Crystalline Crypt

by Mary Coley

  Crystalline

  Crypt

  Mary Coley

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used factiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental

  Crystalline Crypt

  Copyright 2019 by Mary Coley. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or retransmitted in any form or by any means without the written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Mary Coley

  P.O. Box 2517, Tulsa, OK 74101 USA

  https://www.marycoley.com

  ISBN: 978-1708958886

  Other Books by Mary Coley:

  The Family Secret Series (Mystery/Suspense):

  Cobwebs (Book 1) Wheatmark, 2013.

  Ant Dens (Book 2) Wheatmark, 2015.

  Beehives (Book 3) Wheatmark, 2016.

  Chrysalis (Book 4) Moonglow Books through KDP, 2018.

  Mystery/Suspense

  The Ravine. Wild Rose Press, 2016.

  Blood on the Cimarron: No Motive for Murder. Moonglow Books through KDP, 2017.

  Short Story Collections:

  Beyond a Wild Sky. ML Coley. Create Space, 2013.

  Secrets of the Heart. ML Coley. Create Space, 2013.

  Non Fiction:

  Environmentalism: How YOU Can Make a Difference. Published by Capstone, 2009

  Dedication:

  I dedicate this book to my friend and critique partner, Mark Darrah, who pressed me to finish this book after a decade of starts and stops and delays, and to others who saw it in its early stages and insisted that I finish the story.

  Writing a book is never easy. There are discouragements and roadblocks and distractions too numerous to name. I took this book to numerous workshops and critique groups as the plot was developing, working on it off and on because another idea for a book seemed more pressing. I’m happy to say it’s finally finished.

  Acknowledgments

  Once again, a big thanks to my husband, Daryl, and to my many supportive friends, both writers and non, who have encouraged me while writing this book.

  I would be lost without my beta readers, who consider thoughtfully the plot and the characters even though the story is not yet fully formed or polished. They see through the chaff and help me home in on important questions, characterizations and story components. Thank you Sara Rupnik, Ann Fell, Jackie Darrah, Nancy Rosen and Nita Gould for your thoughts and comments.

  I’d also like to thank the Oklahoma Tourism Department (one of my former employers) for promoting the beauty of my home state by providing a variety of information about the diversity found here. I could have selected so many places in Oklahoma as the setting for this story. I chose Tulsa for the beginning, and the area of the Wichita Mountains Wildlife Refuge and the community of Medicine Park for the last sections of the book. Urban and rural sections of the state both offer interesting history. From the Trail of Tears and the forced relocations of Native Americans in ‘Indian Territory’ to the Land Runs and settlement of ‘Oklahoma territory,’ the western frontier and its cattle drives, our history is laced with both intelligent and interesting individuals who made a difference in Oklahoma. Our culture includes European settlers who relocated here bringing their traditions, but 39 different Native American nations. These cultures have combined to provide a rich and colorful mosaic of life in a state which is blessed with four seasons and more diverse ecosystems than any other inland state.

  Cast of Characters

  Jenna Wade – CFO at a Tulsa marketing firm, Empire Mktg

  Sean Wade – Jenna’s husband

  Amanda (Mandy) Lyons – Jenna’s best friend, account exec

  Will – Mandy’s boyfriend and Sean’s best friend

  Mike McNally – Mandy’s friend, graphic designer

  Mrs. Ida Childers –boarding house owner, Medicine Park

  Nancy – waitress, Medicine Park

  Dale and Max Hardesty –Jandafar B&B owners

  Chad Hardesty – Max’s brother

  Lamar – cowboy at Jandafar B&B

  Molly Bergen – missing

  Sharon Bergen – missing

  Crystalline Crypt

  PART 1 - TUESDAY

  ~ Chapter 1 ~

  Jenna

  Jenna Wade didn’t want to be followed. She slipped through the hidden rear exit from her sixth-floor office, took the elevator to the ground floor and left the building through the alley. Her pulse pounded as she pushed open her umbrella and plunged into the raging thunderstorm. The warm, wet air clung to her skin.

  Her heart thumped too hard against her ribcage and her breath caught.

  His note had come yesterday. She’d read it, then tucked it into a book on an overstuffed shelf in her home office.

  The words burned a hole in her brain. She’d tossed, sleepless, all night.

  Today her hands trembled. She couldn’t focus on work. Did she really want to see him again?

  What she wanted was for the endless nightmare to end.

  She had to see him.

  Fifteen minutes later, Jenna was peering at her destination when marble-sized hail dropped from the sky. As ice chunks slammed the sidewalk, she took shelter under the awning of the nearest shop. Jenna ducked her head and turned away from the storm. In front of her, narrow LED spotlights illuminated individual paintings in an art gallery window.

  Jenna’s heart stuttered. The awning over the storefront window next door snapped in the wind.

  The dark painting pinpointed by one of the spotlights depicted a woman in a white dress trapped inside a glass crypt. Fear crazed her wide turquoise eyes and the white tips of her contorted fingers clawed at her unyielding prison. Her uplifted face, framed by white-gold hair, caught light beaming in from a single window, high in a wall.

  The blond woman’s face—her face.

  Jenna’s memories yanked her back two decades in time.

  She smelled pine-scented air, dirt on her clothes and smoke from the burning cabin. She tasted his saliva on her lips.

  Her stomach roiled and bile rose in her throat.

  An hour later, Jenna paced her office, shaking. The painting had diverted her from her original mission in the arts district near downtown Tulsa. She didn’t believe it was a coincidence that the meeting place and the gallery were on the same street. She had to talk this through. She couldn’t keep the horrific painting to herself.

  Jenna called her friend Mandy from her cell. “I need you, Mandy. Come now.”

  “It was me,” she blurted after grabbing Mandy’s arm and pulling her inside her office. She described the painting, adding, “They were my eyes, in my face.”

  Amanda Lyons shrugged. “Some artist has a hidden obsession with you.” Amanda’s shoulder-length auburn hair swung forward as she leaned against Jenna’s desk.

  Jenna wrapped her arms around herself and straightened. She’d said too much. She shouldn’t tell Mandy she knew the artist. He wouldn’t have brought the painting to Tulsa unless he knew I was here.

  Mandy frowned and pushed her hair behind her ears. “What are you not telling me?”

  Jenna bolted across the room to the built-in bookcase lining one short wall. Among the many books filling the shelves—mostly annual reports and reference volumes—sat framed photographs of her husband and vacation souvenirs. She hesitated every few feet as she stepped from one end of the shelf to the other, letting her shaking finger trail the edge. She sucked in deep breaths. Her head filled with the faint odors of carpet shampoo and stacks of printed reports.

  It was happening. She’d thought enough time had passed. She’d thought she was safe.

  Safety was an illusion. He
r life was an illusion. She’d held so many things so tight inside her for so long. She couldn’t reveal any of them, even to Mandy, her best and only friend. She fingered a brightly painted carving of an armadillo from the Yucatan, purchased last year on a trip to Cozumel with her husband Sean, Mandy, and her boyfriend Will, Sean’s best friend.

  “Why didn’t you call Sean after you saw this painting? Why didn’t you go to his office?” Irritation was building in her friend’s husky voice.

  “I don’t want Sean to know about the painting.” Jenna set the armadillo back on the shelf and focused on a picture of the four of them at the edge of the ocean, lying in the frothy fingers of the sea.

  And I didn’t want him to know I’d been on my way to meet an old boyfriend.

  “Someone uses you as the subject of a creepy painting and you won’t tell Sean? You never keep anything from Sean. Call him. Now.”

  Jenna steeled herself to remain silent. There were many things she’d kept from Sean and Mandy.

  The painting of the glass crypt is not just a painting. It’s a promise.

  “We should go back,” Mandy said. “Find out the artist’s name. I bet they innocently reproduced you from their memory. You probably met at some random event.”

  There’s nothing innocent about that painting.

  If someone from her past found her, she’d have to run again. From Sean, from Mandy, from her job. From everything. Like before. She couldn’t risk what might happen.

  She couldn’t risk jail time.

  “Forget it. I overreacted.” Jenna hurried over to her desk and jiggled the computer mouse as she dropped into her chair. Her computer screen lit up. Her brain roared. Why did I tell Mandy? She had caved in a moment of panic—a moment of needing to tell someone about that horrible painting. She was so tired of keeping everything inside.

  Why hadn’t she learned over the past twenty years to keep her trap shut? It would never end. Not until she was dead.

  There was no statute of limitations on murder.

  ~ Chapter 2 ~

  Mandy

  Mandy stewed over what Jenna had told her. Without details of what was depicted in the painting, Mandy’s imagination soared. She pictured Jenna in scenarios from erotic fantasy trysts to lesbian love to historical remakes. She imagined her wearing an Elizabethan costume, as Queen Elizabeth I or Marie Antoinette, maybe Cleopatra.

  Why had this painting upset Jenna so much?

  Maybe the woman only resembled Jenna, looked enough like her to make Jenna think the painting was of her.

  She doubted a vague resemblance would send Jenna into such a spiral. At her office cubicle, Mandy pulled a rain slicker from her narrow closet and grabbed her umbrella.

  She rushed past Billie, the office assistant for her section. “Got to go out for foam core,” she called. “In this weather, who knows how long it will take.”

  Mandy punched the elevator button. Jenna hadn’t said where the gallery was, and Mandy hadn’t asked why her friend was wandering around in the August thunderstorm. She hadn’t been a good investigator; she’d left too many questions unasked. Her curiosity had been curbed by the stress evident on Jenna’s face. She’d been concerned for her.

  The Arts District, on the northside of downtown Tulsa, had expanded into former industrial buildings. How many galleries were there now? This could take hours.

  On the sidewalk, rain splashed into puddles. She raised her umbrella, watched the car headlights reflect off the wet cement, looked down the sidewalk one direction and then the other. The weather was miserable. She wasn’t sure she was up for this search.

  Mandy stepped back into the building. Hubble, the security guard, stood behind his desk, grimacing as he stretched. He glanced at her, touched his cap, and looked below the desktop where every five seconds a bank of monitors switched from views of the elevator lobbies on the eight floors above to shots of the long hallways.

  She should have googled Tulsa art galleries and made a list before she left her cubicle. Her thoughts raced. She’d have to do it the old way. “Do you have a phone book? Or the yellow pages?” She crossed the lobby to the desk.

  “Sure thing. Not much of a phone book anymore. Businesses only. Have to use the Internet for anything else.” Shaking his head, Hubble reached into a drawer and set a phone book on the counter. “Have a look.” He grabbed a notepad and a pencil and laid them next to the phone book.

  Mandy flipped through the yellow pages at the back of the volume. Under the “art gallery” heading, fifteen listings were potentially within walking distance, according to street names. It would take several hours to visit each of them if she did this alone.

  The desk phone rang. While Hubble talked, she jotted down addresses. She waved at the guard, tore the page off the notepad, and left the building again. Standing under the building’s portico in the rain-scented air, she called Mike McNally’s office line.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Wrapping up the day.” McNally spoke in a crisp, precise voice. “Ready to walk out of here. What about you?”

  “I need help. There’s something going on with Jenna.” Her conscience twinged. Should she talk to Mike about this? Jenna didn’t even know him.

  “What did her Royal Highness do now?” His tone hardened, and Mandy pictured him taking off his glasses and leaning back in his chair to prop his feet up on the desk.

  “She didn’t do anything, but I need to check on something. You got a minute?”

  “You got the money, honey, I got the time.”

  His suddenly energetic voice set off alarm bells in her head. He was tall, athletic and handsome, not to mention smart and eligible, but she didn’t want to encourage him. “Mike…”

  “Oh, right. Sorry. You and Will.” He sighed. “Why doesn’t Boyfriend Will help you out with this if you guys are so tight?”

  “He’s out of town. I need to move on this now, and I can’t do it alone.”

  “Sounds intriguing. Give me more.”

  “If you have time—an hour, tops—we can do this and then I’ll buy you a pizza. Deal?” She didn’t like negotiating with Mike. Will wouldn’t like it at all.

  “Pizza and a beer,” Mike countered.

  “But just one beer. And we’re done by eight, okay?” She didn’t mean it as a question. Her voice was firm.

  “Who are you, Cinderella?” he quipped.

  “Mike!” Her voice sounded sharper than she’d intended.

  “Meet you out front in ten.”

  She turned off her phone and immediately regretted calling Mike. She’d have to tell him what had happened, not to mention she was searching for the painting despite Jenna’s command to forget it. She should give Jenna another chance to explain before she searched on her own.

  Mandy called Jenna’s office as she stared at the rainy street scene. Headlights glowed on the pavement and umbrellas bobbed on the sidewalks.

  Jenna’s voicemail picked up. “You have reached the office of Jenna Wade. I’m unable to take your call. Leave a message and I’ll call you back before 6 p.m.”

  The phone beeped. Mandy glanced at her watch. 4:30. Had Jenna already left for the day?

  “Jenna, it’s Mandy,” she said, keeping her voice low and even. “I’m still thinking about that painting. You sure you don’t want me to go back to the gallery with you? Call me on my cell. Will’s in Toronto for the week, so I’m going to pick up carryout and binge watch movies all evening. Call me back, okay?”

  It wasn’t a complete lie; Will was gone, and she probably would binge on chick flicks all evening—after she and Mike had found the gallery. Should she feel guilty for stretching the truth or omitting facts?

  She wanted to help Jenna. She owed her. Jenna had always been there for her. Now she could finally repay her, even though Jenna hadn’t asked for help.

  Mandy grouped the galleries into two lists by address as she waited for Mike under the front portico. She also watched for Jenna. If her friend tr
ied to return to the gallery alone, Mandy intended to go with her.

  She considered what Will would say about her search. “If there is the smallest detail someone can’t explain, you imagine an earth-shattering secret.”

  She did love mysteries. And Jenna’s past was a big one.

  Mike pushed through the revolving door and stood at attention in front of her. “Private McNally at your service. Awaiting the details of the mission.” He gave a mock salute and ran his fingers through his black hair. “What’s up?”

  Mandy rolled her eyes but held her negative comment. She needed his energy for the search. “Jenna was caught in the hailstorm earlier today. She took shelter under an awning in front of a shop. The shop turned out to be an art gallery. And the picture in the front window was of a woman who looked like her. She came back dripping wet and freaked out. Called me to her office.”

  “She should have gone inside, asked who the artist was, gotten his number, and called him. Why didn’t she?” Mike flipped up the collar of his black raincoat and opened his umbrella.

  “I wish I knew. After she told me about it, she told me to forget it.”

  “Like that’s going to happen. Your mind is a vault. And I mean that in a good way.” He tossed her a charming grin, showing white teeth.

  Mandy ignored him. His way of widening his eyes and leaning close made her uncomfortable. And it wasn’t only because she was dating Will. “I’ve made a list of the art galleries within walking distance of this building. I’ve grouped them by street and divided the list in half. You head off that way and I’ll start this direction. We’re looking for a painting in the gallery’s front window. The woman in it looks like Jenna.”

  “Right.” Mike glanced at his list. “You have your cell?”

  She nodded. “Call if you find it. And I’ll meet you at Arnie’s in an hour unless one of us finds it. Six o’clock, for pizza and one beer.”