Brenda Wallace’s Brilliant Prey:
Even a genius can be played for a pawn by a cunning and deadly manipulator.Lauren James is a former psychiatrist, still reeling from her husband’s suicide and the subsequent miscarriage that swept away her tidy life the year before. On the anniversary of his death, she opens what she hopes to be a “Welcome to Mensa” envelope and pulls out a threatening puzzle along with the identical suicide note she had burned the previous year. Unraveling the twisted clues, Lauren embarks on a harrowing journey drawn in by a child’s neglected grave, a professor from the island of St. Croix, and a U.S. Supreme Court nominee. When Lauren discovers the reason behind her husband’s shocking death, she must struggle with her deepest convictions and whether killing is acceptable if it saves more lives.
Brilliant Prey by Brenda Wallace, Kindle price .99
Here’s an excerpt to get you started:
Chapter One
One word bled through the folded page when Lauren pulled it from the envelope. “Mensa,” she murmured. She had always believed that a person testing in the top two percent of intelligence scores was a genius. Now she didn’t.
“Well, go ahead and open it,” her sister, Angie, said, stomping a high-heeled boot. Red clay slopped off the ornately tooled leather and onto Lauren’s white bamboo floor.
Lauren cocked her head, twisting a strand of hair into a painful rope when the anticipated “Welcome” message did not appear. Those Mensans did say she passed after all, but maybe they’d made a clerical error. Beneath the MENSA letterhead lay a series of dark random dots.
“What is it? Yuck.” Angie leaned a wooly head in front of the letter, blocking her view.
“I don’t know.” Lauren moved the document back into her line of sight. The scattered blotches were a strange reddish-sepia tone. She shook her head. If she didn’t know better, she would think these drops were…”Dried blood?”
Angie pushed closer, reached out toward the page, and then yanked her hand back without touching it.
Using an index finger, Lauren smudged one orb the size of a dried pea. It cracked. She rubbed the tainted hand over her blue jeans, and then turned the page over for an explanation. Six hangmen with X’s for eyes had been drawn there using the same fluid.
Above the hangmen game, a spidery script read SIX GUESSES EACH. A short word blank was associated with each stick-figure man. In the last word blank, the number 131,313 was scratched in needle-thin print, filling in the blanks with the odd rusty ink.
“I’m good at hangman, you know,” Angie said, whipping a pen out of her purse with a magician’s finesse.
“Right. I know.”
On a piece of junk mail lying on the kitchen table, Lauren jotted their hangmen solutions one by one above the number. The words came too easily: “hated lit set un I’m 131,313.” The hair prickled across her skin, feeling like the legs of a scrambling scorpion. Rubbing her arms, she felt the answer lurking.
Angie’s bronze face blanched. “Oh no. It’s about the Devil.”
“We’ll see.” Grasping the paper, Lauren held it next to the Tuscan globe that hung above her dinette. She detected something in the ginger hues. A watermark. Squinting, she muttered, “Georgia Pacific.” She gazed out her condo’s bay window at the rolling postal truck, wondering whether the document might hold a message of significance. “Let’s try the computer.”
The scent of holiday cinnamon welcomed her into a polished oak-filled office. She’d thrown a Christmas centerpiece in there, trying to make the place feel homey.
“Look.” Angie pointed as they walked in. The computer paper box was labeled “Georgia Pacific.”
“Maybe the hangman solutions are a palindrome.” Lauren pulled out a blank sheet, lay it on the computer desk, and began writing the numbers and letters in backward sequence. The words ‘set, un and I’m’ became ‘minutes.’ “That works.” She read the reverse phrase ‘313131 minutes ’til detah.’ ‘Detah?’ An anagram in a palindrome? She glanced at her sister. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing? 313,131 minutes ’til death?”
“Call the police,” Angie said, her pupils spreading in shining cobalt pools.
Lauren massaged her forehead. “No. I bet it’s related to that Mensa murder mystery event they’re holding at the Crescent Moon Inn in several months.”
“Maybe. If you don’t call the police, I will. I don’t think I’m overreacting just because of-”
“No. It might just be another type of test.” Could there be an organization coiled within the organization for those of even higher intellect? Wasn’t there a 99.9 percent order? Lauren didn’t think she could make it into yet another level. It was a fluke that she made it in at all. They just happened to ask questions that she could answer on the actual Mensa test. Having practiced some Mensa mini-tests online, she nailed some and flunked others. She belonged in Densa, not Mensa.
Glancing at the computer clock, she noticed that a minute had passed since she solved the palindrome. Another minute closer to death. Maybe it would be considered inappropriate, but she decided to risk taking a copy of the document with her to the MensaOK welcome meeting. She whirled the chair around to face her sister. “I-”
“Careful. There’s something shiny on the front there,” Angie said, pointing yet staying clear of the page.
Turning the paper over, Lauren angled the dotted front of the sheet beneath the bright office light. She could see some faint shimmering lines radiating from a central point, creating a two-dimensional dandelion. The paper dented inward with each jab of her finger. Gold glittered within the ridges of her fingertip, resembling a sparkling eye shadow. “Why would anyone put eye shadow on a Mensa challenge?” She tried to push away the knotted dread. “I’m going to try something.”
She photocopied the face of the sheet, then traced dot-to-dot. Lauren felt hopeful when one-dot series yielded an “M.” But as she wrote a “7,” she suspected that a person could find these same letters and numbers in a pepper spill. She considered chromosomal patterns, but that didn’t fit. Equations? Nothing fit.
Genetics wasn’t her forte. Mathematics wasn’t her forte. The Mensans would eventually discover that she didn’t have a forte. Well, now she had the time and money to augment her education, although higher learning had failed her…and her husband. What a pair they’d been…a couple of overeducated idiots presuming to lecture others on the inner workings of the mind.
“Well, you look like you’re going to be all right,” Angie said, rubbing her temple. “This is just giving me a headache. I came by because it’s the one-year anniversary of, well, you know. I just can’t believe he did what he did on your birthday. I just-” She pressed her hand to her mouth as if to staunch the flow of words.
“Uh-huh. Sorry. Didn’t mean to get so engrossed. Probably need to get home to your family.”
Angie whipped out a fire truck red cell phone and stared at it. “Yep. They’re wondering where I am. Don’t worry. Go ahead with your puzzle. You don’t need to walk me to the door. But, please call me if you need me.” She trotted from the office. “Oh. And happy birthday,” she called out as the front door slammed.
There will be nothing happy about my birthday…evermore, as her friend, Poe, would say. Stooping, Lauren picked up the envelope that had dropped out of her own back pocket. She studied the return address, but the impersonal Mensa address failed to provide any information.
The postmark revealed that the letter had been mailed two days before from Falls Church, Virginia. Images of foliage collaged against quaint cottages stirred peaceful memories of a visit to Arlington, Virginia, seven years earlier. She and Romy were so in tune then. Was that to be the peak of her life? Change channels. Nothing like reminding herself for the 365th time that it was time to move on.
Shifting her stance, she flicked at the corner of the postage stamp. It looked and felt like a typical U.S. flag postage stamp, rigid enough to require a salute. Flipping over the envelope, she used a manicured fingernail and peeled a soiled curl of sticky tape off the back seal. Was it double sealed or re-sealed?
“Wait,” she muttered. The envelope bulged in the middle like a flattened fortune cookie, the bump revealing a small opaque square remaining within. How had she missed that?
Leaning forward, Lauren realized why she had chosen not to see it. Same size. Same shape. Her pale trembling fingers unfolded the hand-written message.
Sweetheart,
I realize that this is devastating to you at the moment, but I assure you that this is the preferable choice.
Lauren gasped. “Oh no.” This could not be happening again. The same note. The handwriting. Written on the same damned song sheet. Gloomy Sunday. It was his. Her body felt like it was filling with thick, wet concrete. She clutched the edge of the desk and steadied herself. Missing her chair, she sat down hard on the floor. She returned to the resurrected death note.
The fault is solely mine. The only explanation I can provide to you is that the deaths are mounting. I am not the murderer, but I am guilty nonetheless.
All of my patients will require a new therapist and I encourage you to consider this very rewarding possibility for your future.
I led a satisfactory life. I am completely lucid and go in peace. Now run next door and discuss this matter with Weldon. He will understand how to appropriately word the Certificate of Death so that my royalties remain uninterrupted. These and the retirement funds should leave you and the coming child comfortable. Immediately destroy this note.
With deepest affection, Romy
Lauren whispered, “I did, Romy. I did destroy this note. One year ago today.”
Chapter Two
“Hi…,” he said, waiting.
Lauren wanted to ignore the man almost filling the backlit doorway of the stucco community center where the Mensans met. She’d been up again past two a.m. studying the blood spots until they’d begun to swirl together and she was now convinced that only some genius inside that building could solve her puzzle. The man’s lewd eyes scanned her with the intensity of an MRI and his every huff reeked of French Onion.
“Lauren.” Reflexively, she turned her head away.
“I see you got one of those, too.” He watched for her agreement.
“One…what?” she asked with distant politeness. She flinched, expecting another moist spray with his words.
“Dot puzzle, for want of a better description. This must be a Mensa Challenge.” His greasy pallid locks fell forward as he scrutinized the copied document in her hand. Lauren was glad she’d decided to bring a copy rather than attempting to explain that original parchment with blood all over it. Within his right hand he gripped a crumpled duplicate of the front of her document; yet his copy was blank on the back where the hangmen should be.
With her fingers, she squeegeed his warm spittle from her cheek. “Did you get only the puzzle?”
“Pardon me?” He used this excuse to lean in closer.
“Just the one spotted page?” Her eyes gave him a shove, but he missed it.
“Yes. One page. What do you mean? Did you get something more?”
Let’s see. How do you say ‘Just a resurrected original of my husband’s suicide note and a threatening hangman game’ and then terminate the conversation? Scooting backward, Lauren tried to move around his massive wall of flesh and into the Mensa meeting room.
“Here, let me take your wrap. I’m sitting over there next to the chips and queso.” He smiled as if making an amusing joke about his paunch, then winked and nodded toward a couple of empty folding chairs in the back. Removing her coat, she draped it across her arm. She wandered across the modest room to the cooler, scooped a cupful of ice, and poured herself a Coca-Cola. Focusing on the bubbles helped her maintain a sense of normalcy.
Lauren settled into a chair between two middle-aged females and feigned an inordinate interest in her ice cubes. She spied an additional copy of her special puzzle on the table in front of her neighbor, who sported a name-tag labeled “Miriam.” Just the thought of a nametag made Lauren sweat.
“Thank you,” she murmured in surprise as the pasty-faced greeter, Orval, pinned a tag at the top of her right breast, piercing the cashmere of her sweater in the process. Lauren could not believe she had just thanked the man for that breach of personal boundaries, but it was too late to be undone.
“Would you like a smidge of Crown Royal in that?” He gestured toward her Coke. She might have said “yes” if someone else had made the offer, and yet Orval was the reason she needed that drink. Her gaze searched all the tabletops for duplicate suicide notes, but she was relieved to see only more copies of the speckle test. Could fifty identical death notes push her over the edge? Maybe a week-long stay at Point Tranquility that Angie kept pushing was worth serious consideration.
“It’s Egyptian hieroglyphics,” Orval said, having now added Crown Royal to his breath that mingled with the fumes of his cheap cologne. His fingers traced her paper. “This is the symbol meaning ‘to walk’ or ‘to run.’ Now, this hieroglyphic is a crown that means a country or foreign country. The combined symbols mean to walk or to run in a foreign country.”
Lauren could not see a crown at all.
A woman in the corner spoke up. “What if it’s a diagram of blood specks splattered on the rug of a room?” There was an immediate buzz among the fifty-plus participants. Lauren studied the specks from this novel perspective. Is this the murder that Romy alluded to in that note? The outline of a headless body with an outstretched hand appeared within the splatter. Hesitant, she touched its arm.
Lauren turned to Miriam. “Who created this challenge?”
“No one knows,” Orval said, his shadow looming over her.
Orval had answered so quickly that Lauren wondered if the man had created the Mensa Challenge. Yet, how would he have included her husband’s handwritten message?
“These are stars.” Miriam’s second chin jiggled with the announcement. “When Caleb gets here, he will tell us exactly what constellations these are. He’s our astronomer.”
“No. They can’t be stars because of the gray lines here.” Orval, the lumpy Egyptologist, did not want to be shown up, but he had a point. “What constellation would this be?”
“There are eighty-eight constellations,” Miriam’s friend, name-tagged Catherine, said. The only constellations Lauren remembered were the Big Dipper and the Little Dipper, but these patterns did not fit those constellations. Several members agreed with Miriam that the point patterns were constellations. No one offered an explanation for the lines.
Lauren watched the front door for Caleb’s entrance but the astronomer never showed. Once the welcome speeches were over, she performed an evasive maneuver away from Orval’s watchful eye, finding Catherine speaking to Miriam in a small alcove with a copy machine.
“The Big Dipper is a part of the Ursa Major or ‘great bear’ constellation.” Looking up, Catherine studied Lauren’s eyes, apparently spotting her ignorance beneath her best poker face. Using a crispy Cheeto, the woman circled Ursa Major, and then outlined the Big Dipper.
Lauren bent closer to the copied document that Catherine had propped up on a stapler atop a scarred table. The Big Dipper was there but it was just low on the horizon and sideways from what she had expected.
“See this large ‘M’-like shape.” Catherine used her finger because the Cheeto marker had been devoured. “This is supposed to represent a queen on her throne. Other times it flips to form a W. Right now she is hanging upside down on her throne. Cassiopeia was eternally chained to her throne to circle the North Star.”
I know how she feels. At least she had found the “M” on her own. Lauren leaned backward to glance into the assembly room. Taking a swig of the Coke as if it did contain a shot of Crown Royal, she said, “I see Orval has left. Whew.”
Catherine must have caught her exasperated tone. “Oh, Orval is a nice guy.” Miriam bobbed in trusting assent. “He said you remind him of his red-headed daughter. But your hair is more of a…”
“Light auburn than red,” Lauren said. “Caleb is an astronomer, I guess?”
“Caleb? Oh yes. One of the best. He’s acting Vice President of the astronomy club and he is also their webmaster at the moment. They meet on every second Friday…I believe.” Catherine raised her eyebrows and looked to Miriam, who again bobbed. “I’m the webmaster for our chapter. We’re always searching for interesting articles or stories if you would like to submit a piece.”
“Thanks. Maybe I’ll do that sometime,” Lauren said. Perhaps she could fill the hole in her life with new friends, new activities. But it wasn’t a hole, really. It felt more like a caldera. Plus, the articles would need to be interesting.
Once home, Lauren headed straight for her Gateway computer. There it was. The website for the Tulsa Astronomy Club. They would be holding a meeting in two days. She would ask Caleb about the puzzle. The bonus would be that she would not have to subject herself to Orval’s lurking presence.
Why couldn’t she focus? The grief had dissipated to the point she could peer out from under its soft edges. The resurrected note. The last time she’d seen that note was in her kitchen sink, where the match flame curled it into fragile charcoal.
Only two other people had seen the original-her husband, who would never again send another note, and Weldon, her former neighbor who was employed as the city medical examiner. And just as her husband instructed, she had destroyed that note.
Weldon had seemed like a considerate and helpful neighbor. Her husband, Romy, had been right…and wrong. As he predicted, Weldon had worded the death certificate to suggest death by accident. Only it took two more soul-wringing months for Romy to die after shutting himself in his self-created gas chamber.
Looking back in hindsight, though, she still could not identify the signs. With her psychiatric training, she should be able to label something that had been a little off. As if labeling anything granted anyone more control.
Lauren grabbed her current novel as if grasping a lifeline, flipped up the leg rest, and settled into her leather recliner. It was comfortable to fall into her new routine of reading through most of the night. She preferred to keep her mind occupied so she didn’t have time to think. Over-analysis of herself, others, and her problems had produced few answers.
The kick of the baby woke her. But when she reached down and gently touched where the book corner pressed into her abdomen, she remembered. Empty. The child was gone. If only she could understand what went wrong.
Chapter Three
After allowing herself a buffer in case she became lost, Lauren arrived at the planetarium twenty-five minutes early. The inside of the Madame Curie science museum was vast and edgy in the dim lighting. Bizarre multi-layered shadows leapt about the expanse, emanating from the hair-raising Tesla Coil electricity display. About the time she calmed, the exhibit fired another violet stroke.
She crept by a gigantic rotating Jupiter. It displayed a surface simulating rippling purple bands and swirling crimson gases. For a moment she stopped and read the plaque describing the blood-red hurricane that had first been spotted on the gas planet 300 years before. She moved away from the eternal storm.
Halting at the tornado exhibit, she gawked at the writhing funnel. It looked like it lived and breathed. She reached to touch it, but it snaked away every time she attempted to feel its misty essence. Lauren wondered if the warmth of her body redirected it.
She ambled, her eyes scanning for doors, locating a multitude. Strong animal body odor and the sound of claws on steel repelled her from a nearby entrance.
Her attention was drawn upward to a large portrait of Madame Curie swinging above her head. It was troubling to think how the Nobel Prize-winning scientist and her daughter had died. The mother and her child had suffered a slow cruel death from a danger they could not see, hear, smell, taste or feel. Radiation never alerted Marie’s senses. Not even a sixth sense.
Lauren stopped at Room 2, the specified meeting room, which was dark and locked. She assumed she was in the right place. Looking again at her Mapquest map, she rechecked the address of the museum. She stared toward the direction of the thuds. A spiny toothpick pricked her as she dug in her purse for her keys.
Spotting the heaving metal plate, she relaxed when she connected the vibrations to the earthquake booth. She walked over and stood on one slab, testing the effect of a sheer wave. The sudden drops of the mechanical quake became predictable and limited, not like the free-falls of real life. Lauren exited the small ride.
After everything she’d been through, why be afraid of anything? Tiptoeing to peer again through the unlit window, she was startled to both feel and hear a low masculine voice vibrating up her neck.
She was embarrassed to decipher the words to the sound: “Excuse me. Let me get that door open for you.”
A thirtyish, pleasant-looking dark-skinned man selected a key among many and opened the door for her. “Sorry to frighten you.” She detected an intriguing island accent. A shining coal lock of hair swung against his cheekbone, framing a symmetric visage.
“Oh, no. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize anyone else was here.”
He entered the secluded room with her. She glanced toward the exit.
“You are a new face?” His gaze was direct, amiable.
“Mmm-hmm.” Lauren looked at the empty plastic chairs. He was still searching her countenance. She reread her Mapquest map. He relented from his social introductions and walked a few feet away. Shuffling papers drew her attention to the podium. Peeking up, she realized that he was reviewing his notes. He appeared to be concentrating on an outline. Great. I just made a wonderful first impression. “Umm, I’m obviously a novice astronomer. My name is Lauren.”
With an open and beautiful smile that involved his entire face, he replied “Hail up, Lauren. It is a pleasure to meet you. My name is Caleb.” His warm palm enveloped her hand.
“Nice to meet you, too.”
“Welcome to our star party. You are not going to find a nicer bunch of people anywhere.”
“Thank you.”
Caleb glided to the podium to set up his notebook computer, his muscles moving in the relaxed synchronized rhythm of a large cat. She could not identify a self-conscious moment in the man. And here she was a spring-loaded firing pin.
His iridescent skin, braided locks and warm piercing eyes were as exotic and gorgeous as a rainforest bloom. She made a conscious effort not to stare each time he sauntered across the room to greet arrivals. Smoothing the wrinkles of her stained sweatpants, she was surprised to feel a vague stirring.
When he began his speech, she forgot his physical beauty as she heard the words of a brilliant mind.
“These are several of my favorite photos that I took of the elusive green flash in my home of Saint Croix. And no, they are not of a comic book hero.”
The ease of the laughter in the room suggested friendship and admiration.
“For those of you who may not know, Saint Croix is the largest United States Virgin Island, and definitely the most important, because I come from there.”
She was about to peg him arrogant until the audience chuckled at his apparent joke.
“I will present my favorite slide first. This one is off of Mermaid Beach at the Sugar Sands Resort, the best place for limin,’ or as you say in Okie, ‘hanging out.’ So you do not always have to pay high dollar for a yacht to appreciate this awe-inspiring experience.”
“Wow,” Lauren whispered as she absorbed the verdant splendor on the slide.
“In the islands, we consider it a beneficent stroke of luck to witness a green flash. So I must be one of the luckiest fellows in the multiple universes. But, someone should tell my ex-wife.”
A woman sitting in front of her perked up, giving Caleb her full attention.
“Exactly at the moment of sunset or sunrise, the phenomena of the green flash can sometimes be seen when the skies are essentially clear and free of dust. For me, I love sunsets, because I am on island time and enjoy sleeping in most mornings.”
She gave a small sideways glance to the cheerful group to which she did not belong.
“It is necessary to observe a green flash from a location with a good true horizon, unobstructed by buildings or mountains. The open sea is the perfect true horizon. As you can see from this slide, the final sliver of the sun flashes green the moment before it sets. Typically, the flash lasts only a few seconds, but it is worth the wait. You all must come and see this with me. A photo is a poor substitute for the experience.”
She was in awe of the emerald luminescence above the tranquil sea. Closing her eyes, she floated with it above the shimmering surface.
“The explanation for this event is that the atmosphere refracts optical light. In fact, several of you may already realize this, but because of light distortion, the image of the sun appears above the horizon for several minutes after the sun, itself, has already set.”
How interesting. The sun is not really there? She leaned toward him.
“The atmosphere refracts or bends optical light that has short wavelengths more than light with long wavelengths. So you see, the shortest violet light wave is bent most, followed by blue, the green, then yellow, orange, and red. Even in the best atmospheric conditions, there is often enough dust to absorb the short violet, blue, and green light waves at sunset so we usually do not see these colors.”
As he gulped the crystal water, Lauren admired his light gauzy pants and all the shapes beneath them. Guilt stabbed her when he turned her way and smiled. She attempted to mimic his professional bearing. This is not like me.
“Now under clear and near-perfect conditions as just off the coast of Buck Island where I captured this from the yacht The’ Vert, which is French for Green Flash,” he said with an excellent accent, causing an amused titter from the audience. “We see the Sun seems to consist of several overlapping disks of different colors-violet the highest and red the lowest. And when you spot a mirage of an almost colorless yellow sun, as we have right above here, this is a very good portent for seeing the green flash.”
The lilting depth of his voice bore similarities in resonance to a deep Steel Pan drum. No wonder it was an island instrument of choice. Her nostrils flared as if she could catch the ocean mist.
“Fortunately, the green flash in its entirety has also been captured on my digital movie, here. We see the red disk of the sun setting first, then the orange disk, then the yellow. Because of the overlapping disks, only the uppermost sliver is green. However, in this case, above the sun is the necessary solar mirage, the atmosphere acting as a mirror.”
Lauren’s neighbor pointed out the solar mirage to his friend.
“This mirage of the sun detaches the green portion of the sun from the rest of the disks, prolonging the setting of the green disk. And we are blessed with the stunning green flash. It is a beatific color explosion.”
Grateful to see a replay of the gorgeous emerald flash, Lauren was in awe and yearning, as if the brilliance of the light invaded her eyes and soul.
Caleb ended his astronomy speech with “God bless you.” She marveled at the euphoria of being blessed by the sincerity of his wish. What a beautiful blend of man. It took some time for the appreciative listeners to wander away. Seeing her opening, she approached Caleb with the drawing.
“I heard someone address you as ‘Doctor.’ Where did you get your graduate degree?”
“From the California Institute of Technology. I received my undergraduate degree in Physics at the University of the Virgin Islands in the Science and Mathematics Division. I teach there now.”
“Oh. Physics?”
“Yes, I know. A lot of people are surprised to learn the Virgin Islands even has a University. It has been there since the sixties. We are not all Marine Biologists majors there, yuh chek.”
She was unable to think of a clever response to his ribbing.
“You have heard of the Eye in the Sky.” He spoke it like a pronouncement.
“Uh. Maybe.”
“It is located on eastern Saint Croix.”
She searched her memory but came up blank.
“It is one of those ten huge antennas we use to explore black holes, quasars, pulsars…like in the movie Contact. I am currently working on obtaining a grant to acquire more antennas.”
“Oh.”
“Half of the graduates from our Science and Mathematics Division are accepted into graduate and medical schools, including Yale, Cornell, Brown, you name it.” He stood taller when speaking of his Alma Mater.
“Wow. That is unusual. Umm. I received this puzzle in the mail I heard that maybe you could help me with.”
“You must be one of the new Mensa members?”
“Yes, and I got this test. Well, I’m not sure it’s a test, exactly. It’s just I know nothing about astronomy, but I do find it fascinating. Astronomy, I mean. You probably already received this test, too?” He was undoubtedly wondering how such an inarticulate fool wound up in Mensa. While he held and examined the speckled page, she attempted to discretely pull up the loose waistband of her oversized pants, but aborted the attempt when he noticed, and then rubbed her face as a failed distraction.
“No, I did not receive one, although I heard about it from a friend. Hmmm. That appears to be the Geminids.”
“I’m sorry. The what?”
“The Geminids is an upcoming meteor shower. The radiant is from the Gemini constellation. These are the Gemini twins, Castor and Pollux.” He pointed at two larger dots. “The meteor shower appears to radiate from Gemini. The radiant is akin to facing and peering down a long straight train track.” He gestured as if the railroad were in front of him. “The two rails appear to radiate from a single point. These lines show the radiant of the meteors.”
“I see. Wow. That is interesting. Well, I loved your speech.”
His scent was light and airy. “Thank you. I love the subject. The people here are fun, too.” He brightened and glanced at the milling group.
Lauren turned her head and made eye contact with a freckled-faced blonde, who revealed a cute gap between her front teeth when she smiled. The young woman made her feel welcome and cozy like a cup of hot chocolate. Tenseness ebbing from her muscles, Lauren turned back to Caleb.
“When does this Geminid…meteor shower take place?”
Nodding to confirm her pronunciation, he responded, “December fourteenth should be the peak. And we are really lucky to have a young moon that night, so the brightness of the moon will not interfere with the celestial display.” The smile of his eyes was more dazzling than the smile of his lips. His exuberance was contagious.
“That sounds very nice. Oh, well, thank you.”
“It was truly my pleasure to meet you. Chek you latah.” He strolled back toward the podium.
I wish I could bottle that accent and shake it on a gourmet meal. She mumbled, “Me, too.” Her shoulder bumped the door as she attempted a graceful exit. Now, she needed to run.
He turned around. “One curiosity.”
“Yes.” She hesitated.
“At the bottom of the page, there are several missing stars.”
“Really?” She looked at it again as if she would be able to see this, but could not, of course.
He approached as she stilled. “It is especially noticeable because everything else is depicted so accurately. See in this quadrant here. The bottom three stars of the constellation Lynx are absent along with this elbow of Ursa Major. Most people are unaware of the constellation Lynx because it is nearly invisible to the naked eye. The constellation acquired its name because you literally need to have the eyes of a Lynx to see it. Look at these two spaces. It is almost as if the stars have been obscured by two tall rectangular shapes, perhaps symmetrical buildings.”
“Symmetrical buildings,” she parroted.
“I do not know where those might be in Oklahoma.”
She pursed her lips to consider this. “Neither do I. I really do appreciate your help and I truly enjoyed your lecture.”
“Well, thank you. It is so much more fun when my audience is awake.”
She forced her legs to start walking out the door. It had been 12 months since she had enjoyed the company of a fellow human being. Other than her sister.
“Is that a copy?”
“What?”
He pointed to her puzzle.
“Oh. Yes. A copy? Yes. Would you like one?”
“Certainly. Maybe I could study it more seriously when I can grab a moment.”
Her thumbs creased the paper. “I have an original.”
“You…have the original?”
“The original I received in the mail. The specks look like blood to me.”
His head popped up. “Blood? Foh true?”
“Well, maybe, I have no idea, really. I haven’t looked at them through a microscope, or run any tests or anything. I thought you might want to see the original…sometime. I could always bring it with me.”
“Perhaps I can…sometime. Blood would warrant a thorough examination.”
Leaving the copy with him, she felt confident that if anyone could solve the star puzzle, Caleb could. Had Romy witnessed the murders in those buildings?