Gabriel's Mission

“A visit to your doctor might help. You wouldn’t have it on camera, I suppose, Bob?” McGuire asked.

“Now this is the really amazing part. I got everything else but some outside force seemed to put the camera into freeze.”

McGuire set his fine white teeth. “You’ll have to excuse me, folks. Ordinarily, I love to hear the mad stories you two make up.”

“It wasn’t a story, truly. I did catch him,” Chloe said.

McGuire wasn’t convinced. “You? Listen, you look like you’d have trouble emptying your shopping trolley. Heck, what do you weigh?” He took a step towards her, eyeing her slight figure, then before Chloe could move he swept her off her feet in one lightning-fast movement. “I’d say about fifty-four kilos.” He actually bounced her like a baby. “Am I right?”

She was utterly devastated. Her heart did a mad somersault and the blood whooshed in her ears. “Put me down.”

“Soon.” McGuire saw the rush of feeling flash through her eyes. Probably saw herself as Jessica Lange borne aloft by King Kong. “It’s a joke, right?” he asked with elaborate casualness.

“There were plenty of witnesses.” Bob was fascinated by the sight of Chloe looking like a porcelain doll in the Chief arms. He had to be dreaming all of it. “I can find you someone to speak to,” he offered.

McGuire laughed. “So there’s magic in you, Cavanagh.” Just holding her made him feel bedazzled. “Magic to move people. Catch them if you have to. That has to be the reason. It’s also quite possible you two screwballs dreamed the whole thing up.”

Bob looked shocked. “We’ve got too much respect for you, Chief, to waste your time.”

McGuire looked down at Chloe, noting every nuance of her expression. The scent of her was in his nostrils; honeysuckle, golden wattle, the fragrance of Spring.

“Chief,” she said, exasperated. She knew he could hear her unsteady breathing. Those smouldering black eyes zooming in on the telltale rise and fall of her breast.

“This is where it all falls apart, Bob. Cavanagh couldn’t possibly break the fall of a ten-year-old boy. You know it I know it.”

“What happened was a miracle,” Bob proclaimed like a convert.

“Nope. You’re just mad.” McGuire lowered Chloe to her feet, keeping his hand on her shoulder for a moment as though recognising she was very fluttery. “Sorry, you two. Got to run. You might like to be there when the jury returns a verdict on the Chandler case. I’ve just had a tip-off it could be late this afternoon.”

“Does this mean you still trust us?” Chloe challenged.

McGuire looked back over his shoulder, gave a twisted grin. “Sure, Cavanagh. What you obviously need is a good night’s sleep.”

“I guess you could call it mass hysteria,” Bob said later.

Chloe looked away from him. She could still feel McGuire’s strong muscular arms wrapping her body. She could still feel the shock waves, the chemistry as old as time, the brush of heat. It shamed her. “Let’s put it out of our minds,” she advised. We have to concentrate on the Chandler job. It has to be guilty.”

“There’s always a shock verdict, Chloe.” Bob sighed. “I’ve discovered that. Hang on a minute and I’ll get another tape. There must have been something wrong with the other one.”

CHAPTER TWO

BEFORE she left Friday, Chloe popped her head around the door of McGuire’s office. He was on the phone and he gave her a quick warning look: Don’t interrupt.

“Right, what is it?” he gritted when he finished what was clearly an aggravating call.

Unbelievable! Why had she accepted his offer to drive her to the party?

“I wasn’t sure if you knew where I lived.”

“Piece of cake, I’ve run past the house several times.”

“Whatever for?”

He looked back at her, a tight smile at the corner of his mouth. “Why not? I like to know all I can about the staff. Bit big for you, isn’t it?” It was a beautiful old Colonial, the family home, he had since been told, but it had to be a drain on her resources, physical and financial.

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” she said simply.

He was sympathetic to that. “So see you, then.”

“Fine. Wonderful.” She backed out quickly, muttering under her breath. Maybe he would be in a better mood tomorrow. If not she would simply call a cab.

Saturday morning found her shopping for the week’s supplies. Nothing much. She lived on fresh fruit and salads. She bought ham and cheese from the delicatessen, a roast chicken, a couple of loaves of bread she could pop into the freezer. There was no time to cook.

Mostly she didn’t have the inclination. Not after long hours on the job. Occasionally she and her friends went out to dinner when she made up for the slight deprivations. Early afternoon was spent in the garden trying to bring some semblance of order to the large grounds she was gradually turning to low-maintenance native plants. Her mother had adored her garden. So had her father when he had the time. Now they were both gone from this place.

A sense of loss beat down on Chloe but she tried to fight it back. In the early days after the double tragedy, she had experienced an overwhelming debilitating grief, a sense of futility and emptiness. How could she live without her father and mother? But when her mother had come out of the coma and into a waking dream state Chloe had started to fight back. She wanted to be around when her mother was returned to full life, even when the doctors told her day after day that was never going to happen.

Her skin glistening with tears, Chloe dug in a flowerbed overflowing with daisies, petunias, pink and white impatiens, double pelargoniums with a thick border of lobelia. A magnificent Iceberg rose climbed all over the brick wall that separated the house from their neigh-bour’s, spilling its radiance all over the garden. Her mother loved white in the garden, the snow white of azaleas, candytuft, the masses and masses of windflowers she used to plant. The azaleas continued to bloom prolifically in Spring but she couldn’t afford the time for all the rest. Eventually she supposed she would have to sell the house. McGuire was right. It was too big. Once they had been very comfortably placed. Not rich, but her father had been a well-established specialist physician. Now money was going out at a frightening rate. It worried her dreadfully she might have to shift her mother from her nursing home. “Jacaranda Hill” was one of the very best, a large converted mansion with beautiful grounds and a reputation for excellent care. Chloe couldn’t fault the way her mother was being looked after, but it was very expensive.

Mid-afternoon found her pushing her mother’s wheelchair across the nursing home’s lawn, finding a lovely shady spot under one of the many magnificent blossoming jacarandas that gave the nursing home its name. A man-made lake had been constructed some years back in a low-lying area of the garden, now its undulating edge was totally obscured by the lush planting of water iris, lilies, ferns and ornamental aquatic grasses. A small section of the large pool was taken up with beautiful cream waterlilies but the important thing for the patients was the sparkle and reflection of the water, the way the breeze rippled over its surface, marking the green with molten silver.

Chloe in jeans and a simple T-shirt sat on the grass beside her mother’s chair, holding lovingly to her mother’s quiet unresponsive hand. Strangely, despite all evidence to the contrary, Chloe never had the feeling her mother didn’t recognise her, though the blue eyes so like her own seemed to be looking into the next world already. Totally without fear, but inturned. Maybe she was seeing visions, Chloe thought. Maybe she was in spirit with her husband and son, or there could be dozens of responses trapped inside her head. Chloe never saw her intense dedication to her mother as a duty. Being there was simply a measure of her love. As always on her visits, Chloe told her mother what was happening in her life. She spoke as though her mother was fully present and as interested in what Chloe had to say as she had been in the old days when life was full of sparkle and neither had questioned the happiness and stability of their family life. She spoke about her ongoing dealings with McGuire, what she was doing around the house and garden, her various assignments and, of course, the extraordinary incident of the day before. The really odd thing was, Chloe’s own memory of it was beginning to blur. She had to really concentrate before it all faded.

“I don’t believe I was holding him at all,” she confided to her mother in remembered amazement. “I could feel the warmth of this solid little boy’s body. I could see the sheen of perspiration on his skin. The crowd was speechless. There I was waltzing around with Archie quite calmly. It just doesn’t make sense. It was like I was transformed. McGuire thought we were having him on. He told me to go home and get a good night’s sleep. But it did happen. That’s the mystery. What do you think?”

Then came the shock.

“What?” Chloe, who had been looking out toward the lake whilst she was speaking, shot a startled upward glance at her mother. Her warm voice had clearly sounded in Chloe’s mind.

But Delia Cavanagh’s expression was unchanged. A frisson of something that was almost awe rippled through Chloe’s body from brain to heart to the tip of her toes. Was she going mad? In some way she couldn’t possibly fathom, she was convinced her mother had spoken to her at some level. Some subtle communication.

“Mumma!” She clutched her mother’s hand more tightly, finding what was happening difficult to grasp, but there was no response on her mother’s tranquil face nor did a muscle move.

“Oh, God!” Chloe tried desperately to collect herself before she burst into tears. She wasn’t entirely right in the head. That was it. Psychological damage from severe trauma was a reality of life. Yet she had caught that whisper as it rippled past her ear. She had. She had. What else did she have to cling to but hope? Her faith in God had lessened over this terrible time.

Chloe struggled to her feet, upset and without direction, only, she realised with a rush of sensation, someone was giving her a helping hand. On her feet she stopped abruptly as though she could very easily bump into them. She even rubbed her hands together waiting for the electric little tingle to subside.

“This is insane,” she said out loud, causing a passing nurse to stare at her. Yet there was comfort, an easing of her grief.

Chloe dusted off her jeans and began to push her mother’s wheelchair in the direction of the pretty little summerhouse at the far end of the lake. A beautiful pink rose clambered over the white lattice walls, and the pair of stone deer donated by a patient’s grateful family, flanked the entrance. It was their usual route. What was unusual was her extraordinary notion this third person, this invisible person, accompanied them on their journey. The person who had taken her by the hand.

Spirit power, Chloe thought, giving her mother’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. She was going to have to start saying her prayers again. Renew the communication she so abruptly had broken off with a great and loving God.

Chloe had never taken as much trouble over a party; never spent so much time trying on different dresses, or regarding herself so long and critically in the minor. She was down to two dresses now. The lime green silk, long with a halter neck, or the floral-print chiffon, sleeveless with a ruffle around the crossover V-neck and a sort of handkerchief skirt. Each conveyed a certain look. Cool and classic, or that delicate ethereal look she couldn’t seem to escape. Neither dress was new. She didn’t feel she had the right to spend the money anymore, but they were still in fashion. Maybe the flowered chiffon had the edge. The very feminine look was in and the fabric was beautiful, rose pink peonies with a tracery of jade leaves on a turquoise ground. The chiffon would have to do. She could be the Spring fairy.

A very strange feeling ran through her all the time she dressed. Pleasurable anticipation, normal enough in the circumstances, but she was haunted by the element of sexual awareness. Since when did she find McGuire sexy? Since when was she all atremble at the thought of being close to him? She disliked the man, was highly wary of him and had said so at length. Nevertheless she was excited and it sparkled in her looks.

Chloe opened the front door to McGuire as the grandfather clock in the living room was chiming eight She’d known it was to be a black tie occasion but she hadn’t expected to see him look so—gosh, she couldn’t avoid the word splendid, in evening dress. She almost had to look away.