Dark Side of Morning (Wind Dancer Book 1)

by Tierney James

  Cleo stepped out of the bathroom with a toothbrush still clamped between her teeth as the story unfolded. Both friends migrated to her room and flopped on her bed like awkward walruses. Julie pointed the remote volume option then fluffed her pillows behind her. “Maybe we made the news.”

  “No one can say how the two mannequins disappeared in the North American Indian displays today at the Museum of Natural History. They simply vanished.” The reporter certainly knew how to add an air of mystery to her voice. Video then rolled showing police entering and exiting the wing of the museum where Cleo stood earlier in the day.

  Next, an informed docent spoke to the reporter. “Can you tell us what exactly is missing?”

  “The Pawnee and Osage figures wearing priceless period costumes over a hundred and eighty-five years old. We are hoping they will be returned and this is some kind of sick prank.”

  The camera refocused on the reporter. “And there you have it. A real-life mystery on our hands.”

  Erica muted the television and squinted at Cleo. “Did you notice anything amuck, Cleo?”

  Cleo shook her head feeling the rise of panic at withholding information from her friends. What would they think about her mental stability? “You know, the lights flickered, some went out. Then I hurried to the Pawnee earth lodge. Creepy, as you always say.” She slipped into the bathroom and shut the door.

  Leaning against it, she tried to slow her heartbeat. With a quick spit in the sink, Cleo took stock of her pale appearance in the mirror. “What is going on?” she whispered. “Am I having a nervous breakdown? Do I have schizophrenia? Should I tell them what I saw?”

  She knew the answer to all of those questions.

  No.

  Chapter 2

  Darkness cloaked the city canyons built of concrete edifices. The weather forecast predicted storms later in the evening, adding a layer to the already-ominous expectation of danger. Even the gusts, typical of the Windy City, drove a spike of caution into her heart.

  Thousands of lights from honking vehicles created strobes across the highways ninety-five floors below the women eating their dinner in the Signature Room.

  “I’m glad we wore cocktail dresses tonight.” Cleo still tried to cover her nervousness.

  “I like to pretend we have someplace to go afterwards.” Erica flipped her hair away from her oval face. “We lucked out with a table by the window.”

  “I’m breathless at seeing the city from up here.” Julie spoke wistfully when she lifted the menu to scan.

  Cleo let her gaze drift to the city below, expanding like blankets of diamonds. She wondered if the view brought other voices in the restaurant to a soft decibel like theirs.

  “This is incredible, Cleo.” Erica caught the eye of a couple of businessmen two tables away. One of them winked, but she returned to the menu. “I’ve never been here before, even though I grew up nearby. Guess I’ll need a better class of man if I intend to come here again.”

  Cleo tried to shake the dread welling up inside her. “My dad brought me here for my twenty-first birthday then again when I received my acceptance into medical school.” She smirked at her wide-eyed friends. “My treat. I am a doctor, you know.”

  “Yeah, with a hefty school loan to pay. We’ll pay for our own.” Julie ordered the surf and turf with sautéed baby squash and zucchini in a natural sauce. “I’m in heaven.” She rolled her eyes, followed by a moan. “I’m the only one who can afford this.”

  “She’s right. Dutch treat tonight. We crashed at your place, saving us hundreds. If you want to spring for dessert, I’m going to request”—Erica nodded toward a nearby couple eyeing the final touch of their meal— “banana tiramisu.”

  The evening continued for several more hours. Cleo hesitated to conclude their last night together before returning to busy lives. Erica enjoyed her job as a flight attendant, based in Nashville, Tennessee. Julie lived and worked from Dallas, Texas, but traveled everywhere with her design business. Cleo continued to call Chicago home even after so many years studying medicine. Several prestigious hospitals in other states had tried to entice her into leaving but, at this stage of her life, making another change didn’t seem wise.

  “Let’s head up to the observation floor. I read there’s a coffee shop.” Julie selected the elevator button. “We’ve got an hour before it closes according to the brochure.” She jabbed a finger at the unfolded paper in her hand.

  Of course, Julie headed for the gift shop as soon as they stepped off the elevator. “Get me a latte with skim milk and lots of whipped cream!”

  Cleo and Erica laughed.

  The day of constant activities weighed on Cleo as their weekend drew to a close. Staring out at the city with warm brewed coffees cradled between her hands, put a fitting ending to their reunion. Their chatter, although sporadic, remained light with friendly jabs and promises to return a year later to do it all again. Reluctantly, the women made their way toward the elevators at the eleven o’clock announcement of ten more minutes before the deck closed. Several families squeezed on with Julie and Erica.

  “Oops! I forgot my jacket. Go ahead I’ll catch up.” Cleo waved them off. She slipped past the cluster of people waiting for the next elevator. The ding of the elevator signaled the remaining tourists needed to leave. Cleo had located her jacket when she heard the slow whoosh of doors closing. Moving to stand before another elevator, she thought of her father and the memories they’d created.

  The image of a little boy playing with her in the earth lodge sprang to mind as did one of Wind Dancer standing tall in the display case. She took out her phone and scrolled to her library of pictures. This time she found what she hunted for, except the cases behind her in the photo stood empty. She brought it up closer to her eyes as she stepped into the elevator, and she punched the down button. Looking up, her eyes fell on a tall man searching the observation deck. Dressed in buckskins and sporting a Mohawk haircut, he lowered his red-painted face toward her.

  “Neosho,” she whispered in terror.

  The Osage rushed toward the elevator and slammed against the closing doors. In his scowl and narrowed eyelids, Cleo recognized evil. She curled into the corner hoping the Osage couldn’t reach her. When she reached the ground floor, she darted out into the lobby, nearly knocking her friends down.

  “Whoa. The devil hot on your trail?” Julie grabbed her around the waist.

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  The women headed outside, only to be stopped by two police officers. The squad car parked at the curb had the flashing lights in play.

  “Evening, ladies. I’m Officer Cooke, and this is Officer Wayne. If you don’t mind we’d like to take you to the Museum of Natural History, please.”

  “What is this about?” Erica stepped in front of her friends.

  “I can’t say, ma’am. All I know is your presence is requested by some detective.”

  Cleo stole a glance over her shoulder into the Hancock Center where people raced from the elevator like they’d been shot out of a cannon. Neosho stepped off last then appeared to survey his surroundings before he spotted her.

  “No problem. Let’s go.” Cleo tried not to appear too anxious. “Come on. Think of it as another adventure.” She strode ahead of them, and they all piled into the rear seat of the police car. It merged into traffic as Neosho emerged from the building.

  “What?” Erica followed Cleo’s gaze out the rear window. “Why are you nervous as a cat? If you’re worried about something, then spill it,” she demanded. “Are you spooked about returning to the museum at night because of your father?”

  Cleo faced forward and pretended to adjust her shoulders. “Don’t be silly. I’m fine. Just thought I saw someone I knew at the Hancock.”

  Both her friends laid their hands on hers in support. “It’s going to be okay, Cleo,” Julie whispered into her ear.

  The drive took only ten minutes with police flashers on and breaking the speed limit, although the driver did
not engage the siren. At least a dozen police cars parked in the fire lane in front of the Museum of Natural History.

  The officers opened the doors of the car for them and offered a polite and silent escort toward the front doors. Cleo forced herself to slow down and take in Lake Michigan and the city spread out like a fallen sparkler.

  Who was the man dressed like Neosho? Why had he run at her with evil in his eyes? She’d thought at first only she could see him, but those people rushed off the elevator for a reason. She focused on her surroundings; she’d returned to the scene of her father’s disappearance as well as where the mannequins had been stolen.

  “Ladies, thank you for coming. This won’t take long. Our lead detective would like to ask you a few questions about your visit this afternoon.” Cleo guessed this gray-haired policeman with the expanded waistline and bags beneath his eyes might specialize in a great deal of desk work since his fingers appeared to be swollen with arthritis. She wondered if he chose to be here in hopes of a little excitement.

  “I don’t understand. How did you know about our visit here?” Erica sounded indignant. She often spouted her lawyer father’s velociraptor style of interrogation. Cleo tried to shush her, knowing this kind of exchange might be inappropriate when they had been invited by the police.

  “I apologize for taking you away from your last night in Chicago, but—”

  “Wait. You knew tonight was our last in Chicago?” Erica raised an accusing eyebrow, her voice icy.

  The officer shrugged. “Security takes pictures of everyone who comes in or out, and you used your credit cards for tickets at the gift shop. Please accompany me to the coffee shop.” He touched Erica’s elbow, but she jerked away. Stepping to one of the tables on the outer edge of the coffee shop, the officer pointed to the chairs. “You young ladies left a trail a mile wide.” He flicked his gaze at Cleo. “You’re the one the detective wants to see.” He tilted his head toward another young police officer standing nearby. “You other two sit.”

  “We most certainly will not,” Erica snapped, reaching for Cleo’s hand. “We stick together.”

  “Not tonight, you don’t.” The officer’s voice no longer sounded like that of someone who ate doughnuts for breakfast.

  “It’s okay, Erica.” Cleo motioned to the table with her chin. “I won’t be long. I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

  “Yeah? Well, just scream if you need us.” Erica took on a louder, indignant tone as he led Cleo away. She turned back to give her friend a confident thumbs-up even though she felt anything but.

  Footsteps always sounded louder in museums. A few lights from the gift shop and exhibits off the main foyer spilled across the floor, stretching the shadows of the policemen standing at various exits. A few men and woman in lab coats spoke in hushed voices, heads close together. Cleo didn’t recognize any of them.

  Most of the people she’d known had moved on since her father’s disappearance. Some left for museums in Washington D.C. or Canada. A few took jobs in South America or were on digs out West or in Alaska. Losing touch with them had been deliberate. Their voices and praise of her father only managed to keep the flame of despair of unanswered questions alive. So, she’d stopped returning calls or answering notes of concern. Cleo had officially moved on with her life several years before. Her current situation wasn’t helping her to keep a tight grip on reality.

  “What was that?” Cleo stopped as light flashed through the thick glass doors leading to the foyer where they’d entered. The fan-shaped windows higher up created strobe-like designs as lightning continued to flicker.

  “Thunderstorm moving in. That lightning strike was a close one. You okay? Afraid of storms?” The officer stopped to look toward the windows. “Radio says expect heavy rain. Don’t worry about a cab. We’ll get you girls wherever you want to go when we’re done here.”

  Cleo nodded and moved forward then veered to the left toward the Native American exhibit near the Pawnee earth lodge. When she stopped and took a deep breath, the act of summoning courage felt a little beyond her grasp.

  “It’s dark, I know.” The officer stepped over the threshold. “Give it a second, and your eyes will adjust. The lights are on dimmers so they’re at the low point. Oh, there they go.”

  The lights got a little brighter but not enough they would damage the precious artifacts over time. She already knew the drill concerning the safety of the relics. The museum had become her playground as a child, study hall as a teenager, and even where she learned to fantasize about a Pawnee warrior named Wind Dancer who rescued her from too much work and, finally, grief.

  The officer pointed toward the room with display cases. “The detective is in there.” He left her standing alone.

  Cleo took a deep breath, as if about to take a swan dive into Lake Michigan, before stepping forward. The smell of a natural history museum was always the same no matter where it was located. Some might dislike the hint of mustiness, but, to her, it smelled as familiar as a blanket kept on the foot of her bed. This place meant home, and someone had tried to dirty it up in her psyche.

  “Hello?” She fingered her hair behind her ears then twisted it into a bun at her nape. Feeling a few strands slip out and frame her face, she smoothed her hands down the front of her jacket as if that would make coming here easier. “Detective?”

  “Over here,” came a masculine voice from the shadows.

  He stood facing the display cases, but his stance spoke of casual aloofness as he stared into the two empty mannequin cases. He shed the gray suit coat and threw it over his shoulder, like a rucksack a hiker might use. A wrinkled white shirt indicated a man who didn’t care about his appearance. Even so, the sloppiness failed to hide the muscles in the detective’s shoulders. His hair curled at the ends and appeared damp under the dim lights. The gray was taking over the blond in wide streaks. The angular profile revealed a nose with a bump near the top, which made her wonder if he broke it at work or doing something ordinary men participated in, like a pickup game of football.

  “Detective?” She stepped closer when the lights slowly faded again. The detective pivoted toward her, leaving his face in the shadows. “I’m Dr. Cleo Sommers. What is this all about?”

  He extended his hand as the light from the display case brightened once again to engulf his face. The vise-like grip, drew her focus to a tanned leathery hand. When she tried to withdraw her touch without success, she lifted her eyes. A shocked gasp escaped her mouth. She stumbled over her own feet as she tried to escape. He tightened his hold, jerking her into his arms.

  “Let me go,” she demanded, her fists doubled against his chest.

  He did so immediately, his forehead pinched in bewilderment. “I’m—”

  “I know who you are. Jacque Marquette or should I call you the Frenchman?” Her voice quivered. “Is this some kind of a joke?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Today. At Navy Pier. You helped me off the water taxi.” She fumbled her jacket close then folded the lapels over since his eyes had dropped to the bare skin above her cocktail dress. “You’re Jacque Marquette.”

  “Yes. I am. How did you know?” He lifted his head as he let a short chuckle escape. “Oh. I guess Officer O’Neal told you—”

  “No. You did today at Navy Pier. You’re not listening.” Her tense tone forced him to observe her a little closer. “You told me to be careful.”

  “Dr. Sommers, I spent the afternoon in court and nowhere near Navy Pier.”

  Cleo tried to process the information and realized this man did not have a French accent or a row of crooked teeth like the man at the pier. “He could be your twin,” she breathed, as she brought a hand to her throat. “Exactly.”

  “They say we all have a doppelganger. Of course, it is odd we have the same name.” His grin took the edge off Cleo’s skeptical attitude. “Guess mine works at Navy Pier.” His expression became serious. “I have a few questions about these empty cases, if you don’t mind. If you’re afraid to
be here with me alone, I can call in another officer…”

  “No. I’m fine.”

  “You visited here earlier today.”

  “Yes.”

  “No offense, Dr. Sommers, but you and your friends impress me as Macy’s shoppers rather than tourists taking an educational tour of the Field Museum, especially since you grew up in Chicago.” His lips twisted into a lopsided smirk.

  “Why are you questioning us in particular? A hundred-people wandered here on the main level.”

  “But not in here, according to the security loops.”

  True. She’d been alone when the lights went out. “I didn’t see anything.”

  “Really? Because, according to this”—he took out his cell phone and retrieved something before showing her the screen— “you stood right in front of these cases to take a selfie. One second, they’re here”—he nodded to the empty cases— “and the next they’ve vanished. The video shows you running, looking over your shoulder. Did something spook you?”

  Cleo swallowed hard then shrugged. “The lights flickered then went out. My father—”

  “Yes. The famous Dr. Daniel Sommers who disappeared four years ago. I know. I figure you came to pay your respects.”

  Did her surprise show in her eyes?

  “I read up on you before I sent the officers to the Hancock Center. And before you ask how I knew you went there, technology and credit cards leave a big trail. I was also able to retrieve the pictures you took.”

  “Sounds illegal to me.”

  “Well, not for cops. We are still able to read texts, emails, and pictures in certain situations. The phone companies are very cooperative.” He scrolled down on his phone again. “Can you explain this?”

  Cleo hugged her arms. There she stood, grinning to beat the band, with Wind Dancer kneeling beside her. The detective saw it, too? She straightened and met his skeptical gaze with her own.

  “What do you want me to say, Jacque?”

  “Ah. It’s Detective Marquette.” He slipped the phone into his pants pocket. “I want you to tell me if you saw these two guys slipping out of the cases, or at least how they got out. We figure they had already moved the mannequins when you came in. They dressed in the clothing and stood until you came by. Probably wanted to scare the hell out of the tourists. Strange you didn’t notice how lifelike they were.”