a little deep for a first conversation. On a lighter note, if you just paint for fun, what is it you do for a living?”
“Well, I used to teach elementary school.” She still wasn’t ready to bring up her psychic ability.
“Ah, teaching. The most noble profession.” He let out a laugh. “I almost said the oldest profession, but I guess that’s something different, now, isn’t it?”
Jenny laughed too. “Yes, quite different.”
“I do admire teachers, though,” he said seriously. “To shape young minds is a very big responsibility.”
“Well, unfortunately I did less mind-shaping than I would have liked. It was a lot more about discipline that I’d ever imagined it would be.”
“That’s because the way we raise our kids is fundamentally flawed,” he began. “As toddlers, kids are constantly told to be less curious. Stop touching that. Don’t ask so many questions. Then, when they get to school, they encounter problems because they’re not curious enough. Perhaps they would be more interested in the lessons if their inquisitiveness wasn’t squelched when they were little.”
Jenny contemplated what he had to say, realizing she’d have to give that more thought. “That’s an interesting philosophy.”
“My wife says that to me all the time,” he replied, still with a jovial tone. “I think she’s tired of hearing about my interesting philosophies, to tell you the truth. But anyway, you said you used to teach. What do you do now?”
Jenny swallowed. She couldn’t avoid it any longer. “That’s the other thing I wanted to talk to you about. I have this…ability…that most people don’t have.”
Another disproportionately long silence was followed by Roddan’s breathless words. “You have it?”
“I believe so,” Jenny said. “I have to confess, I was curious about your unusual name. My mom had told me it was Icelandic, and I looked up its meaning. It’s voice of the spirit, right?”
