Archangel of Sedona (15 page)

“My wife passed about four years ago. Breast cancer. I’m glad that she had ten years in Sedona before the end. She loved it here.”

“Sorry, Eddie,” I said in weak consolation.

“Yeah, me too. I miss her. She was a truly beautiful woman in body and spirit. She’s the reason that we moved here. But hey, let’s get you settled.”

“Thanks, Eddie. I appreciate your hospitality.”

“I’m looking forward to the company and the mission that we’re on. Besides, you need watching out for. You don’t understand this place anymore or how it can work.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Take your gear to the back bedroom. It’s down the hall. It has its own separate bath and a little sitting area. You’ll be comfortable there. After you unpack, come back to my study and we’ll have a serious chat.”

“Yes, Sir,” I said. I picked up my carry on and put the strap over my shoulder. I pulled the handle out of the larger suitcase and wheeled it down the hallway.

The bedroom turned out to be large and restful. I spent ten minutes unpacking and freshening up before I walked back to talk to Eddie.

“Find everything to your satisfaction?” Eddie asked as I stood in the doorway to his well-appointed study. “Come on in and sit down,” Eddie motioned to a comfortable looking chair across from his big wooden desk, where I had a view of his ‘I love me’ wall with all of his citations, medals—including a Silver Star and a Purple Heart with an oak leaf cluster—and plaques.

“Eddie, this is a neat house. I appreciate you taking me in. That kind of camaraderie is above and beyond the call of duty.”

“It’s the least I can do for a Paratrooper who used to work with Yvette. Besides, you need someone to look out for you here.”

“You mentioned that earlier. What are you talking about?”

“You’ve noticed that Sedona is not the simple village that you knew forty years ago?”

“True enough. I like it better. It’s more livable, hasn’t lost its charm, hasn’t compromised the red rocks, and is still spiritual.”

“You’re right about all of that. Yet Sedona remains a small town. While we get millions of visitors a year, less than twenty thousand people live around here full time. A small group of locals might not appreciate the purpose of our quest.”

“Explain that please.”

“You understand that different religious and philosophical groups interpret the mystical nature of this place according to their own belief systems, right?”

“Sure, I got that loud and clear from the New Age folks.”

“The priest told you that if the inter-dimensional aliens existed that they could be the beings that we call angels, right?”

“Yeah, more or less.”

“Don Hansen said that the angels can be good and some can be bad, evil, manipulative, and demonic?”

“Yes, which I saw as consistent with the lessons from the Christian and Jewish dogmas. Catholics believe that Michael and Gabriel work on the good side, Satan and his horde on the bad.”

“Tony, do you realize that there could be folks around here who follow and venerate the demons?”

“No, but I get your point. I should have considered that possibility. I don’t know why I missed it. On the battlefield, you and I have seen the evil that men do. I encountered that evil when I prosecuted violent crime in Florida. In my current job, I see it when I review the violent crime investigations that our deputies and detectives in Tampa generate. Some humans can be totally depraved.”

“Yes, they can. Let me ask, you a question.”

“OK.”

“What do you think happened to your friend?”

“Don’t know, yet.”

“Bullshit!” Eddie shot back. “From the way that you told the story two hours ago, you’ve fantasized that inter-dimensional beings abducted him to keep the secret. Right?”

“Isn’t that a possibility?” I asked.

“Maybe, but we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Let’s start out by agreeing that what was on the Cross in the chapel was an iron sculpture. It was never alive in any way. Think this through, Tony.”

“I agree. What’s your point?”

“That sculpture hung from that Cross in the chapel for over twenty years. Then, someone took it down. The stories that Ms. Staude came back and removed it make the most sense. That’s the real explanation.”

“If you’re right then there’s no mystery.”

“Not so fast,” Eddie began. I’ve lived here a long time. Before I became the king of local barbeque, I ran an I/T operation that provided computer related services to local small business, including over thirty artists, sculptors, and writers.”

“You were a computer geek? I thought you were Infantry blue through and through. One more river to cross, snake eater, and all that. You’ve been giving me shit for being a Judge Advocate and you’re Information Technology?”

“Yeah, you fucker. As a major, I ran one of the first classified and tempested I/T systems for the Joint Chiefs.”

“I’m impressed. Why’d you get out of the business?”

“I got tired of fixing everyone else’s glitches, problems, and meltdowns. When Mary got sick and I had to care for her, I didn’t want those distractions. I sold my business and set up the barbeque gig so I could spotlight my superior culinary skills and make a buck.”

“What’s all this got to do with the mystery of the missing Christus?”

“Based on years of working with the artists around here, I’m certain that Ms. Staude didn’t give a crap what other folks thought of the Christus. It’s possible that she took the statue down and destroyed it. But if she did, it wasn’t because of public criticism. She had some other reason.”

“So?” I asked.

“We find the real reason why Ms. Staude, or whoever, removed the Christus, and we’ll learn the true motive for the Catholics to end religious services at the chapel. When we unravel those two riddles, we’ll know what happened to Ostergaard. At least we’ll know why he disappeared,” Eddie said.

“Any speculation, Colonel Grimes?” I asked.

“No, but your abduction theory has some merit.”

“So you do think extraterrestrials or inter-dimensional beings vacation in Sedona?” I asked, trying to be jocular.

“Maybe. Like you, I’ve seen the lights. It’s possible. Folks claim closer contact than you and I have had. They’re not all crazy.”

“What’s next, Eddie?”

“We execute your five-point plan. I’ll do the computer work. I’ve never seen a JAG who could find his ass with either hand where computers are concerned. You do the other stuff. Remember, this is far more complicated and a whole lot more serious—even more dangerous—than you thought. We have to be careful.”

“Careful is my middle name,” I said.

“If this is your idea of careful, we are in a world of shit.”

“Thanks, buddy.”

“Don’t mention it. Want another beer?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Good, they’re in the refrigerator, bring me one too.” Eddie directed.

Life with Eddie Grimes proved to be a hoot. His hospitality was both generous and genuine. His home became our base of operations. Lt. Col. Grimes had many talents and a dry sense of humor. In less than a day, I knew I’d made a friend for life.

After we did our research, Eddie would make terrific meals. I’d wash dishes and clean up. At Casa Grimes, light colonels were on the K.P. roster.

Eddie did exhaustive research on the Christus sculptor. His name was Keith Monroe. His base of operations had been San Francisco. Mr. Monroe had a captivating, eclectic style, producing statues, sculptures, and fine art of all types.

In addition to the Christus, he had a signature work. It’s a larger than life reproduction featuring Marilyn Monroe—no relation—in that scene from
The Seven Year Itch
where she stands over a sidewalk exhaust and her dress blows up provocatively. Thanks to Keith, the good people of Chicago get to admire a huge version of Marilyn’s butt in their public spaces. Otherwise, Eddie could establish no connection between Mr. Monroe and the disappearance of the Christus. It turned out to be a dry hole.

On Tuesday, my first full day at Eddie’s house, I found three Ostergaards in the Phoenix area. For a fee, a website provided a number for a Claire Ostergaard in Scottsdale.

I showed my discovery to Eddie. He’d arrived at a stopping point on his project. We discussed my approach. He agreed to listen to the conversation. I made the call in the afternoon. I got voice mail on the fourth ring.

“Hi, Ms. Ostergaard,” I began. “I’m Tony Giordano. I used to know Dan Ostergaard. I wonder if you’re related to him and if you have time to speak to me.”

I left my cell number and hung up. Two hours later my cell rang. I recognized the number. It was Claire Ostergaard. I pushed the button for the speaker function.

“Hello, this is Tony Giordano,” I began.

“Hello Tony, this is Claire.”

“Thanks for calling back. I hope I haven’t troubled you. I was …” I began before Claire interrupted.

“Tony, you don’t recognize me. I used to be Claire Weston. We attended Saint Francis together. I went on to Xavier while you were at Brophy.”

“Claire! Of course, I remember you. You were the prettiest girl in our class and the smartest.”

This development surprised me. I’d known Claire Weston since first grade. She’d been the best student in our class. She blossomed in puberty. All of the Brophy Boys thought that Claire was the hottest girl at Xavier High.

She seemed to be attracted to older guys. By sophomore year, she’d begun dating frat boys from ASU. By the time I met Dan Ostergaard, Claire wouldn’t have given either of us the time of day.

“What a surprise. You’re part of Dan’s family?

“I’m Dan’s widow.”

“Claire, I’m so sorry. I had no idea that you even knew Dan. In high school, you traveled in better social circles than Dan and I.”

“I was Dan’s second wife. We were married for fifteen years before he disappeared. We hooked up in the ’80s, after our first marriages hit the rocks. Dan worked in Scottsdale, but he had a home near the Biltmore. Saint Francis was close enough for him to participate in our charitable programs. We interacted on projects, started dating, fell in love, got annulments, and got married.”

“Again, I’m so sorry for your loss,” I said.

“I wondered if you would contact me. I’ve been expecting a call for a dozen years,” Claire said.

“Why would you say that,” I asked. I looked at Eddie who had a surprised expression.

“You were with Dan at the chapel in Sedona, right? You were with him when you both had the encounter with the object?”

I paused. I had a hundred questions. I looked at Eddie. He waved his hand in a furious circle, indicating that I should get on with it.

“Yes, I was with Dan at the chapel. When did Dan tell you about that?”

“A week before he disappeared. He read about the chapel and a missing Christ figure. He had an emotional reaction. I tried to comfort him. He was so melancholy.”

“Why did you think that I’d contact you after all these years?” I asked.

“The last time Dan and I spoke, he called me from his hotel. He told me that he’d knocked over a hornet’s nest. He wouldn’t explain what he meant over the phone. He told me that he’d lay the whole thing out when he came home. He said that he’d contact you. What he learned would affect you. He made me swear not to call you, unless he was there. He said that if something happened to him, I was not to contact you at all.”

“Holy fucking shit!” Eddie whispered.

“So Dan didn’t want you to contact me?” I said.

“The last thing he said was that, if you called me and inquired about him, I was to tell you that if you valued your immortal soul, you should abandon any thought of following him. I’ve been waiting to see if you would make contact. This is a relief. For the longest time, I thought Dan had a breakdown and wasn’t rational.”

Eddie and I looked at each other, like two stupid kids caught in an inexcusable act of vandalism. We wondered what world of shit we’d fallen into.

“So how is everything in Tampa?” Claire asked.

“How do you know that I live in Tampa, Claire?”

“The area code on your cell phone number. Besides, after that call from Dan, I found out where you lived, just in case. I’ve followed your career. You did big cases for the Department of Justice. You work for a Sheriff now. You’ve written a novel. I have it.”

“You read my book?” I asked. “How’d you like it?”

At this point Eddie gave me the finger, then did the circular hand gesture again. He was impatient with my interest in Claire’s evaluation of my literary work.

“I liked it a lot. It’s a neat story. Dan would have liked it too. He loved historical fiction. But tell me, are you retired?”

“Can’t retire. I have an expensive mistress named Gretchen. I’ll work until I drop. Then she’ll run off with a much younger man.”

Eddie gave me the hand job sign. He pretended to wipe away a phony tear to mock the plight of a man with a trophy wife.

“Well, I wish you the best.”

“Claire, I’m calling from Sedona.”

“Tony, leave there immediately! It’s beyond dangerous for you. Nothing good can come from you being there. Dan was right. Your life and your very soul are in jeopardy.”

“I’ll be all right, Claire. Don’t worry.”

“Those were the exact words Dan used when he ended our final conversation. I’ll go to Saint Francis tonight and light candles. God bless you.”

“Thanks, Claire,” I said, but she’d already hung up the phone.

“What the fuck is going on?” Eddie asked.

I had a flashback to September 2, 1966. Dan stood at the door of the chapel. I shook the door. He complained that he was a religious supplicant, whose soul was in peril. The priest had locked us out. He couldn’t get “no satisfaction.” I smiled remembering his bad impression of Mick Jagger.

“What are you smiling about?” Eddie asked. “This is serious shit. We’re behind the curve by fifteen years. Ostergaard stumbled over some heavy stuff. We have to avoid falling into the trap that got him. It’ll be harder since you’ve been so careless and broadcasted your intentions all over town,” Eddie said.

“OK, Colonel. I’ll go make calls to local law enforcement. How about you continue the research on Hansen?”