Messages from Henry

Messages from Henry

  A Novelette by Rebecca Scarberry

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2012 by Rebecca Scarberry All Rights Reserved

  Published by Rebecca Scarberry

  CHAPTER 1

  The first thing I notice when I walk out onto my wooden front porch is the silence. The birds, normally tweeting away as they hop from branch to branch in the cedar tree above my bird feeder, are nowhere in sight. Not even a buzzard flies overhead, in search of its morning feast. I feel a strange tension in the air.

  I sit down in my rickety pine rocking chair, bundled up in my puffy down jacket on this chilly November morning. Cinnamon, my longhaired orange cat, is startled by the loud creak of the chair. She runs out from under the chair, sits under the table and gives me a sneer as though I scared her intentionally.

  I place my coffee on the wrought-iron table and search the meadow and the cow pasture for any movement. Not even the sound of a distant dog barking, hawk squawking or wild turkey gobbling can be heard in the distance. Even Cinnamon sits under the table, turning her head from side to side, searching the trees and bushes for any sign of life.

  Fluttering wings startle us.

  “Henry, what are you doing here?” I ask my neighbor Evelyn’s pure white homing pigeon, which has just settled on my banister. “You better skedaddle before Cinnamon decides to jump up there. What’s that tied to your foot? Evelyn joking around and sent a note to me?”

  Henry stares at me with his bright yellow eyes and tilts his head to one side as I move towards him. It is, without a doubt Henry. I can tell by the slight twist of his left foot, he’s had since birth. I have grown quite fond of him over the years since his mother, having laid only one egg for some reason, refused to care for him once he had hatched. Evelyn, my elderly neighbor and close friend, took Henry into her home and hand-fed him. Her husband, Des raised and sold white homing Rock Pigeons, which can find their way home from extremely long distances, and made quite a bit of money doing so. Des passed away one year ago, and my husband, Frank, passed away two months later. . .

  Once Henry could eat regular feed, Evelyn put him in her yard where he could roam freely — unlike the other pigeons, which she keeps in a large loft. I have always enjoyed helping when I visit.

  I untie the note from Henry’s leg and read it aloud. “Help, kidnapper is going to kill me, Evelyn.”

  My swollen, arthritic hands tremble as I hurry inside the house. I let Evelyn’s phone ring eight times before disconnecting and dialing the sheriff.

  “Sheriff Kincaid here, how may I help you?”

  “Warren, you have to go over to Evelyn White’s house right away. Henry just brought me a note from her. She’s in trouble.”

  Ever since childhood, the three of us have been good friends. I suppose it was our red curly hair and our unusual aqua blue eyes that drew us together. Warren knows all about Henry’s devotion to Evelyn and how he often follows her when she leaves her home.

  “Is Henry still at your house?”

  “No, once I took the note off his leg, he flew away.”

  “Wait a half hour and then meet me at Evelyn’s house. I want to secure the scene before you arrive.”

  When I pull up in front of Evelyn’s house, Sheriff Kincaid and a team of three investigators are there. Before I reach the front door, Sheriff Kincaid grabs my arm. “We’ve found evidence of a struggle inside. I can’t allow you to enter. Investigator Ryan Hobbs will be in touch with me just as soon as they know more. Hobbs is the tall, thin man with blonde hair. He just came out of the house.”

  “Was blood found inside?” I ask as my hands tremble.

  The look on Warren’s face reveals the answer and I start crying. He takes me in his arms and tries to comfort me. He says, “We will know more once the investigators run tests. Tammy, how do you suppose Evelyn was able to get paper and pencil to write that note?”

  “Evelyn always has this tiny little pad of paper with a small pencil attached that she either stuffs in her bra or a pocket. She’s writing her memoirs and whenever she thinks of something she wants to add, she has it handy.”

  Warren walks me back to my Jeep. I have a heavy heart and fear I may never see my close friend ever again.

  He hesitates before opening the driver’s side door for me and asks, “Does Evelyn have a substantial amount of money or do any of her relatives?”

  “Evelyn isn’t rich so to speak, but her only child, Scott Bury, as you know is a very successful novelist. Why do you ask?”

  Scott has been told of his mother’s kidnapping and it’s possible the kidnapper might call him and ask for a ransom.”

  CHAPTER 2

  The next day, while I am cleaning out my chicken coop, I feel the same unfamiliar tension in the air as the day before. There isn’t even a slight breeze and there is silence all around. The sun has just peeked over the mountain, setting the sky ablaze in lavender. There’s a thin layer of frost on the tops and outer branches of the trees. The frost sparkles in the early morning light like a kaleidoscope. The reddish brown bark of the nearby madrone trees stands out against the forest of pines. Any other day, the chickens would be pacing and clucking, anxious for their morning feed. Today they are all quietly standing in a row, looking out through the chicken wire. I begin to wonder if the chickens are staring at something behind me. As soon as I turn around, I see Henry. He’s standing motionless and quiet as he stares at me with fear in his eyes. I hurry over to him. “Henry, I see you have another note for me.”

  I carefully remove the note from Henry’s leg. I don’t want to contaminate any evidence, so I immediately take it into my house and place it inside a plastic bag. I get into my Jeep and head for the sheriff’s department. I find Warren on the telephone. I lay the plastic bag on his desk. He tells the person he’s talking to that he’ll call them back.

  Warren looks concerned. “Another note from Henry?”

  “Yes, I didn’t even read it. I took it right into the house and put it inside this bag.”

  Warren opens one of his desk drawers and pulls out a pair of white plastic gloves. “Sure wish you would have brought Henry with you also. He might have some evidence on him that could be helpful.”

  “As soon as I removed the note, he fought to get away. He pecked my hand and it hurt, so I let him go. Sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Tammy. Let’s see what the note says.” He reads aloud, “Riverside Park, outbuilding.”

  I say, “I’m glad the person holding Evelyn captive isn’t taking her out of state. Riverside Park isn’t far at all.”

  “I’ll call you later with our findings. Riverside Park is a big park with lots of outbuildings. Don’t get impatient, it will take quite a while to search and collect any evidence, if there is any to be found.”

  I open my mouth to protest, but Warren raises his arm to halt me.

  *

  Warren calls me four hours later. He’s excited. “Just as I pulled into the parking lot by the restrooms, a dark blue Honda Civic was speeding towards me with a Josephine County police officer on his tail. I saw Evelyn looking out of the back window of the Honda.”

  My knees weaken and my pulse increases thinking about my poor friend trapped inside a vehicle with a possible murderer.

  “I followed them to Murphys Pass. The outdoor arts and crafts fair was set up in the street and the driver of the Honda tore right through one of the barricades! We lost sight of him soon after.”

  I sat staring into space, asking myself if I recal
l ever seeing a dark blue Honda at Evelyn’s. Warren interrupts my train of thought, “Tammy, are you still there?”

  “I’m here, Warren. Could you see the driver of the Honda?”

  “No, the sun was reflecting on the windshield. All I saw was that it was a man.”

  “What was the reason the police officer started chasing the Honda to begin with?”

  “A park visitor thought she heard a woman moaning when she walked by the Honda, parked near the restrooms. There was nobody inside the vehicle that she could see. She got concerned and called it in. When the police officer arrived, he said there was a white pigeon on the roof of the Honda. He could see a man inside. Seconds later, the driver took off, heading for the parking lot exit.”

  Again, my knees weaken and I have to sit down at the dining room table. My mouth becomes dry.

  “The police officer described the pigeon and it sounded exactly like Henry. We’ve put out an all-points bulletin regarding the Honda. Hopefully someone will call with some valid information.”

  “What about the license number? I assume the officer on his tail must have gotten it.”

  “The driver switched plates with a white 2000 Cadillac.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Two days have passed since I received the note about Riverside Park. Evelyn is still missing and there are no promising leads regarding the suspect.

  After going over to Evelyn’s to feed the pigeons, I’m standing by my burn barrel, burning the daily trash when Henry lands at my feet. He has another note attached to his left leg. I take him onto my porch and place him in Cinnamon’s cat carrier. Henry isn’t one bit happy. He begins to flap his wings and tilt his head from side to side, glaring at me with his tiny yellow eyes. “I’m calling Warren, Henry. I know you are anxious for me to find your mama. We’re doing the best we can, Sweetheart.”

  When Warren arrives, he removes the note from Henry’s leg and reads it aloud: “Gold Hill rest stop, Evelyn.” As Warren is placing Henry back into the cat carrier, he says, “Stay put, I’ll be in touch.”

  *

  I sit on my front porch petting my cat with trembling hands. “Cinnamon, it has been over an hour. I wish Warren would hurry and call me.” Cinnamon continues purring as she stares at a chipmunk climbing a tree.

  It’s another hour before my cell phone’s ring makes me jump.

  “Tammy, I need for you to come to the Gold Hill rest stop right away,” says Warren

  When I get to the rest stop, I see six vehicles. I park next to Warren’s vehicle. As I step out of my Jeep, I struggle to avoid a large mud puddle. I can hear the rushing river and smell the damp leaves, moss, and a strong scent of pine. Warren and Investigator Hobbs are walking towards me. Investigator Hobbs holds up a bloodstained scarf. “Do you recognize this, ma’am?”

  I answer, “Evelyn wears a scarf exactly like that!”

  As Investigator Hobbs places the scarf inside a plastic evidence bag, I’m horrified. It’s hard to breathe.

  Warren takes me in his muscular arms and with my face buried in his chest, he says, “A few blood spots don’t mean a thing, Tammy. Those spots could have been there for years.”

  I understand he is trying to console me, but we both know Evelyn would never wear any stained garments. As I watch Hobbs, closing the evidence bag containing Evelyn’s scarf, I’m thinking about how scared Evelyn must be.

  As Warren is walking me back to my Jeep, I spot Henry. He is nervously pacing atop the hood of my Jeep and periodically stops to look at us. Henry’s feathers are not at all in the pristine condition they are normally. As we get closer, we see a reddish spot on top of his head. His body is wet and sandy.

  We look at one another, both afraid to say what the spot may be. I break the silence and say, “Warren, there’s another note attached to his leg.”

  As I reach out to Henry, Warren grabs my arm. “Wait, I need to take Henry to Investigator Hobbs.” Warren takes plastic gloves from his back pocket. His hands tremble as he struggles to put them on. When he places his hands around Henry’s midsection, Henry flaps his wings and shrieks. In a sweet, soothing voice, I say to him, “You’re okay, Henry, calm down now.” I take the bird from Warren’s hands. I can see a look of disappointment on his face. However, I think it’s better to risk losing vital evidence than to have Henry fly away.

  Investigator Hobbs rushes to his vehicle to retrieve a cardboard box. When I place Henry inside the box, he becomes agitated and lets out a shrill cry. He begins flapping his wings once again and jumps up and down, screeching. Hobbs quickly closes the lid and says, “I’ll be calling you, Warren, with the results of our findings. And ma’am, you’ll be able to pick the bird up when we’ve finished.

  I haven’t been home more than thirty minutes when my phone rings. It’s Sheriff Kincaid. “The note said she’s at the Rogue River sawmill. I’m headed there now. Stay put until you hear from me.”

  Within an hour Warren calls me, “Meet me at the south entrance to the sawmill as soon as you can.”

  *

  As I walk towards Hobbs and Warren, I notice Hobbs is holding something. “We found this shoe on the grounds. Do you remember ever seeing Evelyn wearing anything like this?”

  I cup my cheeks in both my hands and answer, “Yes, she wears shoes like that all the time.”

  Hobbs places the shoe inside an evidence bag. The hair on my arms rises and my pulse races.

  Looking at Hobbs, Warren says, “I questioned several people when I arrived and none of them saw anyone fitting Evelyn’s description.”

  Before Hobbs has a chance to comment we see a tan sedan across the river with tires squealing as it bolts down a narrow dirt road.

  Warren immediately reports this on the radio attached at his shoulder.

  Suddenly we are all startled from our contemplation by a bird landing in an oak tree next to us. A few stubborn dried leaves, left over from fall, come down around us like feathers from a nest. “Look, Warren, there’s Henry!”

  I coax Henry to the ground. “Henry, you haven’t brought me a note. Where’s your mamma?”

  Henry doesn’t want to be held. He pecks violently at my wrists and fingers. I have to release him, and he immediately flies after the tan sedan.

  *

  It’s the next day when I call Warren. “Any news regarding that tan sedan we saw across the river from the sawmill?”

  “That ended in a high-speed chase. There just happened to be an officer at the exit onto East Evans Creek Road. Unfortunately, the driver of the sedan was able to get away. Not sure if he is our suspect, but that driver must have racecar driving experience.”

  “Was the officer able to get a license number off the sedan?”

  “He did. The vehicle was reported stolen the day before.”

  “Hold on a minute, Warren, I see Henry has just landed on my banister. Looks like there’s another note attached to his leg.”

  “Put Henry in the cat carrier. I’m calling Hobbs and we’ll be there as soon as we can.”

  *

  With gloved hands, Warren removes the note from Henry’s leg and places the bird back into the carrier. He reads the note aloud to us: “Wildlife Images — office.” Warren looks quizzically from the note to us. “This is that non-profit corporation that looks after sick, injured, and orphaned animals from this region, right?” Without waiting for a reply, he removes his cell phone from his hip and calls his office. “Lilly, I need for you to call Wildlife Images and find out if any of their offices have been broken into. If the answer is yes, tell them to vacate the premises immediately.”

  Around eight o’clock that night, the phone rings. I drop the butter knife into the sink and rush to answer it. “Tammy, Warren here. I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

  My heart begins to sink. I just knew the next words out of Warren’s mouth were going to be that they found Evelyn dead. “It’s concerning Henry. We didn’t find any trace of Evelyn, but Henry was found unconscious right outside the b
lack bears’ enclosure at the wildlife center. A bear was trying to claw him through the wire fencing. The veterinarian, on duty, says he’ll recover. He’s suffering from exhaustion.”

  “The vet says Henry will recover, but how soon?” I fret. “Without Henry, we’ll never be able to find Evelyn.”

  “The vet said Henry should be well enough to return to his home by tomorrow afternoon. He said he should be put into the loft and not allowed to leave until fully recovered.”

  “Henry isn’t going to like that one bit. He’s never been confined to the loft like the others. The only other allowed to roam freely in the yard is his mate, Cecilia.”

  “We can put Cecilia in the loft with Henry. That may help him recover sooner.”

  I think for a moment and then I say, “Good idea and all, but there is a strong possibility that Cecilia might be able to find Evelyn and deliver a message to me.”

  “Was Cecilia trained?” Warren asks. “How close was Cecilia to Evelyn?”

  “Evelyn personally trained Cecilia. While she was in training, Henry made every trip along with Cecilia. I don’t recall Cecilia following Evelyn to places like the market or the library, but Cecilia loves Evelyn no less than Henry.”

  “Okay, maybe we will allow Cecilia to roam freely and cross our fingers she will realize Henry is in no condition to fly. Like Henry, she must miss Evelyn very much.”

  CHAPTER 4

  When I return to Evelyn’s the next afternoon, I’m greeted by Cecilia. She looks sad and confused. The wind howls, blowing leaves high and bending small saplings horizontal. The confined pigeons are restless. They pace the loft and peck at one another in frustration. I sense that they all miss Evelyn’s kind greeting each day and her gentle manner.

  Warren arrives with Henry. He lays him down on some straw inside the loft. Cecilia begins flapping her wings and climbing the outside of the chicken wire.

  “Warren, I told you Henry and Cecilia wouldn’t like being separated.” Just as I finish my sentence, Henry staggers to his feet. He sees Cecilia, peeps softly and waddles up to her. They touch beaks through the chicken wire. Cecilia is happy to see him. Staying close, she occasionally hops a foot off the ground.