The Light Beside the Sea

Chapter 3

3

As soon as Katrina left, I realized I was starving. As usual, my refrigerator held a container of mustard, a couple of blackened bananas, a very bruised apple, a few other condiments and some limp romaine lettuce. It was either a can of soup or one of my grandmother’s contributions to keeping my body and soul together. I dug through the fifteen or so plastic containers, hoping for lasagna, but it was impossible to tell the contents under the hoar frost. In desperation, I chose one and stuck it in the microwave on high. Whatever it was, I was sure it would be delicious. My grandmother is a fabulous cook, and I still cling to the opinion she’s to blame for my hopelessness in the kitchen.

The microwave dinged and I pulled out the container with the tips of my finger. The phone rang at that instant. "Shoot," I exclaimed, dropping the hot container on the kitchen counter. I rushed into the office to grab the phone.

"Uh . . . hello. Is this Julia?"

"Yes, it is."

"My name is Elizabeth. Betsy and Jacob Handler gave me your name and number and I’d like . . . I’d like to make an appointment to see you."

"Oh, yes, of course." I pulled my calendar out of the drawer and glanced over dates later in the week. "What day were you thinking of, Elizabeth?"

"Uh . . . perhaps tomorrow, if that would be okay?"

My eyebrows raised. This woman was in a hurry. "Okay, that would work." Inwardly, I was wishing I could push this appointment into the following week, but something must be urgently on her mind. "Would one o’clock work for you?"

"Oh, yes," she breathed. She sounded relieved. "Yes, that would be wonderful. Thank you."

"Could you give me your birth information? Date, time and the location of your birth?"

"Of course."

As she spoke, I scribbled the information on a note pad and then recited my address. "I’ll see you then, Elizabeth." I hung up and returned to the kitchen, dumping a beef dish with tomatoes, pasta and capers into a bowl. I breathed in the aroma and dove in.

Betsy Handler is the wife of my former mentor, Jacob Handler, at the University. How kind of her to think of me. A phone call to Betsy, who used to host Friday night gatherings for Jacob’s students, was way overdue. Until a few months ago, I had been remiss, neglecting to stay in touch with them after I left the University. After Michael’s death, I moved out of my old apartment and until I decided to pop in to visit Jacob, to pick his brain a few months before, we hadn’t had any communication.

I finished my grandmother’s care package and washed out the plastic container, dropping it into a shopping bag already full of other containers to return to her, thereby ensuring more meals in my future. I wiped my hands and returned to the office, looking for Betsy’s home number. I found their address, but only Jacob’s office number. Jacob would have to do. I checked the clock on the desk, he might be in his office right now. I dialed and he answered on the first ring.

"Julia! How nice to hear from you."

"I wanted to call and thank you for referring a new client. Actually, I meant to call Betsy but realized I don’t have your home number."

"Betsy has some meetings today, so I don’t know if she’s home, but our number is 752-8823."

I jotted the number down. "Thanks, Jacob. I won’t lose this."

"Actually, I’m really glad you called because I had it on my to do list to call you. We’d love it if you could stop over tomorrow night. I’m having one of my regular gatherings for my students. You remember those, don’t you?"

"I sure do. I remember those evenings fondly." Hors d’oeuvres and wine and good conversation. Of course, all the talk turned to work eventually, but it was always pleasant no matter what.

"Betsy’s been on my case to call you. She’s very excited to see you, now that we know where to track you down. And she wants to hear all about your adventures with that religious cult that she read about in the newspaper."

I laughed, "Well, tell Betsy it’s a long story. I’m happy to share it, but please, tell her she can call me any time to chat if she’d like."

"Be careful what you offer. She can chew your ears off."

"I don’t mind at all. I’d love to talk to her. But now I can thank her in person tomorrow night."

"Yes, we start early around six, but you can come anytime, really. Be good to see you again. And bring a guest too if you want. You might not know anyone after all this time, but we’d love to see you."

"Wonderful, thanks again, Jacob. I’ll see you both tomorrow evening."

I opened my astro program and set up Elizabeth’s chart. I could see her problem immediately. Pluto and Saturn were hitting her seventh house cusp. Partnership issues. I was torn between finishing the work on her chart and preparing for her visit, but I needed fresh air. I’d have a few hours tomorrow morning to do the work before this new client arrived. A book I had ordered on asteroids had finally come in to The Mystic Eye, and I had promised my friend Gale I’d be in to pick it up.

As I drove downtown, a nervous unsettled feeling was gnawing away at me. A nagging feeling at the edge of my consciousness that there was something I urgently needed to do. But what? If I’m really being honest, it’s a sort of a dread that I had carried around for several months, ever since I decided to c***k open Michael’s journal and read his notes about his trip to Guatemala, the trip he took just before his death. I manage to stay pretty centered most days, at least I like to think so, but it was a chance remark from an acquaintance that made me want to explore Michael’s last days, at least as well as I could.

Before he returned home from his trip with his graduate mentor and several other people, Michael had mailed his journal to me from Guatemala City. For reasons of his own, he didn’t want to carry it or stow it in his luggage. Reading his last notes, I learned there had been a death of a grad student on that trip, that the very same student had accused their professor, Liam O’Neal, of stealing his research. Michael was sure someone was trying to steal the journal he was keeping while he slept.

Over the past few years, I’ve slowly recovered from the psychic blow of Michael’s sudden death. The man I loved and had hoped to spend my life with was gone and my path was wiped away in an instant. Eventually I recovered and as the weeks and months and years passed, the sense of pain and loss lessened. I had learned to cope. But now that I had belatedly decided to read the last words Michael wrote, another question arose. Had his death been more than an accident? Why hadn’t that ever occurred to me before? But why would it?

I was sure my therapist Paula was convinced I was imagining things, looking for dark plots where there were none, but still, I couldn’t shake the question, much less find an answer. And I wasn’t the only one. Michael had left a mother and a sister behind and several good friends. Celia, my would-have-been-mother-in-law, was out of my reach. She had hunkered down and chosen to cut me out of her life. But I loved Michael’s sister Maggie. She and I were close and nothing could change that. I adored her and now that she had recovered from her older brother’s death, she was working on completing her education and doing something with her life, in spite of her mother. I know she’s tortured by the same questions I am and so far I had been hesitant to talk to her about Michael’s journal. What good would it do? What feelings would that stir up for her? I didn’t want anything to derail Maggie.

The Mystic Eye is an occult bookshop owned by my dear friend, Gale, and managed by our friend Cheryl. It’s my home away from home and a stone’s throw from my grandmother’s house in North Beach. I smelled coffee brewing when I entered through the rear door from the parking lot. I heard Gale on the phone as I reached the office. She looked up and blew a kiss in my direction. I waved and pointed to the front of the store, indicating I’d pop out to visit with Cheryl who was at the counter ringing up a customer’s order. Rupert, the Eye’s part-time, all around heavy lifter, was unpacking a box of books and rearranging a shelf. I called out to him but he didn’t respond. I stepped behind the counter. "Can I help out?"

"Julia! Hi!" Cheryl replied. "No, I’m fine. But it’s been a busy afternoon, all the same." Cheryl finished wrapping her customer’s Tarot cards, crystals and books and passed the bundle across the counter. "Thank you, come visit us again." Her customer smiled and nodded, grabbed her purchases and left the store, exiting on to Broadway.

"How are you? I didn’t expect to see you today."

"I just drove down to pick up that book you ordered for me."

"Oh, yeah," Cheryl glanced around. "The Asteroid Book, right?" She reached under the counter and pulled it out. "I stashed one away for you. I wanted to make sure you got your copy. Asteroids are a very popular subject these days." I pulled my wallet out of my purse and handed Cheryl my credit card. She rang up my purchase and handed me the book. "Would you like a bag?"

"Nope, I’m fine." I slid the book into my purse.

Cheryl glanced around. A few customers were wandering around the store. "Come on in the back. I need some coffee." She gave a wave to Bethany, Gale’s young helper, indicating she’d be back in a few minutes. Bethany nodded in acknowledgment and we headed to the tiny kitchen next to the office where Cheryl poured two mugs of wonderful aromatic coffee. I added a little half and half to mine. "Follow me. Let’s keep Gale company." Gale was just ending her call as we entered the office.

"So what’s been going on with you, Julia?" Gale asked.

"Ah, not much. Life’s been pretty quiet. I’ve been busy with clients and saw a new one today.

Gale gazed at me for a moment, "What’s wrong? You don’t seem your usual chipper Sagittarian self."

I sighed heavily, "Oh, nothing. I don’t know. There’s a Saturn transit that’s affecting my Moon. That’s probably what it is. I went to see my old therapist this morning. Paula."

"Really?" Cheryl asked. "What brought that on?"

"It’s been almost . . . what? A couple of years since you’ve seen her?" Gale asked.

"I think it’s been about a year and a half since we wound up, since I felt I really didn’t need to see her. My life was going pretty well," I shrugged. "Not to mention it costs money. My insurance doesn’t pay for it, so all of the above. But, as you both know, ever since I read Michael’s journal, I can’t shake the feeling that there’s so much more I don’t know."

"You need to decide if it was really an accident. That’s what you’re saying?"

"Yes. But that’s a ridiculous want, isn’t it? The police investigated and got nowhere. There was the old guy in the Sunset who happened to snap a photo of Michael just as he was hit. But he died and his family never found anything else. There was the retired cold case detective working on it, and now he’s dead too. Heart attack. What on earth could I possibly find out on my own after all this time? I even went to visit my old mentor at the university. Jacob Handler. I just wanted to sniff around and pick his brain. I was wondering if he knew any University gossip about Liam O’Neal, Michael’s mentor."

"And did he?" Cheryl asked.

"Actually, he did. He said there were whisperings about O’Neal. His trips at the time were financed by a couple of wealthy foreigners who fancy themselves ‘temple hunters, ‘if you can believe that. Jacob told me this in the strictest confidence but there were rumors that O’Neal had been smuggling artifacts out of the country."

"Do you think the police might have assigned another retired detective? Maybe someone might have picked up Michael’s hit and run case?" Cheryl asked.

"That I don’t know. I guess I could inquire. But even so . . . what could they discover that’s new evidence after all this time?"

Gale sighed heavily. "I get it. I understand how you feel." Gale was silent for a moment. "And the day is coming up soon, isn’t it? November 25th? That’s part of it I’m sure."

"Yes," I nodded. "It’s a big bundle. I’m not in such great shape. I guess that’s why I called Paula to have some place to vent."

"Very healthy response," Cheryl remarked.

"Any special plans for that day?" Gale asked. "If not, we can all get together and do something fun, whatever you want."

I smiled, "You’re a doll. Both of you. You really are lovely to be worrying about me. But Gloria and I are taking the ferry to Sausalito for a day out of the city. I thought it’d be nice to have a real outing with her instead of just stopping by to visit.

"Great idea. She’ll love that."

Heavy footsteps came down the hallway as Rupert passed by. I swear, the building vibrates when he walks. Gale and Cheryl exchanged a look. "Something wrong?" Neither of them answered. "Is Rupert okay?"

Cheryl leaned closer and whispered, "He’s upset."

"What happened?"

"Nothing happened. That’s just it. Zora’s been ignoring him. I think Rupert has it bad. And he’s depressed. He thinks he’s so ugly no woman, much less Zora, would be interested in him."

Gale chuckled, "I can’t dispute his physical attributes, but he’s wrong. I think he’s a big teddy bear. Zora’s the one who needs to wake up." Gale was referring to one of the regular psychics at the Eye, a plus-sized, intimidating woman, bedecked always in multiple shawls and loads of jewelry, with the voice of a bullhorn.

Cheryl stood, "Listen, I should get back out front. You going to stick around, Julia?"

"No, I’m stopping by Gloria’s and then heading home." I took a last sip of my coffee. "Thanks for this. And thanks for the book too."