The Leafing: the 2nd book in The Green Man series

by Sharon Brubaker

  “But,” Marian told her, “I’m sure it’s been noticed that you and Tony have become friendlier.

  “Do you think so?” Sylvia asked. “But, we’re just friends.”

  “Hmmm…” it was Marian’s comment this time.

  “Let us know if we can be any assistance or support,” Jon said, “Emotional, legal, whatever.”

  “Thank you,” Sylvia said with relief. The stress of the situation was catching up with her. Suddenly she was incredibly tired.

  “Time for you to go home and rest,” Marian advised. “All will be well.”

  She put together a care package for Sylvia.

  “It will be all right,” Marian said again.

  “But, be careful,” said Jon. “Check in with us. The frightening thing is that there is a murderer on the loose,” Jon said quietly.

  Sylvia stared at him. He was right. An unwanted kernel of fear settled deep within her bones.

  Chapter 16

  The world is the great gymnasium where we come to make ourselves strong.

  Swami Vivekananda

  Sylvia left Marian’s a short time later. She went home to consider what Jon had said. Did she trust Tony? Did he have an alibi? Did she want to know?

  She pulled on the heavy ring Gran had given her. She had taken it from her finger and placed it on a gold chain. It was a heavy, comfortable weight on chest. She would unconsciously hold onto it and many times tugged on it. Now it was habit.

  She went to look out the living room windows, down to the beach where the body had been. Her mind remembered the stench of the dead flesh and she still felt she could taste it. Sylvia barely made it to the bathroom where she lost most of Marian’s excellent brunch. Weakly, she went and sat in the study. She didn’t feel like going to the trouble of making a fire. She put on a sweater and turned up the heat. The bitter chill of winter had returned, but, she knew she shivered more from shock of the situation than from the biting cold of January.

  The doorbell rang. Thinking it was Tony, she raced to the door to open it. Instead of Tony on her doorstep, flashbulbs burst in front of her face. Questions were shouted at her rapid fire from a group of reporters who stood slightly back from the door.

  Sylvia was stunned. She was sure her face registered pure shock.

  “No comment,” she said and shut the door and locked it. Then she went to the other doors and made sure they were locked as well. This was like the summer before with Anna’s death. She had decided last summer that the world loved bad news and her theory still held true. This time she couldn’t run to Marian’s house. She tried to call Tony, but had to leave a voicemail. What a nightmare. Finally she poured herself a glass of wine and settled down. Thoughts swirled in her head like the snow that had just started falling. A bitter wind had started up and all the warmth of the weekend ended. Sylvia sat staring as dusk started to fall in the late afternoon. The silence was deafening. She zoned out staring at the water and a rustle of leaves broke her trance.

  She turned to see the Green Man sitting near her. He was smiling at her with his usual warm, yet wry smile.

  “Oh my God!” she exclaimed throwing herself to him in a bear hug. It took all she could to hold back the tears that had been on the brink.

  He held her and she breathed in his fresh scent of fresh greenery, spicy pines and ozone. She breathed it in—comforted.

  “You keep saying that,” he said with a chuckle.

  “What?” Sylvia asked, confused.

  “Oh, my God,” he said. “I told you before that only some people thought that. Others see me as a protector of God.”

  Sylvia rolled her eyes. “I thought I missed you,” she said sardonically. “You are so frustratingly didactic!”

  He laughed his warm, rich, baritone laugh. Then he looked serious. “You don’t remember me being here last night?” he asked.

  Sylvia had to think. “I thought it was just a wonderful dream,” she finally admitted. “You,” she blushed, “were spooned up against me,” she said. “It helped me sleep.”

  He nodded. In truth, she had missed him. His presence was an immense comfort to her. The dream like quality of last night was only a confirmation of that.

  “Where have you been?” she asked with a hint of a demanding tone in her voice.

  “It’s a bit too confusing to explain,” he said.

  “Try me?” she asked.

  He shook his leafy head at her. “Another time,” he told her. “Now tell me why you have been reaching out and calling to me.”

  “I have?” Sylvia asked, astounded. “Can you read my mind?” she asked.

  “Not really,” he said. “But, I can feel some of your needs and interpret them as well. It’s not always crystal clear. It’s been a steady cry of need that has peaked in the last day or so,” he said. “At first it would peak and valley, but now it has peaked and is holding steady. The only way that I can explain it is to compare it to your seeing the auras; you can sometimes see layers that reach out. Your call, so to speak, reaches to me. It interrupts the pattern. What’s wrong?” he probed.

  So Sylvia began telling him of Owen and the events that had transpired with Tony in the last week and finally finding Joyce’s body. He listened without interrupting, sometimes pulling on a leaf that was like a moustache on his face. His eyes were thoughtful.

  “I see,” he finally said at the end of her grisly tale.

  Sylvia was exasperated. “That’s all?” she asked him.

  “All what?” he returned.

  “No words of wisdom? No didactic lesson?” she asked.

  “No, not really,” he told her seriously, but still with a twinkle in his eye. “Seriously, you need to be careful. I see this as part of the pattern, with a wrinkle or two, that interrupts the smooth flow. If you need me, call.”

  With a rustle of leaves, he was gone. Just gone. Sylvia felt bereft.

  “What should I call you?” she asked the air and the universe.

  It was an old argument between them and it finally came down to her calling him “Green Man” each time.

  Darkness fell in its wintry cloak. The stars sparkled in their sprinkle through the night sky. Sylvia pondered once again who the Green Man was, and her role in his ‘pattern.’ She wished fervently that answers were easy.

  Chapter 17

  Where there is no struggle, there is no strength.

  Oprah Winfrey

  Carol was anxiously waiting for her at the office when she walked through the door.

  “Sylvia Ash! Why didn’t you call me?” she scolded waving the local paper where Sylvia’s shocked looking face was staring back at her. “You seem to have a penchant for finding bodies!”

  Carol wrapped her in a hug.

  “Sorry, Carol, there’s been too much,” Sylvia began and tears threatened to spill once again. Fortunately, she was interrupted when Mr. Carter opened the door.

  Sensing something was wrong, he raised an eyebrow. “Well, girls?” He asked, “What’s up?”

  Carol spoke up. “Sylvia’s found another dead body and it’s the wife of the guy that’s been pursuing her!” Carol told him.

  “Carol,” Sylvia warned, “that’s not all quite true. Tony hasn’t been pursuing me…”

  Carol waved her off. She took the paper from her desk and shared it with Mr. Carter.

  He pulled out his reading glasses and read through the front page article quickly.

  “Oh my,” he said, looking over the rims first at Sylvia and then Carol.

  “It’s not exactly been my best weekend,” Sylvia told them drily. “I probably need to take some time today to head to the police station to talk to the artist.”

  As if on cue, her cell phone rang. Sylvia answered it. It was Joe Collins from the State Police. He asked if she would consider having lunch and discussing the evidence before going to the station to work with the police artist.”

  “Sure,” Sylvia told him. “Where and when?”

  He suggested a pub in
North Bay at 12:30. Sylvia told Mr. Carter and Carol her afternoon plans. Carol looked smug.

  “Another one,” she predicted. “You’re gathering them like flies.”

  “Oh, Carol!” she exclaimed. “You must be kidding.”

  “Mark my words,” said Carol. “You can dowse, but I get a feeling about such things.” She settled back into her desk, but not before filling in Mr. Carter on Sylvia’s gift with dowsing.

  Sylvia rolled her eyes and went into her office. She had a hard time concentrating on her work. Carol dropped in with coffee after an hour or so.

  “Okay,” she said, “Emergency chocolate and caffeine break,” she said putting a fresh cup of coffee on Sylvia’s desk with a couple of chocolates. “Now, give me all the details. From the way the paper sounded, they didn’t interview you.”

  Sylvia told her how she had found the body, called the police, how Tony had stopped by when he saw the police cars and how Percy had howled eerily at Joyce’s body. Sylvia shivered at the memory. Sylvia continued to tell Carol how the press took her by surprise yesterday afternoon.

  “I don’t know, girlfriend,” Carol said shaking her head. “I told you I didn’t have a good feeling about that Tony guy.”

  “What does it have to do with him?” Sylvia asked. “He wasn’t there the night she was killed or the night we think she was killed,” she corrected herself. “They think it was the guy I saw her with at the grocery store. That’s why I’m to see the sketch artist. I’m not sure I can remember anything, though.”

  “Well, they make it look easy on all of those police shows,” Carol remarked.

  Sylvia shrugged. Carol left and the morning dragged on. At noon she powered down her computer, and said good-bye to Carol and Mr. Carter. They both wished her luck.

  Sylvia drove to North Bay to the pub. The clouds were hovering with unshed snow. She saw the police car near the pub and pulled into the public parking area next to City Hall. Joe politely stood up when she came into the pub. She sat down.

  The waitress brought them menus.

  “Have you been here before?” he asked Sylvia.

  “Yes,” she said. “Owen and I used to come for the bloody Mary bar on Sundays and occasionally a burger. Their food is excellent.”

  Joe nodded in agreement. “I come for a beer after work sometimes or a quick bite.

  They both studied the menu, and the waitress came to take their drink order.

  “No beer until after work,” Joe mourned. “I like the ales they have on tap,” he explained with a sad note in his voice. He ordered a soda and Sylvia ordered hot tea.

  Over sandwiches and homemade french-fries, they both relaxed. Sylvia learned Joe was single and had worked up to the status of detective in the last year. Sylvia told him of her promotion and how she loved living in Bayside. He casually asked her about Tony and their relationship.

  “I really don’t know him that well,” Sylvia told Joe. “I had only seen him a few times at community events before he brought Percy to me on New Year’s Day. He was obviously distraught about Joyce’s disappearance. He asked if I could watch Percy so that he could look for her at some of their other homes.”

  “You don’t think that was odd?” Joe asked her.

  “In retrospect, I think it was odd,” Sylvia told him, “But, I also fell for those big eyes of Percy’s. I couldn’t see him in a kennel.”

  “And when Tony came back?” Joe prodded.

  “He picked up Percy and we became friends,” she said.

  “Are you romantically involved with him?” Joe asked.

  “No!” Sylvia answered.

  “No?” Joe asked again.

  “Look, we were both unceremoniously dumped by our exes,” she said coolly using Tony’s words of a week prior. “I think we both needed someone to talk to, that’s all.”

  “Okay,” Joe said. “Sorry. Once a cop…”

  “Shouldn’t we get to the station?” Sylvia interrupted.

  “Yes,” Joe answered and asked for the check.

  Sylvia pulled out her purse and Joe waved her away. “It’s on me,” he said.

  She protested but he said, sotto voce in a gangster type voice, “Look lady, I have a gun.”

  Sylvia giggled. He looked up at her and grinned.

  She followed him to the station. She remembered the lights and smells from the previous summer and shivered.

  “Are you cold?” Joe asked.

  Sylvia shook her head, “No,” she answered. “No.”

  Joe asked her to sit in an uncomfortable chair while he went off to find the police artist. Sylvia closed her eyes. Sylvia wished she could curl up in a fetal position. She tried to think of what the guy looked like in the grocery store that day with Joyce. Joyce overwhelmed the picture in her head – her live body and her dead one.

  “Ms. Ash?” she heard Joe’s voice. “Sylvia?”

  Sylvia opened her eyes. There was Joe and with him was a very tall young woman. Her very blond hair was pulled up in a high ponytail. She looked familiar, but Sylvia couldn’t think where she had seen her.

  Sylvia stood and shook the woman’s proffered hand. Joe introduced her as Susan Watson. He also said he had something to do quickly, but would return in a few minutes.

  Susan nodded assent and motioned Sylvia into an office with a desk, small table and a computer.

  “Please sit down, Ms. Ash,” Susan said, motioning to one of the chairs at the small table.

  “Call me Sylvia, please,” Sylvia told her.

  “Only if you’ll call me Susan,” Susan told her with a big smile.

  Sylvia stared at her. When Susan smiled broadly, and tilted her head, she looked just like Disney’s Tinkerbelle! But, Susan was so tall, she was like a Tinkerbelle on steroids.

  Sylvia couldn’t help but burst out, “Tink!”

  “Hmm?” Susan replied a little distractedly. She had been working to get a program up and running on her computer, laying out a sketchpad, drawing pencils and eraser. “I beg your pardon?” she asked as she smiled a big smile at Sylvia.

  “I’m sorry,” Sylvia quickly apologized, “But, you resemble Tinkerbelle,” Sylvia said lamely hoping not to offend.

  Susan laughed a bright tinkle of a laugh. Her eyes crinkled up just like Tinkerbelle’s too. Sylvia couldn’t believe the resemblance.

  “Tinkerbelle is my nickname from some friends,” Susan explained. “So, thanks!”

  “Oh!” Sylvia murmured with surprise.

  “We need to get down to work or Joe will have my head,” Susan said. “I’m going to let you think about what this guy looked like. I’ll pull images up on the computer. I may interrupt you and rearrange some facial features, but you can continue until we get a pretty good resemblance. After that, I’ll print it out and continue it on paper to add more detail. Sound good?” she ended with her question.

  Sylvia nodded.

  “Then let’s get started,” Susan told her, poised to begin.

  “Okay,” Sylvia said, closing her eyes trying to remember the man that was with Joyce.

  “He was tall,” she started. “Almost as tall as you are,” she said.

  “So between six feet and six feet five inches?” Susan asked.

  “Probably more about six foot two,” Sylvia told her. “Light brown hair that’s on the longish side.”

  “Can you describe his hairstyle?” Susan asked.

  “Longish,” Sylvia said, “Down to his collar or just a little past it.”

  Susan started putting images together.

  “No bangs,” Sylvia stated and Susan nodded. “Brown hair and brown eyes. Kind of soulful eyes.”

  They continued with Susan manipulating images.

  Detective Collins came in and joined them in the small office. He nodded approvingly at the progress.

  “What was his build like?” he asked Sylvia.

  “Not beefy,” Sylvia said. “It would be hard to tell under a coat,” She said, “I remember, I thought he could be in co
nstruction with his jeans and work boots. He was wearing a flannel shirt and a gray hoodie under his coat. He looked like he was in decent shape.”

  Susan played with different noses and mouths. She would look for reaction from Sylvia and Detective Collins would prompt her to speak.

  “Any visible tattoos?” Detective Collins asked.

  Sylvia shook her head. Susan manipulated the face on the screen.

  “Close…close,” Sylvia said, concentrating on the image on the screen. She had Susan move the eyes further apart and then cried out, “It’s him!”

  “Are you sure?” Detective Collins asked.

  “As sure as I can be after my brief glimpse,” she told him honestly.

  Susan saved and printed the image.

  “Should I draw in any additional detail?” she asked Sylvia.

  Sylvia shook her head. “No, I don’t think so,” she told Susan.

  “Save it and send it to me,” Detective Collins told Susan. “I’ll put out an APB as a person of interest.” He turned to Sylvia and asked, “If we pull this guy in, do you think you could identify him in a line up?”

  “I have no idea,” Sylvia said. “Except that I can try.”

  “Good enough,” Detective Collins said to her. He nodded to Susan and said, “Thank you, Susan.”

  “My pleasure,” she said. “Pleasure meeting you, Sylvia.”

  Sylvia shook her hand and returned the thank you.

  “Could I,” she hesitated, “could I take a copy of the photo with me?” she asked Detective Collins.

  “Unorthodox, but I think it would be all right,” he told her. “Okay,” and he went to make a Xerox of the drawing Susan had passed onto him.

  While she was waiting, her phone rang. It was Tony.

  “Hello,” she stage whispered.

  “Sylvia?” Tony asked.

  “Yes,” she answered. “I’m at the police station,” she told him, “working on the sketch of the guy Joyce was with a couple of weeks ago.”

  “Good,” his voice was low. “Look Sylvia,” he said, a sense of urgency coming into his voice, “are you going back to work? Do you have a few minutes?”