All the World (5 page)

              As the policemen got closer, Lexie wanted to run over and grab Bryony. What was the woman thinking? She didn’t need to get arrested. Those men were big, and she doubted Bryony could hold them off on her own.

              Fortunately, the policemen were blocked by a burly man wearing a cowboy hat. He grabbed Bryony’s wrist and dragged her, fighting tooth and nail, deeper into the crowd. It was only moments before Lexie lost sight of them, but their voices were still quite clear.

              “Let go of me, Ben! I don’t need your help!”

              “Pastor Shrewsbury just had Blanche removed by the police. They are looking for Kaitlin. Do you
want
to get arrested?”

              “If I can prove a point, then it’s fine with me! What do you care?”

              “Who says I care? You won’t prove a point. You need to get out of here, now!”

              “Don’t tell me what to do, Ben Forester!”

              Meanwhile, the sheriff was doing all that he could to fend off the attackers. He was grabbing tennis balls with the speed of a feline.

“Get them! Use force if necessary!” Sheriff Cato shouted to his deputies.

Lexie heard arguing from behind, and she glanced back to see Mark Cue being restrained by one of his friends.

“This isn’t the time to get personal!” the panicked boy implored Mark. “You said we were here for the theatre! I hate Cato just as much as any of my Rose relatives, but I don’t think a fight today will do any good! We aren’t here for some feud—”

“Shove your holier-than-thou-art attitude up your ass, Benny!” Mark Cue retorted, pushing the boy out of his way and barreling toward the sheriff. He grabbed a tennis ball from Theodore and chucked it at the sheriff when he was feet away.

Sheriff Cato dodged the ball and made a grab for Mark’s arm. “You insolent, foolish—”

Mark punched Cato squarely in the face, breaking his nose. Blood poured down and collected on the sheriff’s lips, but the ferocious glare never left Cato’s eyes.

              The sight of blood shifted the mayor’s focus to the sheriff. “Backup! Sheriff Cato needs backup!”

The deputy closest to Cato reached for Mark, but the teenager elbowed him in the stomach and shoved him to the ground. Lexie heard a sharp crack when the deputy’s head made contact with the asphalt. A woman screamed, rushed to the fallen policeman, and dropped to her knees by his side. Lexie recognized her as the owner of I Am Egypt.

“Antonio!” screamed the woman as she lifted the deputy’s head. Lexie cringed when she saw blood on the Egyptian’s hands and deputy’s face.

Lexie was pushed out of the way as deputies rushed to Cato’s aid. Two officers grabbed Mark, securing handcuffs around the laughing boy’s wrists.

“You can’t even arrest me on your own!” Mark shouted gleefully. “How did such a pathetic man become sheriff? You have less authority and talent than a meek little kitten! Meow!”

              Sheriff Cato staggered for a moment before straightening up, attempting to regain his dignity. He shouted for someone to attend to his fallen deputy.

              Suddenly, the bulldozer roared. Lexie saw the mayor nodding his head and shouting to the construction workers. People started screaming again, and more of Bryony’s tennis balls, aimed at the workers, went flying through the air. Lexie caught sight of Pierre with his hands clasped against his colorless face. He looked ready to faint. Cesare, the mayor, and the council members moved away from the ill-fated theatre.

              The Stratford Theatre gave a great shudder when the bulldozer collided with its side. The scraping of metal on brick sounded like giant teeth viciously grinding. Windows cracked and shattered, spraying glass shards like water. A great fracture appeared across the face of the clock tower, and only seconds passed before it tumbled sideways, crashing through the theatre’s roof.

              A great tremor went through the ground when the walls, both towers, and roof collapsed to the ground, mud splattering over the dun-colored stone.  The crowd’s shouting turned to gasps and whispers. A high-pitched peal, like a banshee heralding death, sounded from the Stratford Theatre’s clock before the hands halted.

              The council members, the MacDougals, and Cesare were muttering about having dinner at Vidalia in D.C. as they walked to their limos. Lexie couldn’t stop herself from glaring. She hoped Bryony had overheard where they were going for dinner. Maybe the fancy restaurant would be attacked by a volley of tennis balls.

              Lexie remained with the crowd, an overwhelming sense of defeat settling in the air. She couldn’t let Cesare get away with this.

Chapter Five: The Drama Begins

              The apartment above the Piazza Café was still subdued on Monday morning. Lexie was silent as she waited for the electric kettle to boil water for tea and instant coffee. Flora had managed to take a shower and get ready for work before collapsing on the sofa in a state of Shakespearian despair. Usually, when Flora’s melodramatic behavior lasted more than twenty-four hours, Lexie became very annoyed. Things were different this time. Lexie felt partially responsible since she had failed to convince Cesare to change his mind. Cesare had asked for a kiss; instead he had gotten a good slap across his smug face. Lexie was truly realizing how much she despised Cesare Garland.

              Lexie leaned her head against the cabinet and closed her eyes. Vernon Hills had transformed into a town of mourning. It was as though a prominent member of the community had died. Pierre had not been seen since Saturday. There was a rumor that Donna Leer had checked into the nearby hospital due to complications from being hit in the chest by Bryony’s tennis ball. Pastor Shrewsbury was refusing to let Blanche leave the house, and Kaitlin was hiding out at Bryony’s place. Mayor MacDougal had policemen at his house around the clock. Antonio Roma, the deputy who had hit his head during the riot, died in the hospital yesterday. Flora had informed Lexie that he was the husband of I Am Egypt’s owner.

              Though life in Vernon Hills had taken a momentary halt, the rest of the world was still ticking away as usual. It was this fact that caused Lexie to force Flora out of bed. Dejection over the destruction of a theatre was not an acceptable excuse to be late to work at
The Washington Post.
She doubted Dr. Lindegaard would be pleased with that excuse either.

              The gurgling kettle brought Lexie out of her thoughts. She poured boiling water in Flora’s mug of instant coffee, set it aside, filled another cup, and dropped in a Darjeeling teabag. It wasn’t just the theatre that bothered Lexie. It was Flora. Lexie was beginning to wonder if something more was on Flora’s mind.
Nickolas better not be causing her grief!

              The scent of coffee brought Flora to the kitchen. Dark crescents stood out under her eyes, and her face was pale and pinched.

              “Do you want to carpool today?” suggested Lexie as she stirred sugar into her tea.

              Flora shook her head. “I usually work late on Mondays. I don’t want you to wait around.”

              “I really don’t mind. I can hang out somewhere. Maybe I’ll check out the new shoe store. I need new brown flats.”

              “I’ll be fine,” Flora told her. “Why don’t you pick up something for dinner after work? There’s that good sandwich shop on the way home. Just get me the turkey sub with pepper jack cheese, tomato, and lettuce.”

              “Okay. Well…I’ll see you tonight,” she answered. “Flora, I think going to work will be good for you. It will take your mind off things.”

              Flora did not reply as she walked out of the kitchen with her coffee.

              Lexie sighed. How long would it take for Flora to emerge from this sea of despair? She bid her friend farewell as she left the apartment.

              Fog moved along the streets and sidewalks like a restless ghost. Mist settled on Lexie’s skin like cold sweat, and she shivered and crossed her arms over her chest.

              Commotion across the street caught her attention. Through the fog, she saw the owner of I Am Egypt, dressed in gold and lapis lazuli, redecorating her display window with snake jewelry. The window had previously been adorned with jewels inspired by Egyptian queens. However, the woman now looked like an Egyptian queen in all her finery. A tiara of gold and blue rested atop her shiny black hair, and the shimmering copper-colored dress hugged her body.

             
Snakes? Really? Does she actually think they will bring people to her shop?

              Lexie put the woman out of her mind as she made her way to her car. Today there was no sheriff or snarky teenager to block her entrance into the parking lot. Lexie prayed that the atmosphere at work would be lighter than the one in Vernon Hills.

***

              “We have a very busy day ahead of us,” Dr. Lindegaard announced to his staff. “There are a number of new clients today. I had a few people call my home number in order to schedule sessions.”

Dr. Phillip Lindegaard was a tall man with a pale complexion and straw-colored hair. He and Nickolas had the same grey eyes—a trait that Flora said was consistent in the Lindegaard family. Lexie wondered what had possessed this man to start an affair with his sister-in-law.

              An uneasy murmur ran through the staff. Lexie frowned. She’d never heard of anyone calling Dr. Lindegaard directly. Was his home number even in the phonebook?

              Dr. Lindegaard glanced at his notes. “Some of the clients have some unusual issues. A man having nightmares about witches is coming. A generous gentleman who lost all his money called me this morning and will be here at noon. His comments on the phone were disturbing, and we need to prevent him from becoming a misanthrope. These are just two examples from our busy, busy day. I had to call a few clients in order to make room for new ones. I think I paired our first-time clients well, but if a rapport cannot be established, please inform me.”

              He pinned the paper on a bulletin board behind him before walking out. There was a flurry of movement as everyone struggled to see if they had one of the new clients. People began muttering with discontent.

              “I can’t take on any more clients!”

              “Why did he go through the schedules without consulting us?”

              “I know I told Richard Ludlow to be here at 9:00, not 12:30! He has a sleep disorder! That’s why I need him here early!”

              “You have Nickolas Lindegaard later. His stepdad is still trying to find a therapist who can connect with his son. Good luck…if he shows up. I couldn’t do anything with Nickolas last time. One hint: all his issues stem from his mom betraying his dad.”

              “Timothy Root? He must be new.”

              Because Lexie had only worked at Lindegaard Counseling and Therapy for a few months, she was still shadowing more experienced therapists. Following the sessions, she and the therapist would discuss the session. Then Lexie would record the session data and transfer the notes to the electronic database.

Lexie found her name and discovered she was shadowing Dr. Lindegaard that morning.

              “James MacDougal? Isn’t that the mayor of Vernon Hills? I guess that’s why Dr. Lindegaard is attending to him. Have fun, Lexie.”

              Dr. Lindegaard rarely allowed new employees to shadow him with his clients. The staff joked that it was because he didn’t want people replicating his style. Lexie wondered why he was allowing her to observe him as she made her way to his consulting office. She sat down in the armchair situated toward the back of the room where her presence would be least disturbing.

              “Are you ready for an interesting session, Ms. Stanley?” Dr. Lindegaard asked as he stepped through the door.

              She nodded.

              He checked the clock before fixing her with a steady stare. “You are Flora’s closest friend, so I don’t mind telling you this. Flora has done wonders for Nickolas ever since they started seeing each other. They are a lovely couple, and Audrey and I will happily welcome her into the family if such a time comes.”

              Lexie twisted her hands nervously. “I know Flora would—”

              Dr. Lindegaard held his hand up to stop her. “However, I know that my recent marriage to his mother has had a negative impact on my stepson. I just want to make it clear to you and to Flora that his odd behavior has nothing to do with their relationship. Through all of this, she has been a constant presence in his life. I don’t see how the clouds still hang on him when he has that lovely girl.”

              Before more could be said, Mayor MacDougal entered the room.

              “Mayor MacDougal, welcome to Lindegaard Counseling and Therapy. I am Dr. Lindegaard and this is Ms. Stanley. She’s a new but very talented therapist. I want her observe me today. Is that alright with you?”

              “As long as she keeps my session confidential, I have no problems with her being here.”

              “Of course she will,” Dr. Lindegaard assured the mayor.

              “I am very happy you could see me on such short notice.”

              “It was no hardship.”

              “Can we get started?”

              Dr. Lindegaard gestured to an armchair. “Of course. Take a seat and make yourself comfortable. Now, please tell me why you seek my counsel.”

              The mayor looked very uncomfortable. He rubbed his hands together, and the muscles in his throat and jaw struggled to perform. Dr. Lindegaard peered at the man with a quietly curious expression, acting as though he had all the time in the world.

              “Well, you see,” Mayor MacDougal managed. “I’ve been having this dream for the last few nights. It’s the same one every time.”

              “What is the dream about?”

              “There are three witches sitting at the table where all the town council meetings are held in Vernon Hills’ town hall. I recognize two of the women because they are on the town council, but the other one is a stranger. The only light in the room is from the three candles sitting in the middle of the table. As you know, Vernon Hills holds the election for mayor every three years, and I plan to run again this year.”

              “Yes, and I wish you the best of luck,” Dr. Lindegaard replied with a professional smile. “Tell me, why do you call these women witches?”

              “Because they
are
witches,” insisted the mayor. “I just feel it in my bones, even though they don’t look like the stereotypical witch. All three women are dressed in black evening gowns and wear ruby necklaces. Their fingernails are painted blood red. Each witch holds a glass bottle filled with poison.”

              “How do you know it’s poison?”

              Mayor MacDougal silently stared at Dr. Lindegaard.

              A minute passed before Dr. Lindegaard prompted his client to continue. “What happens next? Please, go on.”  

              Mayor MacDougal nodded. “These witches are looking at files for potential candidates. They get to my file and prop it up against the candles, but it doesn’t burn. It glows red and gold. Then they start singing about me. They say something about me being mayor of Vernon Hills until I die, and my sons and daughters will take my place. When they finish, blood is streaming from my file.”

              “Could you be likening your term as mayor to that of the late Mr. Leer?” suggested Dr. Lindegaard. “He died near the end of his term, and his oldest daughter was a candidate for mayor.”

              The mayor rubbed his hands. “I don’t know. Two of the witches look like Bella and Donna Leer. The third is a woman with floor-length black hair and a very white face. That isn’t the end of the dream. The blood from the file covers the whole table and the candle flames turn black. Everything is still. Suddenly, I see myself jump out of my file and attack the witches. The dream always ends with me saying ‘blood will have blood.’”

              He shuddered and ran a hand over his face.

              “Have you had sleep issues in the past?” asked Dr. Lindegaard.

              “No,” answered Mayor MacDougal. “I did some research on the interpretation of dreams. Witches are thought to symbolize destructive acts of the unconscious. The passage of time is one explanation of candles in dreams. Blood is a symbol of passion and life, and losing blood is a sign that life has become draining. Violence in dreams symbolizes resentment toward someone.”

              Lexie had come into contact with clients who had odd dreams, but she had never heard anything like this. The thing that was so shocking was how upset it made the mayor.

              Mayor MacDougal cleared his throat. “So, I think my dream means that I am worried about the upcoming election because time is going by so quickly. My worry is taking over my life and draining me of my energy. I am resentful towards the Leer sisters for how malicious they were in the last election. You know the rumors. I will do anything to keep them from doing such things again and ruining their father’s memory. I will also not let anyone stand between me and my position.”

              He said everything very fast, and Dr. Lindegaard regarded the mayor quietly. What words of comfort was he going to give a man who had just admitted he would do anything to remain mayor of Vernon Hills?

              “That,” Dr. Lindegaard said, “is Freudian nonsense.”

              “W-what?”

              “You are clearly nervous about the approaching election, and that is the most normal thing in the world. The election is also reminding you of the rumor about Bella Leer and that young boy. Your dream is a product of stress. I’m reluctant to prescribe medication right now. I think deep breathing and relaxation techniques are a good start, as well as keeping a daily journal. Yoga is another activity that I often suggest to clients with stress management issues. Using New Age music to fall asleep may reduce the frequency and intensity of your dreams,” explained the doctor.