GODDESS OF THE MOON (A Diana Racine Psychic Suspense) (6 page)

“This is too deep for me,” Beecher said.
“Sounds like the guy’s a whack
job.”

“Could be.
It’ll be interesting.
Is he always at the mission?”

“Figured you’d ask, so I took the liberty and called.
He
’s there all day
, every day
.
Gets in about nine.
”

“Good
work
.
I want to take Diana to meet
with this fertility god.
Maybe she’ll pick up some vibes.
”

* * * * *

T
hat evening, Lucier filled Diana in on the case, including the Sunrise Mission. The weight of not finding the missing baby weighed on him.
No ransom note, so money wasn’t the object.
Then what was?

She opened a bottle of
pinot noir
and poured two glasses. “Sounds like a front. Osiris, Jesus.
One of the fertility gods.”

Lucier sipped his wine, stopping at Diana’s statement. “How do you know that?”

“Mythology interests me.
Kind of overlaps into psychic phenomena.”

“How so?”

“They’re both mystical in different ways. Mythology is folklore passed down through civilizations
, with
their own deities and heroes. Zeus, Apollo, Aphrodite
―
they’re all from mythology.
A lot of comic book and movie heroes are based on th
e mythological warrior.”

“Hmm, Aphrodite, the love goddess.
Why does that spark excitement?”

“Can’t imagine.”
Diana
winked at Lucier
as she placed slices of pot roast on two plates and spooned a mixture of roasted potatoes, carrots, and onions in gravy on the side. “No one understands psychic phenomena. I’m not even sure I do, but it’s real enough to those of us who have the gift.
Same with mythology.
Some cultures pray to different gods for rain or for a good harvest. That’s a form of mythology.”

“Sounds logical when you explain it.”

“Almost logical, like religion.
You have to believe,
Ernie,
because if you thought too long
,
most of it doesn’t make sense.” She sipped her wine,
then
placed the glass on the table. “Let’s eat.”

“Right, I almost forgot. I’m starved.”

“You said
that hours
ago.”

Lucier forked a piece of meat but stopped before he put it in him mouth.
“I keep thinking about the baby. Where is she? Why was she stolen?”

“No word?”

“Nothing.
Every case has been a dead end.
What are you doing tomorrow?
”

“Nothing special.
Answer some email, pay a few bills. Why?”

“Will you go with me to the Sunrise
Mission.
”

A smile brightened Diana’s face. “Brother Osiris?
Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Lucier
put the
pot roast
in his mouth
. “Hey, this is damn good.”

“Is it?
Really?”

“Absolutely.”
He proceeded to polish off his dinner. Studying his empty plate, he said,
“Hmm, I seem to recall you mentioned something about my favorite dessert.”

“Warm with whipped cream―coming up.”

A Magnetic Attraction

T
he next morning w
hen Lucier got to the station, Beecher followed him into his office. “Name
of our suspect isn’t
Dudley
Reems
,
it’s
Ridley Deems. No record, but he has a warning for soliciting a fourteen-year old―a runaway, most likely. The girl screamed and caught the attention of a beat cop. She bolted, and they couldn’t hold Deems without her, but the cop wrote him up. We checked his last address, but he’s slipped under the radar.”

Lucier took the sheet. “We’ll
check
if the name and picture mean anything to Brother Osiris. Diana’s
meet
ing
me for lunch, and we’re going to the Sunrise Mission together.
Maybe she’ll have a take on this creature from mythology.
”

* * * * *

D
iana and Lucier arrived at the Sunrise Mission at two. Situated on the fringe of downtown in what
appeared to be
an old cotton warehouse, the mission offered the homeless a bed and hot food for those in need. It reminded Diana of a children’s shelter where she spe
nt the afternoon while on tour some years ago.

“We’re here to see Brother Osiris,” Lucier said to the woman sweeping the entry floor. “We have an appointment.”

“You must be Lieutenant Lucier, and you, of course, are the famous Diana Racine. Your reputation precedes you.” It was a man’s voice that answered. The speaker was a tall, lean man in his mid
to late
forties, with olive
skin and prematurely gray hair.

His face, though handsome, was etched with the crags and creases of
life’s
hard fought battles. A man who’d seen it all was Diana’s first impression. His piercing blue-gray eyes
laser
ed
right through her. He wore a long-sleeved
,
dark red polo shirt, blue jeans, and rubber-soled loafers. He offered his hand to Lucier but not to Diana. She retrieved her outstretched hand and stiffened at the slight.

“I’m Brother Osiris. Don’t be put off by the name. The Brother is to make people comfortable, and Osiris speaks of a man who, though cut in many pieces, had the good fortune to be repaired.
A little mythology, a little philosophy, a lot of hope.
Real name is Edward Slater. You can call me whatever you want. Come into my office and tell me what this is about.”

Well
, Diana thought, raising eyebrows to Lucier,
he took the phony right out of that, didn’t he?
She wondered if Slater’s reluctance to shake
her hand
meant he feared touching her. Considering all the published accounts about her sensitivity to contact, she found th
e
action, or lack of it, significant.

“Somehow I thought you’d greet us in a long, flowing white robe,” Diana said. “I didn’t expect anyone so down to earth.”

He laughed out loud as
he led them
through a large dining area with a half dozen harvest tables, each seating twelve. Basic condiments and napkin holders a
nchored the ends of the tables.

“Sorry to disappoint you,” he said. “That would be a little over the top, even for me. As you can see, this is our dining room, and these are the sleeping quarters.”

He held open a swinging door, and they passed through a large room with cots
on each side of a
narrow aisle. Satchels and plastic bags stuffed with the occupants
’
worldly good
s
filled the floor beneath the cots, some schoolbooks littered the tops.

“Until Katrina, we had enough to satisfy the demand, except on cold nights,” Slater said. “Fortunately, this old brick building weathered the storm. Other than some missing roof shingles, we came out okay. We did our best to accommodate as many people as possible, but there just wasn’t enough room. It was a nightmare.
Much better now
.
”

Diana and Lucier exchanged shrugs. She didn’t expect this level of disclosure, and she could tell Lucier didn’t either.

“Over here is what we call The Closet. All donated items. Clothes, shoes, and whatever else someone less fortunate requires to give them back a modicum of dignity. All we ask is that no one takes what he or she doesn’t need. Some clothes are new, most are used but in good condition. There’s a recreation room with a TV, a communal bathroom, kitchen, and nursery.”

“And all this is donated?” Lucier asked.

“Everything
, and those working are either volunteers or people staying her
e
pitching in their share
.”

People scattered throughout the facility tended to different tasks, one worked in
T
he Closet—a room the size of an average bedroom—a couple of others prepared food in the kitchen, and still another did laundry at a large washer/dryer. All the workers were women. A few children in the television room played, watched TV, or read. Diana assumed the men were out either working or trying to find work.

“Do you live here?” Diana asked.

“No, I’m afraid the state would frown on that. There are shifts of employees who work on the premises and take care of the daily business. I eat my meals here, but I have a room in a nearby boarding house.
Just a bed and dresser.”
He turned to Diana with a crooked smile.
“Oh, and a closet t
o keep my flowing white robes.”

After years of suffering the sarcasm of audience hecklers, Diana was seldom embarrassed. But Edward Slater had turned her own words back on her, and she felt small and petty. Her cheeks burned with discomfort. “Touché,” she said, forcing a smile. “I deserved that.”

“Then we’re even.” He opened a door and ushered them inside.
“This is my office. Please, have a seat.”

Nothing in the office boasted of wasted money
―
a simple wooden desk and four slat-back chairs, two four-drawer file cabinets, and a six-foot bookcase crammed with books of a spiritual nature, from Buddha to Confucius to the Bible to the Bhagavad Gita
,
tomes on mysticism, mythology, parapsychology, and the psychology of Jung and Freud, among others. A locked cabinet on one shelf
roused
Diana’s curiosity.

Everyone took a seat, and Lucier slid Deems’
s
photo across the desk. “Do you know who this man is?”

Slater looked at the picture.
“Yes, Dudley something or other.
He sleeps here on occasion. In exchange for the bed, he offers his services as a janitor/handyman. He comes and goes, as do
many
of our residents.
Why are you looking for him, and why
here?”

“His real name is Ridley Deems.
He mentioned your mission to one of his co-workers. We’d like to talk to him.”

“Has he committed a crime?”

“
He’s a person of interest in a case we’re working on.
When was the last time you saw him?”

“I don’t recall
,” Slater said
.
“
What do you think he did? What case?
”

“A baby was kidnapped from h
er home last evening.
”

“I read about that
in this morning’s paper
.” Slater slid back in his chair. “And you think
Ridley
’s involved? He was always so helpful.
Didn’t strike me as the type to do such a thing.
”

“
P
eople say
that
about a lot of criminals, after the fact.
Anyone here who might know something about him?”

“T
he secretary
might
.
I’ll
go find her and bring her here
.”

Diana started to say something after he left, but Lucier motioned her to keep quiet. A slight shift of his eyes indicated a small light inside the vent high on the wall facing the visitors’ seats. Diana’s almost imperceptible glance confirmed Lucier’s discovery, and her instinct
cautioned
a camera probably
meant
a recording device. Maybe the surveillance had its purpose, but until they knew for
sure,
she wouldn’t
say anything.

Slater returned with a beautiful young woman who looked to be about twenty. Diana couldn’t help notice her voluptuous figure, small waist and hips, with breasts out of proportion to her small frame. Her dark auburn hair fell past her shoulders. She wore no makeup, but her Madonna-like face required none.

“Ms. Racine, Lieutenant Lucier, this is Brigid. Maybe she can help you.”

“Do you know this man?” Luc
ier asked, showing
her
the picture.

The girl stole a glance at Slater as if she were asking permission to speak. He nodded. “Yes, that’s Dudley,” she said in a soft voice. “He sometimes helps out here.
In return for a bed, many
men offer their services.
I haven’t seen
him
in
a while, though.
”