He looked up. “Hello?’’
“It’s Lydia,’’ she answered.
He smiled. “Lydia, how are you?’’
“Curious.’’
“About?’’
“About what you said the last time I was here.’’ She was speaking softly because his demeanor, his church, demanded it. But she was feeling like herself again, not afraid, not ashamed like an intruder. She was angry. She felt tough, aggressive. And she felt familiar with him, like she had known him for years.
“We talked of many things.’’
“You know what I mean. You said my mother would be happy to know I had come home to God.’’
“It’s true, isn’t it?’’
“Yes, it is. But how did you know to say that? I mean, what do you know about me? What do you know about my mother?’’
“Perhaps we should sit down. You’re upset.’’
She preferred to stand away but sat beside him in spite of herself. “Just tell me what you meant.’’
“Lydia, you have conducted a number of interviews on National Public Radio where you were quite candid about the death of your mother and how it affected you. I could sense when you came to see me that she was very much on your mind and the church had some strong connection to that. I was only trying to help you. I didn’t mean to cause you any more pain.’’
She scanned her mind for what she had said in interviews on the air. Would she have mentioned that her mother was a religious person and that she was not? Any moron could have made the inference he made from a statement like that. But she couldn’t remember.
Juno had his head cocked to the side and a questioning look on his face as he waited for her to respond.
Why are you She asked herself not for the first time.
“I dreamt of you,’’ she found herself confessing. She revealed the details of her dream to him.
“Others have claimed to dream of me and a loved one. Some claim that I help them communicate with people on the ‘other side.’ I can’t explain that. But maybe your mother is trying to tell you something.’’
This answer annoyed her because it managed to be vague and presumptuous at the same time.
“What do you think she is trying to tell me, Juno? And what do you have to do with it?’’ She knew that she sounded belligerent.
“Maybe she is trying to tell you to let go of the past,’’ he said, calmly, not even responding to her angry tone.
“I have let go of the past.’’
“Running away from the past and letting go of it, moving forward, are two different things.’’
His words were sincere, and they touched her because she knew he was really trying to help her. He was not trying to manipulate her, but she felt invaded, felt herself edging away from him inside, bringing down walls to protect her truth. She wasn’t responding any better to this “psychic healer’’ than she had to any of her shrinks. Go figure.
What do your dead parents tell you, you smug bastard? The words were poison darts, waiting to be thrown. But she held her tongue, knowing they were vicious, designed to hurt deeply.
“You don’t know me,’’ she said weakly.
“That’s true…in a way. But then why have you come here?’’ he asked calmly, unflappable.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know,’’ she answered. She honestly didn’t know. She had planned to avoid the church, yet she had carried quarters to light the votive candles. Instead of turning away from the church, she ran right to it. Was it something outside herself or inside her that had led her back here?
She rose to leave. “I’m sorry,’’ she said again.
“Please don’t be sorry, Lydia. I understand you.’’ They were simple words, easy to say. But he meant them and they touched her, even if she wasn’t sure they were true.
“When you’re ready, you’ll be back,’’ he said. He rose also, and finished putting his guitar away as if their conversation had never interrupted him.
She paused and looked at him. He looked so normal, so earthly now. He no longer seemed angelic to her, as he had while he was playing his guitar during mass. He was flesh and blood, like she was. How could he exert so much power over her emotions?
“When I’m ready for what?’’
“To come home to God, of course.’’
“But why you?’’ she asked. “Why were you in my dream?’’
She knew what he was going to say before he said it and was disappointed at the cliche in advance.
“The Lord works in mysterious ways, Lydia.’’
She walked up the aisle, more confused than she had been when she entered. But something that had been like a stone in her heart had shifted.
Thirteen
Before Jeffrey headed to the station house, he called the New York office to check in and to let his partners know that he was unofficially looking into something with Lydia. As Jeff walked the perimeter of Lydia’s house, making a security check, he spoke to Jacob Hanley on his cellular phone.
“You want us to send some guys down?’’ asked Hanley.
“I don’t think so. Not yet, anyway. I’m not convinced there’s anything going on here.’’
“Well, it does sound a little weird. And have you ever known her to be wrong?’’
“That’s the only reason I’m here at all.’’
“Yeah, right.’’
“What’s that supposed to mean?’’
“I wish you two would just get it over with.’’
“Mind your own business, Hanley.’’
“I mean, you need to just take control of the situation. Force her to realize that she loves you, man. Give her an ultimatum.’’
“I think you’ve been watching too much daytime television. Fuck off, Hanley.’’
“Don’t get your panties in a twist. Meanwhile, why don’t I run a few checks up here for you…What were those names again?’’
“Do that. Make yourself useful, for once.’’ He gave Hanley the names and hung up. Believe me, he thought, no one would like to get it over with more than I would.
As far as the security of Lydia’s home went, he was happy except for the fact that the breaker box was outside the house. It was in a locked, weatherproof yellow case, but if the power for the alarm system was located in there, it wasn’t ideal. He wasn’t overly concerned, though, because the system, he knew, was designed to default to alarm. In other words, if the power went out, a signal still went to the local police. But he would need to check with Lydia about the setup later.
He got into Lydia’s Kompressor and headed to the station. He thought about calling ahead to let Morrow know he was coming but decided to keep the element of surprise on his side. One could never be sure how local law enforcement would react to private investigators, particularly ones without actual clients. Jeffrey wanted the facts as they existed, not narrated or colored by someone else’s agenda – whatever that may be. He expected Morrow to be wary of him after their last meeting in St. Louis. Jeffrey had been sure that was the end of Morrow’s career, whether he deserved it or not. Jeffrey wondered if Morrow was still drinking.
He walked into the small precinct house and was greeted by a burly, redheaded desk sergeant who eyed him suspiciously.
“I’m Jeffrey Mark,’’ he said, flashing his private investigator’s identification out of habit. “I’m here to see Chief Simon Morrow.’’
The desk sergeant never took his eyes off him as he picked up the phone and dialed.
“There’s some private investigator here to see you, Chief.’’ He paused. “Okay.’’ He said to Jeffrey, “What is this regarding?’’
“Just tell him Lydia Strong asked me to talk to him about Lucky.’’
The sergeant repeated the information into the phone and paused before putting the receiver back in the cradle. “Have a seat. He’ll be right with you.’’
“Thanks, I’ll stand.’’
When Morrow walked out from a door behind the desk, he did a double take as he recognized Jeffrey. But he recovered nicely and offered his hand. Jeffrey took it and felt that his grip was strong but somewhat clammy. He thought Morrow was sober; his eyes were clear and his breath smelled of peppermint and coffee. But he was definitely guarded, looking Jeffrey up and down uneasily.