The Crying Rose: The Trilogy of the Rose (Volume 1) Read online

  “Oh,” Mark said out loud, as he remembered the painting of the elk on the wall, and concentrated on the painting. Grandma Jo had used it as a focal point in the room. Over the past several months he had found himself staring at it, admiring the life-like imaging. He now remembered seeing the signature crest and realized the painting had been done by Mrs. Carter. He glanced down at Sami, “Well, mystery lady, it seems that we have been linked all this time.”

  Mark’s thoughts returned to Grandma Jo. They had developed a close relationship since that first meeting. He has spent many hours in her company. They shared a kinship that was rare in this world. They mutually adopted each other into their personal lives.

  He and Ollie had spent the holiday with her since neither had family. He loved her above all others in his life. He was drawn away from his memories to the current situation by the ringing of the phone.

  Checking Sami, he saw she didn’t show any sign that she had heard the phone. He quickly stood up and hurried to answer the phone in her office, tracing the path he had made earlier. “This is Dr. Stevens.”

  “Hi, it’s me.”

  Mark recognized Mrs. Mills’ voice. “Hi, any news?” he responded.

  “I just spoke to Dr. Myers. You’re covered here, so you can relax on that matter. Also, Grandma Jo is on her way as we speak.”

  “Remind me to give you a raise,” Mark replied thankfully.

  “Sure thing, boss,” she laughed. “Let me know if I can help in any way.”

  “Just remember to forward Dr. Peterson’s call and to feed Ollie,” he reminded her.

  “Will do,” she replied. Saying goodbye, they hung up.

  Mark was drawn back to Sami as if he was attached by some sort of a bungee cord that would stretch just so far before snapping back. Standing by her bed, he pulled out his recorder, switched it on, and recorded all the events that had transpired since his last dictation. As he was finishing, he heard the doorbell. Continuing to talk as he went to the front door, Mark hesitated as he reached the end of the hall. He heard a sound that was familiar. Thinking that he would have to investigate it later, he switched off the recorder.

  Opening the door, he was startled by what he beheld on the threshold. He shouldn’t have been startled; he should have known what to expect. Dumbstruck, he just stood there for several seconds.

  Grandma Jo was completely bundled up as if she expected a blizzard. A bright red stocking cap was either halfway off or halfway on her head. Mark could not determine which way. Her bright blue, rather worn, overcoat was falling off her shoulders as she struggled with the overload of things in her arms. She was trying, unsuccessfully, to rearrange the bundles she was holding. Looking up, she saw his amazed expression. She dropped the handle of her purse that she had been clenching in her false teeth on top of the very unstable arrangement in her arms.

  “Don’t just stand there gawking, boy, help me,” Grandma Jo demanded. As the words left her mouth, her bundles started their journey to the ground. Mark reached out and managed to capture the plate of cookies that had been hidden earlier.

  “Oh bother,” cried Grandma Jo as she bent over to gather the items that had fallen. “That makes the second time I have lost this load since leaving the car. That’s what I get for thinking I’m part octopus,” she lamented.

  Laughingly, Mark asked as he bent over to help her with the mess, “What is all this stuff?”

  “Don’t bother me with details at this point,” Grandma Jo glanced up at him frowning. Shoving him away, she began again to stack the bundles. “I can handle this, Mister. You march right out and bring in the things from the trunk of my car,” she ordered.

  Mark looked at her car, parked behind his truck in front of the house, and noticed the trunk was opened. Knowing better than to argue, he handed the plate of cookies to her and smiled. Grandma Jo gave him her evil eye as she took the offered plate. He stepped over the newly formed stack at the front door and moved to do her bidding. On the way to her car, he glanced back over his shoulder and noticed that only half of the items were now stacked there. She had disappeared into the house. He turned back toward the car, shaking his head, and wondering if summoning her here had been such a good idea.

  Reaching the car, Mark was surrounded by the mouth-watering smell of freshly baked bread. His stomach growled loudly in anticipation as he poked his head into the open trunk and found the source. There in a basket were two, what he knew to be, loaves of homemade bread wrapped in aluminum foil. Next to the basket was her huge crock-pot that he could see was filled with meat and vegetables. The last item was a small ice chest. Mark smiled, thinking that she was always prepared for anything. He shook his head again, and picked up the items. The crock-pot was still warm to the touch, indicating that the stew was already done. How in the world did she know to cook the stew, he wondered? He shut the trunk lid, and walked back to the house carrying his precious cargo. Laughing, he recalled that she was known to be a ‘food pusher’.

  The doorway had been cleared of clutter as Mark entered the house. “Grandma Jo?” he called out quietly.

  “I’m in the kitchen,” the response came in the same quiet tone.

  He moved in the direction of the voice. The kitchen, Mark thought, I haven’t been there yet. Heading down the passageway on the far end of the living room, he entered a large room. On the left side was a complete kitchen, an open country-style arrangement with a butcher-block table in the center. To his immediate right was a large couch with a coffee table. Against the right wall was an entertainment center complete with TV, VCR, and stereo unit.

  Placing his arm full of goodies on the table, Mark moved to the entertainment center, instantly forgetting about Grandma Jo and his previously growling stomach. He removed his jacket, and laid it on the couch as he passed. Every shelf in the unit, he noted, was neatly arranged like the library he had been in earlier. All the movies for the VCR were arranged alphabetically by titles. Opening one of the unit’s lower doors, he found records. He looked up and spotted the turntable. They don’t make these much anymore, he thought.

  Scanning the album covers, he found mostly music from the 60’s and 70’s. He whistled a couple of times as he recognized the artist and/or the song. The condition of the records made them collector’s items, he thought. He half expected to find eight track tapes and a deck if he were to look long enough. Slowly, he began to realize that he and Sami shared the same interest in music.

  Mark felt the hair on the back of his neck began to rise. He sensed that someone was watching him. Closing the doors of the entertainment center, he stood up, knowing that Grandma Jo was standing behind him. “Okay, I will give you the highlights of what is going on,” he stated without turning around, as he eyed a record on the turntable.

  “That will do for starters,” Grandma Jo voiced.

  “First off, there is not much I know, but I trust you with my life. What we are about to share must stay within these walls.” Mark turned toward her as he spoke.

  Grandma Jo’s face showed that she understood. “Jan was rather vague on the phone, but I knew that if you needed me, I would be here,” she said with conviction. “Besides, Mark, you know that Monday is my baking day. It is the only luxury I still relish, but if you needed me today, of all days, then it had to be important,” she continued, emphasizing each sentence.

  “You’re right; it is important!” Mark answered emphatically.

  “In a nutshell, here are the facts,” he began, but was interrupted by the very loud, growling sound coming from his stomach.

  Hearing the loud sound, Grandma Jo said, “Okay, I get the hint. You haven’t eaten today, have you?” She gave him one of her penetrating stares. Mark shook his head feeling like a naughty child under her watchful glare. “Even though my curiosity is eating me up, you need nourishment. I have waited this long, I can wait a little longer,” she concluded, as she walked back toward the kitchen and the food supplies she had already begun to unpack. “We can talk while y
ou eat.”

  Mark followed her sheepishly toward the kitchen, suddenly relieved that she was there. He needed someone to bounce around ideas and he had, in the past, shared cases with her in very general terms. This time, however, she was going to get personally involved.

  Although Grandma Jo was not a professionally trained therapist, she was a very wise woman and had come up with some interesting viewpoints that had helped him in the past. “I am waiting, boy,” she said while unpacking the picnic basket of supplies: paper plates and cups, plastic utensils and paper napkins. Mark fully expected to see the kitchen sink appear next. The very idea caused a burst of laughter to escape from him. She glanced up from her task and gave him a look that killed the laughter quickly.

  “Okay, okay,” Mark pleaded. “I know that this is not a laughing matter, but you do present a comical sight.”

  Grandma Jo turned around and her own shoulders began to shake. “I guess you’re right,” she confessed, her own mirth was betrayed in her voice. Removing her cap and coat, she added, “Yet you know that I always want to be ready for any occasion.”

  “Grandma Jo, I do believe you have taken ‘ready’ to a higher level.” Mark laughed again, and came up behind her wrapping his arms around this tiny, slightly plump, blue-gray hair woman. That hug expressed his gratitude for her friendship

  “Enough of this mushy stuff,” she responded with love in her voice. “You had better start talking or you will get no food. Bring me that crock-pot; I want to plug it in to keep it warm. Then, bring the basket and the cooler. If you want something to eat, I need them over here.”

  Sneaking a cookie, Mark popped it into his mouth, savoring the sweet sensation as he did her bidding. He gathered the items off the table and placed them on the counter top beside her. Plugging in the crock-pot, he started to open the cooler when she shooed him away.

  “I’ll do that.” She grabbed the lid and opened it, reached into the cooler for a soda, and handed it to him. “Take this and go sit at the table, and then, start at the beginning,” she directed. Mark nodded, popped the can open, and grabbed a few more cookies before he headed to the table.

  Mark took a huge gulp of the drink and sighed. “Milk would go better with the cookies.” He didn’t realize he had voiced his thought until he noticed Grandma Jo was giving him a scowl. “All right, I will begin.” Taking a deep breath, he related all the events that had transpired since Jan had received Sami’s call.

  Grandma Jo produced a ham and cheese sandwich, a bag of potato chips and more cookies for Mark, and sat down next to him as he continued. She did not interrupt him since her experience with him had taught her to listen first, gather the information, and then they would hash out comments and ideas later. She sat back and gave him her full attention for she didn’t want to miss a single detail. She noted that Mark was good at observations, clinical and otherwise. And, he related those findings in an engaging way. She heard how his voice softened dramatically as he spoke of this woman, who was somewhere in the confines of this house, totally oblivious of their presence.

  Grandma Jo’s heart went out to this woman, but she knew that pity could not enter into the picture in this case if she was to be any assistance to Mark. She would have to squelch this feeling. As he related detail after detail, she found herself being drawn further into the case. Intrigued by the same things as Mark, she wanted desperately to run down the hall to see this woman and to view the painting he described, for herself. She knew, however, that there would be time for that later. Right now, Mark needed her to listen to him.

  “I guess the underlying thing here is ‘IT’,” Mark finished, focusing on her for the first time.

  Grandma Jo sensed that he was waiting for a response from her. “You do have a mystery here, Mark. Hopefully Dr. P. will be able to fill in some of the blanks.”

  “I don’t know. There are a lot of blanks to fill,” Mark replied.

  “Go check on her while I clean up this mess,” Grandma Jo urged. Mark smiled at her and shot out of the chair. He was gone in a flash. She smiled, thinking there is more here than he realizes. She quickly cleaned up the mess and hurried off down the hall to find him.

  ***

  As she entered the hall, Grandma Jo mulled over the facts that Mark had just related to her. She experienced a sensation of déjà vu as she passed each doorway for he had described the layout of the house so well that she knew what to expect. Knowing that Mark and Sami were in the far room on the right, she headed there first.

  When she passed the ‘craft room’, Grandma Jo hesitated. Just a quick peek at the painting, she thought. She returned to the doorway and was drawn into the room by the image of the rose. Mark had been correct in his assessment; it was breathtaking. She noticed one item that he had not described. There was dew or moisture dripping from the rose’s leaf making a pool of water below. The rose was crying! She was deeply moved, and her heart went out to this woman. If you overlooked this key element, Mark, you have missed an important clue, she thought. She backed out of the ‘craft room’. She was reluctant to leave the rose, but she had more pressing matters pending. Entering the hall, she turned in the direction of the bedroom.

  Mark was kneeling on the far side of the bed. Seeing the expression of his handsome face made her heart flutter. Boy, if I was thirty years younger, I would die if a man looked at me that way, Grandma Jo thought. His expression revealed his thoughts; written clearly on this face, was confusion, concern and compassion.

  “Mark, how is she?” inquired Grandma Jo.

  Glancing up, he replied in a resigned voice, “About the same.”

  Grandma Jo moved to stand next to Mark. She placed a hand on his shoulder and gazed at the form in the bed. From this angle, she could tell very little about this form. The person on the bed was on its side, curled up in a semi-circle, with a knitted afghan completely covering the body. All she was able to make out was a crown of brown hair poking out of the top of the afghan. As she squeezed his shoulder, he reached up and curled his hand around hers.

  “We have things to do,” Grandma Jo began. Turning his head in her direction, he nodded and released her hand. She headed for the door. Mark got to his feet and followed.

  In the hallway, Grandma Jo turned to face Mark. “You’ve given me the details to this point,” she spoke in a low voice. “I understand that you need me here to watch over her.” He nodded yes, but did not speak. She smiled, knowing that she had to take control at this point. Speaking slowly, as if to a small child, “Find me a chair,” she directed. “I am not going to kneel by her bed. I don’t have the knees that you do.” Mark grinned, eager to have a task that he could accomplish. “I will go gather my stuff from the kitchen,” she continued, “and meet you back here.” He nodded again and went off in search of the requested item. She headed toward the kitchen, shaking her head, wondering what would happen next.

  When Grandma Jo returned to the bedroom, Mark was standing next to the bed. Seeing her, he smiled and pointed to the small recliner he had secured. The boyish expression on his face made her shoulders shake in merriment, making her wish that she had a lollipop to give him as a reward for a job well done. She nodded her thanks, walked to the recliner, dropped her bundle on the chair, and turned to face him.

  Not surprised to find Mark gazing at the form on the bed, Grandma Jo’s heart softened even more as she took in the scene. There stood her 6’ 4”, dark hair with slightly gray temples, nice build (except for a slight sign of middle age settling around his middle), ‘adopted’ son, who was gazing tenderly at a woman she had yet to meet, or let alone, even see. Smiling, she walked toward this tower of a man and wrapped her arms around him. She buried her face into his side, thankful for his personal hygiene, for her 5’ 1” frame aligned her head directly into his side under his armpit. She chuckled as this thought flew through her mind. He wrapped his arm around her in response to her hug.

  Grandma Jo broke the embrace and stood next to Mark. “Okay, Dr. Stevens,” s
he looked up at him, “back to your investigation.”

  Mark glanced down at her, and taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders. “You’re right. There is work to be done.” Walking to the door, he stopped and glanced back at Sami. “Call out if there is any change,” he directed and disappeared down the hall.

  ***

  TEN

  Remembering the LP record on the turntable he had seen earlier, Mark headed directly back to the entertainment center to check for clues. He wanted to hear what she had listened to last, and easily locating the proper buttons, waited for the music to begin. He could have removed the record and read the label, but he wanted to experience the music itself.

  The music that filled the air around him was magical. Mark knew this music; it was part of his collection as well. The tenor voice was so distinguishable that he closed his eyes to let the moment carry him away. Suddenly, opening his eyes, he remembered his patient, and adjusted the volume so that it was low enough not to carry out of the room. Leaving the music on, he continued his search.