Forthwith wondrous day, delights await.
Thoughts of yesterday are merely bittersweet,
Yet so sweet that my heart still longs for more.
Joy borne of the anticipation of a new day.
Time is serving of no man, it is free.
My heart gives way to desire, my future is nigh,
All swept up in emotion I pass by.
Caught up in the wind I glide on.
Forthwith wondrous day, delights await.
Pressed heavily toward tomorrow, sweet tomorrow.
The heart bemoans the things unknown.
Happy day that settles upon fates wings.
Joy is not lost in time, it is lost in me.
I have risen up to clutch at fates hands,
Feverishly I cling to anticipated joy.
I am halfway between heaven and hell,
Closer each day to heaven. (1.)
Chapter 1
"I don't think we're ever going to know what his motive was." Catherine looked across the table at Grissom who raised his eyebrow, just a little, in retort. "It wasn't jealousy, he didn't care enough about her. It wasn't money because he knew the insurance payout would go to her brother. It just doesn't feel like a tidy ending to me."
"Murder never is. However as long as the investigation is, it doesn't matter how tidily the motive is wrapped up for us. It's of no consequence."
"It matters to me Gil, it matters to a lot of people. I care about the impact our investigation has on the innocent people it leaves behind." Catherine picked up the manila folder from the table in front of her and stood, pushing back her chair with one swift movement. She looked fed up and more than a little tired. It's not his fault she thought, let it go Cath, Lindsey's waiting for me, it's movie night.
"Night Gil, enjoy your weekend off, say hello to the bugs for me." And with a "Hey Sara," she left the room.
"Night Catherine." Sara stepped into the briefing room and pulled out the chair next to Grissom, "I'm beat."
Grissom turned and gave her a smile. "Time to go."
"Yeah," there was a slight pause as the two looked knowingly at each other, "my place?" Sara asked quietly.
"Actually how about coming away with me this weekend, I think I could do with a change of scene?" The smile was still on his face but Gil's eyes looked far away.
"Bad day?" Sara spoke softly.
"Bad case." Gil shot a glance over his shoulder, the verticals were down and the door was closed. He took Sara's hand under the table and gave a gentle squeeze. "How about it?"
"Ok," Sara felt the warmth from his hand radiate up through her arm into her body, "lets go."
"I kind of thought you meant a bed and breakfast on the outskirts of Vegas somewhere. I was a little mystified when you took us to the airport, now that we've been driving for … of yeah," Sara looked at her watch, "over an hour I'm getting a little scarred."
"I worked a case here once. Evie Bradshore." They had passed through a small town about a mile back. Gil slowed the rental car and signalled right, he guided the car onto a dirt road at the foot of a hill. On either side of the road lay an endless sea of dying grass. The car bounced as it took a nasty bump, Gil slowed the car a little. "Her body was found carefully laid out on an empty burial plot in the town cemetery." Gil made a sound like disbelief as he remembered, "She was covered in sunflowers."
"Sunflowers!" Sara reached for the hand hold above the passenger seat as they took another bump with very little grace. "Where does a killer find something that beautiful in a place like this?"
Just then the road began to flatten out and Sara caught sight of a large old house. As they approached the house she got a better idea of it's condition. It looked like the kind of house a rich Southern farmer might have built in the early 1800's. And at that time, she was quite sure, it would have been something to see. Now it's wood, so long without repainting, had gone black with age and the effects from years of rain. The windows which had once supposedly boasted wooden shutters, now housed glass so thick they appeared opaque. The dirt road led straight into what appeared to be a make shift parking lot at the back of the once grand house. Wooden sleepers marked out narrow parking spaces, Gil selected one and the car came to a stop. Theirs was the only car in the parking lot. This is not a good sign. Sara thought to herself as she arched her back and stretched her legs in an attempt to get some feeling back in them. She looked up at the back of the house and grimaced.
Gil walked around the car and took her by the hand, "Come on," he smiled reassuringly, "leave the bags for now I want to show you something."
Hand in hand the two walked around the old house, the side of which was in no better condition than the back. A storm drain had come loose and this close to the house Sara could smell the rotting wood. Remnants of a small rock garden near by somehow made it appear even more pitiful.
The front of the house looked out over the ruins of what was probably once a very beautiful garden. Now just a mass of weeds, half dead trees, fallen rockeries and a broken bird bath.
The front of the house itself was being held up by the only part of the house that appeared to have been maintained. A veranda ran all the way from one side of the house to the other. With it's fresh coat of white paint it put the rest of the house to shame.
"Ah yes, I see what you mean," Sara's sarcasm was less than subtle, "it's much better from this side."
Gil tugged her hand gently, "This way." Still hand in hand Gil leading the way they navigated the fallen garden.
At the far end of the garden, some distance from the house, a shrubbery grew. It had probably once enclosed the garden but was now just a mass of dead twigs. Gil and Sara made their way through it to the other side. Even before they were half way though Sara gasped. On the other side of the shrubbery the hill dropped away and at the bottom lay a valley of yellow sunflowers.
Gil let go of Sara's hand and put his arm around her, she reciprocated and leaned into him. "It's wonderful!"
"See, you should always trust me." Sara looked at him and he kissed her gently on the mouth.
Sara looked back down into the valley. "So that's were the sunflowers came from."
"Ah ha, and that's why we interviewed Mary."
"Mary?"
"She owns the land in this valley and grows the flowers, she lives in the house at the end of the field. Sara could just make out a small house. Due to the distance it looked very small and completely overshadowed by its yellow neighbours. "It's been twenty years since I was here, she writes to me once a year like clockwork, she even sends me pictures of the sunflowers. It's quite a walk but it will give us a chance to stretch our legs, what do you think?"
Sara looked at Gil, "Is she expecting us?"
"No but I don't think she'll mind, come on!"
After having walked through the entire field of flowers Sara's face was flushed with excitement. The smile that had dimpled her cheeks when they first entered the field refused to go and Sara was quite happy to let it remain.
It wasn't the flowers that made Gil happy, it was the look on Sara's face. It seemed to bring back a look of innocence that their job all to often robbed them of. Any other woman would have been tempted to pick the flowers, not Sara, she would rather see them live. He took her hand again. Out here in the middle of nowhere it didn't matter who saw them. It had been a good idea getting away from Vegas, and the office. The office, that persistent worry returned for a moment. The one were he thought about all the things that might happen when the truth about he and Sara came out. Not today he told himself, not today.
Sara turned to look back at the sunflowers, Gil caressed her hand as he held it in his. "How does she do it Gil, she must have help. Think of all the hours of hard work it would require to maintain this property."
"She does have help." The voice came from behind them, Gil let go of Sara's hand as they both spun around.
"Mary." Twenty years had taken its toll on everyone Gil knew, including himself, but not on Mary. She appeared very much untouched by the time that had passed. "You look well."
"And you Gilbert." She was a tall woman with fine greying blonde hair swept up into a pony tail. She had to be close to seventy years old but she didn't look a day over fifty. She pulled the leather gardening gloves off her hands as she spoke. "Ever since my husband died I've employed a full time gardener, the man who's with me now I couldn't live without." She smiled at Gil, turning her gaze enquiringly to Sara.
Gil caught the transference and stepped in, "This is Sara, Sara Sidle."
"Well Sara Sidle, Gilbert, you'd better come in.
The house was exactly as he remembered it. The same cream coloured walls, the same wooden floor and the same green velvet drapes hanging from wooden rings. A large wooden white washed cabinet took up half the entrance which opened up into a large bright living room. The far side of the living room was one very large window overlooking Mary's field of sunflowers. A large green and yellow floral covered sofa complimented the astonishing view. Stepping into the room was like stepping through a portal in time.
"Take a seat, make yourselves comfortable." It was the same words from the same voice that had greeted him the first time he visited the house that time forgot.
"My name if Phillip Gerard, this is my colleague Gilbert Grissom Mrs Morgan, we need to ask you a few questions about the death of Evie Bradshore."
Gil was thirty three years old, he had only been with the crime lab for two
months. He respected Gerard, might even have called him a mentor, and gave way to his seniority even though it was against his nature. Gil observed the room, his surrounding, and then turned his attentions to Mrs Mary Morgan. She was an intelligent well educated woman, polite and kind but there was a hardness to her that told Gil she was no stranger to hardship.
Mrs Mary Morgan served them tea on an antique silver platter and poured the tea from a porcelain tea pot into matching porcelain tea cups. Gerard just looked annoyed by the whole ritual, Knowing that if he wanted to get any information from this woman he would have to play along. Gil found the whole thing quite intriguing.
After making polite conversation while they sipped afternoon tea, Gil made the first bid for answers. "You found the body Mrs Morgan, what were you doing in the cemetery?" Gerard looked relieved by the question and certainly didn't care that it sounded almost impertinent.
The impertinence was not lost on Mary Morgan, she simply chose to ignore it. "Mary, please, everyone calls me Mary."
"Mary," and a little softer this time, "what were you doing in the cemetery yesterday?"
"I buried my husband there the day before yesterday." The words came as a shock to Gerard, but not to Gil. Her eyes were still bloodshot from the tears she had shed in private. "Plot 47. He died on Wednesday, he had a heart attach. He was older than I you see, fifteen years older, he would have been sixty three this year." She made a noise not unlike a half hearted laugh. At this point she was far away.
Gerard felt it was his duty to snap her out of it and get the show on the road. "Tell us about the sunflowers Mrs Morgan" …..
On their way out Gil stopped in the doorway and turned to face Mary, "You have a very clean house Mary." He stopped talking and sniffed the air, "bleach and …," he sniffed again, "lemon?"
Mary, one hand on the door replied, "I hope you'll come to tea again one day Gilbert." and gently closed it behind them.
"I have three passions in life." Gil and Sara were seated together on the slightly worn yellow and green sofa as Mary handed them cups of coffee. She continued, "my husband, my flowers and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Reading his poetry late at night before the lights go out makes me feel less lonely. I was never interested in the escape of poetry before my husband died. Now it affords me a life line I cling to from time to time." She took a seat across from her visitors and brought a hot cup of coffee to her lips.
"Longfellow, I remember studying him in college. Professor Hallstead I think, he had a thing for the classics." Sara leaned back against the sofa holding the cup of coffee she had just been given in her lap. She wrapped her hands around the cup enjoying its warmth. "We had to write a term paper on "The Courtship Of Miles Standish"."
There was a noise just then from the corner of the room which took Gil and Sara by surprise, Sara sat back up. A large brown dog peered at them through old sleepy eyes. His tail was still for a moment, he looked at Gil and then at Sara, their smiles were not lost on him, his tail began to move slowly from side to side. The old dog lowered his head submissively as the speed of his waging tail increased, he walked to were Gil and Sara sat, anticipation evident in his eyes. Sara's smile widened, she felt Gil move forward in the seat beside her. He smiled as she patted the old dog. He chewed his lip looking from Sara to were Mary sat still sipping her coffee.
"When it's time to go outside he's as deaf as a post, but when he hears his name and thinks there's a chance of a pat behind the ear … well there you have it." Mary motioned toward her adored companion.
"His name?" Sara looked puzzled. Gil continued to watch her as she sat beside him gently patting the now contented animal. His smile deepened. There was a look of euphoria that came over his face whenever Sara smiled.
Mary noted the look with a touch of disbelief, she brought the cup of coffee down from her lips. "His name is Standish. I to am a fan of that particular poem." She reclined in her chair as she continued to watch Gil, who's eyes were still on Sara. "But the poem I love the most is 'The Footsteps Of Angels'." Mary turned her gaze back to Sara who was now patting Standish with one hand and attempting to drink her coffee with the other.
"There is a framed copy of the poem hanging from the wall by the stairs in the hotel on the hill. Although there's not a shred of evidence so the story goes, Longfellow stayed there once, a very long time ago. If it were true it would have been around the time the hotel first opened in 1860. That's how I met my husband as it happens. He loved poetry and spent much of his life, before he met me, searching for places of poetic significance." She paused and took what appeared to be a painful breath, "He was a very good man."
Mary got up. "Stay for lunch." It wasn't a request.
Gil glanced at Sara who nodded and smiled. "That would be lovely." He looked ready to stand.
"Stay, I'll be right back."
As she left the room Gil looked over at a bookshelf full of all kinds of books. First editions, paperbacks, a very old set of Encyclopaedia, now defunct, and a set of hard covered volumes that immediately caught his attention. "I didn't know you had an interest in entomology." He got up, walked over to the shelf, selected a volume and returned to his seat beside Sara.
"I don't, but after receiving half a dozen letters from you and not knowing what you were talking about, I figured it was time to do some research. Help yourself." Came the reply from the kitchen.
Gil looked up from the already open book, "Thanks!" Sara snickered and he smiled at her.
While Mary prepared lunch Gil and Sara poured over the book of bugs. Sara never fained interest were Gil was concerned, she was genuinely interested in whatever intrigued him. She listened as he spoke about the life cycle of Lepidoptera and the close relation of the moth to the butterfly. When they got to the 'Stinky Leaf Wing' Sara made a comment about never letting snap happy geeks with nets name things. Gil took her hand and kissed it.
Mary finished up in the kitchen, she arranged the sandwiches she had made on a tray with a fresh pot of tea. Picking up the tray she made her way back to the living room. She was just in time to see Gilbert tenderly kissing Sara Sidle's hand. The sweet gesture made her sad as she remembered her husband saying, Sometimes we make love with our eyes. Sometimes we make love with our hands. Sometimes we make love with our bodies. Always we make love with our hearts. (2.) Moreover she was taken aback for the second time today by Gilberts tenderness. She had summed him up the day they met as the kind of man who may never experience real love. He was formidable at his job, stern and unrelenting with the kind of compassion one had to work very hard to earn. He was quietly observant to the point were he seemed to pass by almost unnoticed. Yet here he sat with the look of a man altogether smitten, possessing new found tenderness exclusively reserved for one person.
"Lunch is ready." Sara looked up as Mary made her announcement.
They talked about poetry, insects, gardening and even the weather. Time passed by pleasantly as the afternoon encroached upon evening. No one mentioned murder.
Chapter 2
The foyer of the once elegant hotel was in better condition than the outside of the building. It was 4pm, yet due to the thick glass windows and heavy drapes the lights where already on. Gil took the room key from the badly dressed clerk who fumbled with their bags until he had an acceptable grip on them.
"This way," he motioned toward the large stairway that started in the middle of the room and ended somewhere to the left out of sight.
There was no dust on the banisters and the carpets looked clean, apart from streaks of water damage down the walls, everything was neat and clean. Sara stopped at a small window partway up the stairs and looked out. The window looked out over the right side of the hotel. She found herself looking down onto the dented tin roof of a storage shed. Not much to see, she thought, and was about to turn away when she caught sight of a gilded picture frame hanging from the wall near the window. Instead of housing and appropriately old fashioned painting, words jumped out at her from the frame.
"Coming?" Gil stopped a little further up the stairs and looked back at her.
"I'll catch up. Room 16 right." Sara stepped a little closer to the frame and read "Footsteps Of Angels".
"Ok." And Gil disappeared up the stairs.
When the hours of Day are numbered,
And the voices of the Night
Wake the better soul, that slumbered,
To a holy, calm delight;
Ere the evening lamps are lighted,
And, like phantoms grim and tall,
Shadows from the fitful firelight
Dance upon the parlor wall;
Then the forms of the departed
Enter at the open door;
The beloved, the true-hearted,
Come to visit me once more;
He, the young and strong, who cherished
Noble longings for the strife,
By the roadside fell and perished,
Weary with the march of life!
They, the holy ones and weakly,
Who the cross of suffering bore,
Folded their pale hands so meekly,
Spake with us on earth no more!
And with them the Being Beauteous,
Who unto my youth was given,
More than all things else to love me,
And is now a saint in heaven.
With a slow and noiseless footstep
Comes that messenger divine,
Takes the vacant chair beside me,
Lay her gentle hand in mine.
And she sits and gazes at me
With those deep and tender eyes,
Like the stars, so still and saint-like,
Looking downward from the skies.
Uttered not, yet comprehended,
Is the spirit's voiceless prayer,
Soft rebukes, in blessings ended,
Breathing from her lips of air.
Oh, though oft depressed and lonely,
All my fears are laid aside,
If I but remember only
Such as these have lived and died!
- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (3.)
Their room was small with a large four poster bed against one wall. A large brick fire place took up the centre of the opposite wall and a small window flanked by red threadbare drapes presented itself on another. Sara didn't bother to look out.
"It gets very cold in here at night, it's the damp in the walls, I'll be up to start the fire while dinner is being served." Said the clerk, now on the far side of the bed, as he opened a door which lead to a large bathroom desperately in need of remodelling. The door to the bathroom now open he came back around the bed and stood by the door. "Dinner is at 7 in the dinning room downstairs." And he closed the door behind him.
"Wow!" Sara stood looking into the outdated bathroom, "It may be old, but look at the size of the bathtub." She turned and smiled at Gil who was standing in the middle of the bedroom with his hands in his pockets watching her. "I can't think of anything better right now, can you?" With a half wink in his direction Sara pulled her top over her head and threw it on the bed. "Are you coming?" Gil followed her into the bathroom and closed the door behind them.
The water was warm, Gil lay back against the side of the old bathtub. With his arm around her Sara was using his chest as a pillow and her legs were wrapped around his body. There weren't any bubbles, such luxuries are not afforded when you rent a cheap room in a run down hotel on the top of a hill.
Sara felt completely relaxed, she put her hand on her lovers chest and stroked his warm skin. "So tell me about Evie Bradshore." She let her eyes close as she nestled contentedly against him.
"She wasn't a nice person by all accounts." His voice was soothing, even with her eyes closed Sara listened intently. "The only person we didn't get to interview was her husband Jamie, James Bradshore. He was under suspicion right from the start merely because he ran off with Evie's young daughter in tow the night she was murdered. We never had enough evidence to bring a case to trial so it was decided that a search for the missing husband would not be mounted. On top of everything, no one could give us an accurate description of Jamie Bradshore. He had lived like a hermit all his life and no one except Evie had seen him since he left school in the sixth form. The only thing we knew about him was that he had a slight hair-lip. The whole thing seemed futile.
Some of the towns people we interviewed declined to comment when it came to Evie's personal life, those who did acceded that she was the kind of woman who found herself in a different bed every night and didn't care who knew it. She spent every penny she made as a waitress on gambling trips to Vegas, alcohol, drugs and cigarettes. It's even possible she was prostituting herself from time to time.
Investigations in small towns are difficult because the six degrees of separation have been broken down to two degrees, and in some cases even one degree. Everyone you talk to is afraid the truth will impact to close to home so they change their story ever so slightly. By the end you have a whole lot of stories that don't quite fit, because everyone has told one little white lie.
We had enough information to put together a basic story. At some point in her life Evie had managed to alienate just about everyone. Instead of friends she had angry ex-lovers, angry wives, fed up employers and loan sharks snapping at her heals. She also found herself pregnant and very much alone. She probably knew Jamie from school, figured living the way he did, alone in the middle of nowhere, he may not have heard about the mess she had made of her life. She seduced him, persuaded him to accept the child and they got married.
As far as we could tell she actually lived with him as man and wife for some years after. At some point she started coming back to town and a merry-go-round started up. She would come to town, hook up with someone, spend all the money she had and end up penniless and alone again. She would go back to Jamie and the little girl for a while, yet sooner than later she ended up on the back of some guys Harley."
Sara lifted her head and squinted her nose at Gil, "You wouldn't know a Harley if you saw one."
He just looked at her engagingly and continued. "When her body was found the couple had been separated for about three months. We took down a statement from a resident at this hotel. He saw Evie, the night before she was murdered, after dark in the hotel car park. She was arguing with a tall thin man by a rusted blue pick-up with one tall light out. The description fitted what we knew about the husband, including the pick-up. But we soon discovered there were several other towns people who also fit the description.
Evie had been staying at the hotel from time to time, perhaps between men. We searched her room for clues, blood, seamen and signs of motive, but the room had been thoroughly cleaned. Someone had used bleach on every surface and changed the bedding before leaving with the soiled linen. The only thing of note was the smell of lemon left in the room.
As you already know the sunflowers led us to Mary Morgan. But as the whole town had access to the flowers, they proved absolutely nothing. The case was closed." For a moment neither Gil nor Sara said anything.
Sara broke the silence, "Did it bother you … the first case you didn't solve?"
"How did you know it wa …" Gil, taken aback by Sara's shrewdness looked down at her laying against him in the warm clear water. He wrapped his other arm around her and ran his fingers through her hair. "Yeah, it bothered me." Gil let his head fall back and he closed his eyes.
Dinner was an interesting experience. The dinning room was one large room, lite exclusively by the fire that had been lit in a large old fashioned brick fireplace on the far wall. The drapes had been drawn over the ugly glass windows plunging the far reaches of the room into darkness. Although in its heyday the room could easily have catered for two hundred guests, tonight three small round tables had been erected before the fireplace. They looked contemptible and alone bathed in firelight and ravaged by the effects of time.
A small woman in a frilly white apron was polishing a soup spoon on her frills. She looked up as Gil and Sara entered. "You can sit," she blushed, "dinner will be ready soon." Her voice was a whisper dredged up from the depths of her shyness with every bit of strength she had. No sooner had the words been uttered the shy little waitress fled from the room.
"No menu?" Sara playfully enquired of thin air. "I guess we can sit." She pulled a chair out from the table in the middle and sat down.
"Nothing would be more tiresome than eating and drinking if God had not made them a pleasure as well as a necessity." (4.) Gil took the seat opposite rearranging the place setting in front of him as he did so. He frowned at the fork as he moved it to the left.
"Voltaire." There was a hint of satisfaction in Sara's voice.
Gil looked at her across the small round table and gave her an appreciative smile.
"After all the trouble you go to, you get about as much actual "food" out of eating an artichoke as you would from licking 30 to 40 postage stamps." (5.) Sara grinned mischievously.
Gil gave her a quiz-ickle look.
"Miss Piggy."
Gil fought hard to keep a straight face, for some reason he didn't want her to know he found that funny.
Sara looked at the man sitting across the table from her. He was looking at the cutlery suspiciously, rearranging them had not resolved his ill feeling. It had been a wonderful day, she had been so happy over the last two months that it simply didn't seem plausible to claim she was even happier. Every time she was in his arms Sara felt a feeling akin to rebirth. A kind of happiness she had previously never felt, a kind of happiness she never knew existed. Making love to him and falling asleep in his arms was unequivocally the most delicious experience of her life.
In the second that brought reality with it a tall thinly built man entered the dinning room. The man sported a head of thick brown hair and a moustache to match. Without even a look in the direction of his dinning companions he seated himself at the table on the left.
Sara gave Gil a look that seemed to say, "That was interesting."
Leaving no time for a responding look a voice exclaimed, "We have company this evening Anthony!" Two figures stepped from the darkness into the light of the fire.
The sight before Gil and Sara may have once befit the surroundings, but for two people who regularly found themselves on a very modern Strip starring down at another dead body, it was more like a scene from 'The Asphalt Jungle'. (6.) They were an elderly couple, very much dressed for dinner, although they appeared to be about sixty years to late for their meal.
The woman, who was very thin, wore a long black dress that hugged her body right down to her ankles. There was a single strand of pearls around her neck and she was clutching a sequined evening bag with one immaculate white glove. The other glove was on the arm of her equally well dressed companion.
The man was dressed in a fine black evening suit finished off by two-toned black and white shoes and the most extravagant tie Sara had ever seen. The tie was red and black, in the foreground the naked form of a woman had been transformed into what appeared to be the trunk of a tree. Two large butterflies flitted from her branches. (7.)
The luminous couple took several very elegant steps towards Gil and Sara. "A pleasure I'm sure," the gentleman with the naked woman on his tie said, more to the woman draped over his arm than his audience at the table. "My wife Joanne," he motioned with his free hand, "and I am Anthony."
Sara smiled to herself, two names for two people. Dressed in such finery it would be blasphemy to shorten them. She couldn't imagine anyone calling them "Joe" or "Andy". Not sure yet how the next few moments would turn out Sara kept strict reign over her composure as Gil introduced them, he was wearing his "Grissom" face.
"Gil Grissom, Sara Sidle." He was still wearing his "Grissom" face.
Sara was amused and more than a little curious. "Join us wont you?" Out of the corner of her eye she saw Gil's head turn suddenly towards her. His eyelids were pulled back so far that the whites of his eyes were visible.
He recovered quickly and gave Anthony and Joanne a hesitant smile as they took a seat at the table. He looked at Sara with an expression that seemed to say, "You will pay for this latter." This just amused Sara further.
"Are you visiting the area as well?" Sara placed her arms on the table in front of her and leaned in.
"No dear, no, we've lived in this town for over fifty years. We used to own the local cinema. Half price Tuesdays and double feature Fridays." Joanne looked at her husband nostalgically. "We live here now, have done for almost six years." She went on to tell them about the days when she was a little girl and Sunday church services turned into picnics in the hotel garden, how beautiful the garden was then.
Anthony talked about his college days, studying the masters, debauchers as they were. He could still recite whole passages by heart. He reminisced about trips he and his wife had taken when they were still young. They had honeymooned in Venice, visited European art galleries and sunbathed on several foreign shores.
Gil was deep in conversation with Anthony towards the end of the meal. A surprisingly good meal, commendably prepared, if not so commendably served up by their bashful waitress. Sara looked over at the two men and wondered what they had to talk about. Joanne had pulled out photos of their son and was proudly showing them to Sara.
"He's a lawyer you know." Joanne told Sara for the second time. "He could have chosen anywhere to practice after university, he chose to come back home. He loved it here as a child, I guess you can't take the child out of the man." She sat back in her chair and for a brief second it appeared as though a cloud had passed over her face. Then her playful smile was back again. "It was wonderful to have met you my dear, you must take very good care of her Gil. I fear that dinner has taken it's toll on me, I must excuse us so that my husband may take me back to our room."
Sara and Gil both stood to shake hands with their dinner companions. "On a daily basis I am surprised by my lack of surprise, today being the exception." Gil watched as they left.
It was then Sara turned and noticed that their silent guest was still in residence. The solitary man had finished his meal and placed a napkin over his empty plate. He had pushed his chair back from the table in order to make room for the newspaper he was now buried in.
The fire in their room made the air so warm that blankets were unnecessary. Gil was still awake, he had propped himself up on one elbow so as to have a better vantage point as he watched Sara sleep. She usually fell asleep after they made love, she always looked so peaceful. He had watched her as her eyes closed and all evidence of thought fell from her face. Her cheeks were still pink and flushed from making love and her lips had parted involuntarily as sleep took hold. Gill moved his eyes down her body as the firelight danced over their naked forms. His hand was still on her hip, he didn't dare move it for fear of waking her. He summed up the courage and ever so gently moved his hand, brushing her skin so lightly that he could feel the soft hairs on her body.
The departure of his hand revealed a pair of delicate wings. The tops of the wings were such a deep shade of blue that they appeared black. As the colour moved down the wings the blue became more vibrant until the blue was so pure it took Gil's breath away. A small gasp, easily mistaken for a breath, escaped his lips and he looked up at her face. Her eyes watched him as he did so.
Feeling abashed for having woken her his lips parted to atone. Sara lifted a finger up to his lips, when the urge to speak was abated her hand fell silently to the sheets. The lovers gazed affectionately at one another.
"Limenitis arthemis astyanax." (9.) Gil spoke softly as though he feared the shadows that danced on the walls might hear them.
"What?" a smile appeared on Sara's face.
"Red spotted purple."
Now Sara understood, she lifted her head from the pillow and looked down at the side of her body to her tattoo. "I think I prefer it's Latin name." She whispered back to him.
Gil watched her face as she lay back down, he had a sudden need to be closer to her. The agony of his need was so sweet he forced his thoughts to slow. He looked into her eyes moving his body, ever so slightly, towards hers, as his hand moved over her skin. He took endless moments in slow motion as his hand moved up her leg, over her buttocks behind butterfly wings and up to her waist. He stopped for a moment as though to catch his breath. Sara lay back, Gil's hand came over onto her belly and she sighed as it continued to move slowly upward. As his hand cupped her breast Gil kissed her on the lips, she kissed back and his hand tightened. Gil moved his body closer still, he was pressed against her side. He pulled away his lips and his hand moved from her breast to her face, he brushed a strand of hair from her eyes as though it were obscuring his view.
"I shot an arrow into the air, It fell to earth, I knew not where; For, so swiftly it flew, the sight could not follow it in its flight. I breathed a song into the air, it fell to earth, I knew not where; For who has sight so keen and strong, that it can follow the flight of song? Long, long afterward, in an oak I found the arrow, still unbroken; And the song from beginning to end, I found again in the heart of a friend." (8.) Gil put his arm beneath Sara as his body moved over hers, he kissed her again and pulled her towards him.
The fire had gone out sometime in the early hours of the morning. Neither Gil or Sara had remembered to pull the drapes over the window the previous evening, now the few rays of morning sun that were strong enough to penetrate the thick glass window came to rest on the floor of the room.
"I need to be on a plane from Vegas at 5am tomorrow morning. I'm teaching a human remains recovery class at the body farm. I'll be back on Friday." Gil and Sara lay arm in arm the cover under there chins, with the fire had gone the warmth. "We'll have to fly back tonight, there's a plane leaving at 6.45 this evening. We'll have to leave here by 5."
Sara murmured, "Ok." without opening her eyes.
"I think we've missed breakfast."
"I don't care." After a lazy silence Sara opened her eyes, "Let's make up for it. I'll get some food from the kitchen for lunch and we can picnic in the sunflowers."
Gil thought about it for a moment, he didn't know if he was the picnicking kind of person. Maybe if he brought something to read. "Ok."
Chapter 3
Sara stood on the veranda looking out over the remnants of what was once beautiful. The air was warm on her cheeks and a faint breeze moved through the overgrown garden like an invisible predator. She looked away as a slow moving silver pick-up made its way around the side of the hotel and came to a stop beside the stairs. The driver was their silent dinner companion from the night before.
"That's Gordon," Sara turned, the badly dressed clerk was wearing another ill fitting outfit today. He handed her the checkout receipt and she nodded her thanks. "He's Mary Morgan's gardener."
Gordon was loading gardening equipment into the back of his truck. Having caught sight of the clerk standing next to Sara on the veranda, he paused long enough to give the wardrobe challenged man a look of obvious disdain.
The clerk returned the look, "I don't know why Mr Godfrey lets him store that stuff here." He mumbled indignantly as he turned and walked back into the building.
"Sara!" Exclaimed Joanne as she and Anthony stepped out of the hotel onto the veranda.
Today she was wearing an apricot and green mid length floral print dress with a green wrap. Anthony was wearing a tan cardigan featuring two black chequered stipes down the front.
"Good morning," Sara replied, "did you sleep well?"
"Wonderfully thank you. Are you leaving already?" Anthony lovingly adjusted his wife's wrap as he spoke.
"We're checking out but we're not leaving just yet. It's such a wonderful day we thought we would make the most of it."
Joanne spotted the basket of food at Sara's feet, "What a splendid idea!" She squealed.
"Where are you off to dressed so wonderfully?" Sara smiled at the loving couple.
"We're visiting out son today." Out of the corner of her eye Sara noticed Gordon had once again stopped what he was doing to look up. This time the pause was more pronounced. He looked at the elderly couple and then at Sara as though trying to sum her up. "We always visit him on Sunday, don't we Anthony?"
"Yes my dear, we do."
"Perhaps we should say our goodbyes now." Gil had come up the stairs behind Sara.
"It was simply a pleasure to have met you." Anthony extended his hand.
"Likewise." The men shook hands and Sara kissed Joanne on the cheek, she smelled like Lilac.
Anthony and Joanne took the veranda steps cautiously, one at a time, and walked slowly off down the path.
"Their son's dead you know." Gordon's moustache looked strange as he spoke, ill fitting somehow, as though it didn't belong to his face. Gil and Sara were less taken aback by the revelation than they were by the fact that the man had actually spoken. "People around here call them mad. "In a mad world only the mad are sane." (9.) Yet the same man who said it also demanded that a stream be made to run backwards so as to be more aesthetically pleasing." Without so much as a bye or leave the reclusive gardener got into his truck and pulled away.
Laying flat on her back under the sunflowers Sara watched as the suns rays through the flowers formed shadows on the ground. The warm breeze moved ever so gently over the yellow crests and the shadows moved in unison.
"I think I could get used to this."
"Hmm …" Gil sat next to her totally absorbed in the book he had found at the bottom of his overnight bag.
Sara rolled onto her side and propped her head up with her elbow. There was a hint of a smile on her lips as she looked up at him. She was silent for a long moment, savouring the interlude. Sara knew with certain perspicuity that she was in love. She was just as certain that Gil still had a long way to go. Just having reached him on some level had been quiet an achievement. She knew he cared deeply for her, he had from the moment they met. There was an unfair irony in knowing that what she loved about him also made him the most complicated person she had ever known, and the most difficult to reach.
Gil, feeling her gaze, turned away from his book to look down at her. Her smile widened, one of those smiles that dimpled one cheek and theft the other untouched. He smiled back.
"Don't get to used to it, we're back at work tomorrow."
Sara didn't respond, she hadn't finished savouring the moment.
Gil put down his book and lay down beside her. "What are you thinking?"
The question took Sara by surprise, "I was thinking that coming away for the weekend was a good idea."
"Ah ha." Gil knew that wasn't the entire truth … but it would do for now. He lifted her hand from the blanket, holding it delicately in his. He watched as there fingers interlocked. "Maybe we should do this more often."
"Definitely, I like being alone with you. I find out more about you each time."
"Really, like what?"
"I find out that you keep in contact with people you meet long after the case is over. Whether out of obligation to the truth or the fact that you made a human connection. I find out that it is possible for people to surprise you, and that you appreciate Longfellow."
Gil leaned in and kissed her lips. Sara wanted to whisper, I love you, but knew it was too soon for him to know that. Instead she kissed him back and put her arms around him as she drew herself closer.
Gil and Sara content just to spend time in each others company and without much of an appetite, ate a light lunch at about 3 in the afternoon. The sun had moved across the sky and the air had developed a distinct chill. Sara got up to put on her jacket.
"I think that's Mary." Sara looked out over the field of sunflowers.
"Maybe she's coming to ask us to move on." Gil joked. He was sitting, once again engrossed in his book.
"I don't think so." Mary, now a lot closer, appeared to be carrying something. "I think she's carrying a pie!"
Sara waved at Mary and waited for her to approach. "It's a wonderful day, I hope you don't mind us being here."
"Not at all. I've brought dessert." She sat down on the picnic blanket.
Gil put his book aside and looked up at Sara, as if he knew something she didn't. He picked three small plates from the food basket and handed them to Mary.
"Knife?" Mary asked, Gil handed her a knife.
"It smells wonderful. Home made?" Sara took a seat next to Gil and crossed her legs.
"Offcourse! My speciality in fact. Lemon custard." She handed Sara a piece.
Sara found a spoon in the picnic basket and took a bite. "Very good, thankyou." She gave Mary a little smile.
Mary handed a piece to Gil.
"Lemons are such a versatile fruit." The third plate remained empty. Mary turned away from her audience as she spoke. She brought her legs up to her chest and put her arms around them as though she needed something to hold onto. "They make great pies, they're wonderful in tea and I used to make lemonade out of them when I was a little girl." At this point her voice took on a haunted quality, somewhere between great pies and lemonade Mary had left the sunshine, the breeze and the flowers behind. Neither Gil nor Sara knew where she had gone. The two looked at each other as though communicating with some unspoken language. Somehow Sara knew that this was the moment Gil had been waiting for, for the past twenty years. He had a look of portentous understanding on his face, concealing, only slightly, his eager anticipation.
"I also use them to soak my old cleaning rags." Mary turned for a brief moment to look at Gil. "But then you knew that, or perhaps just suspected." Then the brief moment had passed and she was back in a place that time had left behind. "I don't rinse them out, I just squeeze out the excess moisture and hang them out to dry. I love the fresh smell of the rags as I fold them and put them away in the closet."
There was a brief pause before she continued. "I had buried my husband the day Evie Bradshore died. For some reason, perhaps the search for closure, I found myself back at the cemetery later in the evening. I hadn't cried yet, it was as though I had constructed an impenetrable fortress against all grief. The fortress crumbled the following day, I cried all that day without relief." Mary took a breath as she remembered her pain. After a moment of silence, which only the birds did not observe, she went on.
"I digress, I fear, from the real story. A little after two am, having spent half the night by my husbands fresh burial plot, reason had somewhat returned to me and I knew it was time to go. As I walked the path to the cemetery exit I was halted by the sound of a man crying. I found him kneeling under a tree next to the body of a dead woman.
I was horrified at first, my grief well forgotten. The man looked at me with tear stained eyes, I believe I took a step backwards feeling a little like a deer in the scope of a hunters rifle. If I looked skittish, he made no move to stop me. He actually said, "Hello."
I must have felt safe enough to come a little closer because as I did so I saw it was the body of Evie Bradshore. She looked ever so peaceful, more peaceful than she had ever been in life. Her eyes were closed and her hands were neatly folded in front of her. She wore a white summer dress with tiny pick flowers on it. Her hair was carefully brushed, I almost didn't see the blood.
He spoke to me, he was Jamie Bradshore and he was worried because he had left his little girl at home by herself. He kept saying, "She'll wonder where I am." Jamie told me that Evie had called him late in the evening and asked him if she could come home. He said she had been drinking and when he went to fetch her from the hotel she was so drunk she took a swing at him. She was ranting about an argument they had had the night before. Jamie had begged her to think about their daughter and come home. He had told her he didn't care what she had done, she always had a home with him. She asked him why he wasn't more like a real man, "A real man couldn't go on pretending I am anything but a whe!"
At this point she grabbed an empty scotch bottle from the bed and swung at him. Seeing the bottle he reacted instinctively and pushed her away from him, she fell back hitting her head on one of the bedposts. Jamie told me he rushed over to her only to see the life drain out of her eyes as he did so.
He had parked his pick-up some distance from the hotel because one of his tail lights was out and he was afraid of being reported. So in the dead of night, with no one around to see him, he carried her body down the stairs, out of the hotel and down the road to his truck.
Jamie told me that if it wasn't for his little girl he would have rung the Sheriff and confessed, whether he thought they would believe his story or not. He knew that without him his little girl had no one. He also felt that the odds were against him and it was unlikely he would be believed. He could not bear the thought of his little girl becoming a ward of the state, gambling her happiness on the unsure kindness of strangers.
Jamie went on to tell me that whatever people thought of Evie, she was a good woman. When she wasn't drinking and managed to keep her other demons at bay, she was a wonderful wife and mother. Her stepfather had had his way with her on a regular basis from the time she was six years old. By the time she was a young woman she was so messed up she began looking for escape everywhere she could.
I believed what he told me. I told him to go home, get his little girl and leave. I also told him it wasn't proper to bury the dead without tribute. He came back to the house with me and we picked the flowers together. After I watched him leave I packed a bottle of bleach into a bag with my cleaning cloths and walked up the hill. No one saw me come and no one saw me go. Only the scent of lemon was left behind."
No one spoke.
Mary stood, looked out over her flowers and then up at the hill. "Somewhere along the line it has become anything from the occasional weekender to a flop house. Perhaps this is why Evie Bradshore chose it as an escape, she felt somehow at home there. As the story goes, Longfellow referred to his stay at the hotel as "Shurly having been to heaven." That's what the hotel was called when it first opened in 1860, "Heavenly Haven". As time went on visitors and regulars began referring to it as "Heaven"."
With that Mary looked down at Gil and Sara and smiled, as though all they had talked about was the weather. She turned and began the walk back through the flowers to her home.
Neither of the lovers spoke. The silence in Mary's absence was deafening, her words rang in Sara's ears. Sara felt cold, horrified and a little shaky. Gil took her hand in his, still saying nothing. Then all of a sudden, like a wave crashing a shore, Sara became angry.
"How can you be so calm? This woman has gotten away with concealing a crime for over twenty years!" Since Mary had gone there was no other sounding board for her anger than the man she loved.
Gil squeezed her hand and looked into her eyes, they were on fire. "And she will continue to get away with it because there isn't a shred of evidence."
Sara's hand was pulled from Gil's as she stood up. "That can't be!" Gil remained seated but his eyes never left hers. "There must be something we can go back to, threads we can match to her cleaning clothes her cutters used to cut the flowers that were found on Evie's body, something."
"To much time has passed to test the clothes, they are long gone. We checked all her cutting equipment against the flowers at the time, they didn't match."
Sara sat down in one quick motion, legs already crossed. She sat in relative silence for a few seconds. "So that's it?!" She herself didn't know if it were a statement or a question.
"That's it." Gil watched as the woman who loved him tried to come to terms.
There were two cars parked in the makeshift car park, their rental and Gordon's silver pick-up. Sara was leaning against the car looking up at the back of the hotel. The frown that had appeared after Mary's hasty departure showed no signs of waning . Gil shut the boot of the car with a thud, the car shook, Sara didn't move. Keys in hand he stood for a moment and watched her. He wanted to walk over to her and take her in his arms, that usually worked when she was upset. Angry was a different matter however, an alternate tactic was required. He walked over, lent against the car beside her and looked up at the back of the hotel.
Gil knew what he wanted to say, he just had to think about it very carefully before he began. He felt almost ready, he paused a moment longer and then, "Sara, how different do you think your life would have been if you had never been taken away from your mother?" It was a question he didn't really expect and answer to.
Sara looked at him as he continued. "Lets say, for example, after your fathers death your mother packed you and your brother up and relocated somewhere. When you reached this somewhere the three of you settled down in a quiet neighbourhood, on a quiet street. You and your brother would have started the new term at the local school, you would have made friends and brought them home to meet your mother. Your brother would have stolen your dolls and buried them under the tree in the back yard.
When you were older you would have started high school with all your friends. You would have sat with them on the oval and talked about the good old days when you were all still in primary school and life had been much simpler. Then you discovered boys and no one talked about the good old days again. When it came time to go to college you would have said your teary farewells and promised to always be friends. You would have given the cute boy on the soccer team your dorm room number because you knew he was going to the same college." Sara smiled at him and his legs almost gave way. Gil reached out and cupped the side of her face in his hand, she leaned in and closed her eyes.
"Then I may never have met you."
"I refuse to believe that." Gil kissed her mouth, took a breath and kissed her again. He gently rubbed his bearded cheek against her soft cheek and kissed her neck. He put his arms around her waist and pulled her to him as she buried her face in this neck.
Just then a shadow passing before his eyes made Gil look up. Gordon was walking toward his truck. Gil released Sara and stepped back. He gave the approaching man an acknowledging nod. To Gil and Sara's great surprise he nodded back. Gordon got into his pick-up opened the glove compartment and studied the small piece of paper in his hand with focused attention.
Gil turned back to Sara, "Come on, we have a plane to catch."
Epilogue
Gordon sat and stared at the picture in his hand. The picture was of a young family, a mother, a father and two small children. The mother had long red hair that flowed down her back, her skin was pale and a little freckled. She was tall for a woman, slim with rosy cheeks and large green eyes. She was holding a baby in her arms and the little boy at her feet was clutching the hem of her dress. The man beside her had his arm about her shoulders and was looking down at his family with great tenderness.
Gordon placed the photograph carefully into the front pocket of his shirt and started the truck. He pulled out slowly and started down the hill. About half way down he pulled to the left, onto a stone drive that went on for some time before ending in front of Mary Morgan's house.
Having removed the keys from the ignition Gordon stepped out of his pick-up, Mary was watering the herb garden by the side of the house with a watering can. "Evening Mary."
"Evening Gordon. Coming in for tea?"
"As always Mary. Where's Standish to?"
"He's around somewhere, probably chasing butterflies again." Mary placed the now empty watering can on the ground. "Earl Grey or English Breakfast?"
"You decide today Mary, I'm not fussed." Gordon wiped his feet on the mat and Mary opened the door to let them in. She locked the door behind them.
Gordon sat at the kitchen table and watched as Mary prepared the tea. "The sprinklers are fixed, I'll switch them on before I leave, the sunflowers are in desperate need."
"Splendid." Replied Mary carrying the tray of tea and lemon custard pie to the table. This accomplished she walked over to the kitchen window and pulled the drapes across.
Seated, Mary poured the tea and Gordon waited patiently. "How is your beautiful daughter these days, have you heard from her recently?" Mary asked.
With that Gordon reached up to his face and pulled back his moustache. He placed it neatly on the table beside the tea tray and rubbed his upper lip. He had a hair-lip that ran from his left nostril to the point were the pink of his lip began. The blemish was not extended it looked more like an old scar than a birth defect.
"She gave birth to her second child a month ago, they called him James, she sent me a picture." Gordon removed the photograph from his breast pocket and placed it on the table.
"Oh how lovely! Will you go and visit soon? She can't visit here, looking the way she does. She looks more like her mother every day."
"By the end of the week I'll have the flowers fertilised, now that the sprinklers are working again I think they will be able to look after themselves for a week or so."
"I think so. I will miss your company all the same."
Outside, on the mat by the back door, Standish had given up his continued torment of the butterflies and was trying to get comfortable. He could hear voices from the kitchen, dinner would be ready soon, he rolled over and went to sleep.
"6.45 to Vegas now boarding gate 12."
Sara looked out through the large glass windows to the tarmac bellow. Hands in her pockets, she was deep in thought.
"Ready?" Snapped back to reality by the sound of his voice Sara looked at Gil.
"I know what you were trying to say and I appreciate it, I really do. I still have a problem with the thought that Mary will never be punished for breaking the law, but I understand why she did it. Thankyou."
Gill smiled at her, "Your welcome."
The alarm by the bed had the most annoying ring, although asleep in bed at 5.30 in the morning any sound would be annoying. Sara rolled over and hit the button, as she did so a piece of paper fell to the ground. Sleepily she reached down the side of the bed and picked it up. With her head on the pillow she lifted the paper above her head in order to read it. It was a small piece of white paper neatly folded in two. On the front it read,
"In a mad world only the mad are sane."
Akira Kurosawa 1910-1998 (10.)
Sara chuckled to herself, he must have googled it, she thought. She unfolded the paper and continued to read.
Morning sleepy head,
I set the alarm because I need you to give Nick
a hand. He's in Pioche Nevada. Missing family,
suspicious circs. Call the rest of the team in if you
need them. Drive safe.
Gil
"Are we having a tasters choice moment?" Sara smiled at Nick as he bent over the coffee percolator in the house of the missing family. The McBride's had, what appeared to be a very idyllic lifestyle. "Grissom called me from the airport, he's teaching a human remains recovery class at the body farm. He said you needed backup and I figured you needed coffee, but it looks like you already took care of it." … (11.)
(1.) C.J.E. 1973 -
(2.) Anon.
(3.) "Footsteps Of Angels" Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 1807 - 1882
(4.) Voltaire 1694 - 1778
(5.) Miss Piggy (around) 1975 -
(6.) "The Asphalt Jungle." 1950 staring Sterling Hayden and Sam Jaffe /
directed by John Huston
(7.) Salvador Dali's design "Fantasia."
(8.) "The Arrow And The Song" Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 1807 - 1882
(9.) Latin name for the butterfly known as "Red spotted purple."
(10.) Akira Kurosawa 1910 - 1998
(11.) C.S.I. Crime Scene Investigation, Season 6 / Episode 5 titled -
"Gumdrops."