The Case of the Bear

Augusta Satin had once been a detective with the Rock Island, Illinois, Police Department. She resigned upon marrying a physician, had two daughters in quick succession, and then her husband abandoned her, moving to Wisconsin to set up a practice there with his cute physician’s assistant. He had no intention to pay alimony or child support. A cad of the first order. A friend had recommended the ACJ Agency run by a former classics professor named Bertrand McAbee. The decision to hire him had changed her life. Not only did his agency secure a hefty set of contributions from her wayward former husband but she had met a man she loved, the troubled stoic who was miscast as a PI. McAbee himself. Long ago she had stopped analyzing their relationship. It wasn’t a physical thing but it was profound. Yes, he was remote at times especially when involved with one of his complicated cases. Not an easy person. After his agency had secured alimony and child support for her – the method as to how this was done was never disclosed to her, and when she asked she was told by McAbee that it was off limits. She suspected that a heavy hand was used. But the less she knew the better, he had said obliquely. Slowly but surely she was hired on a spec basis for certain jobs. Eventually she was pretty much a regular with ACJ as her relationship with McAbee deepened. She quickly discovered that the ACJ Agency had its problems. Barry Fisk, the computer whiz, was impossible. His interpersonal skills were of graveyard level, his relationship with Pat Trump especially strained with acrimony. She thought the world of Pat Trump. And then there was the formidable Jack Scholz, ex-Marine, Special Forces, who knew? An over the top sociopath with a cruel streak mined in the tunnels of hell. And yet they all became part of the McAbee outfit; he was trying to control these four galloping horses. There were other players in the agency, all of them by way of being contractors, but the core was Augusta, Barry Fisk, Jack Scholz, and Pat Trump. Bertrand and she had met for lunch and while at it he had made a request of her. The Goodkind account. Wife Joanna was having problems. She had been reliant on a psychic. Would Augusta be kind enough to schedule an appointment with this Lady Alexandra and get a sense of her? She asked herself, not for the first time, when wouldn’t she be kind enough to do just about anything he asked of her? She drove up icy Gaines Street, turned left at the top of its rise on Eighth Street and went west to the address. After she identified herself at the gate, it opened and she passed through. She went toward the door of the impressive house, caught the incredible view of the Mississippi River and then rang the bell. The door was opened by a 60ish woman who wore a black dress covered by a clean white half apron. The maid had a round, kindly face. She said, “Miss Satin?” “Yes. I’m here for an appointment with Lady Alexandra. 1:30.” “Of course. This way please. I’ll take your coat if you wish. My name is Maria.” “Thank you,” Augusta removed her coat and handed it to her. She was brought into a small room with a beautiful Persian carpet. She was shown a seat at an ornate round table that sat close to the middle of the room, an empty seat across from her. The maid said, “Lady Alexandra will be here shortly. I can make coffee or tea and of course I can get water or a soft drink.” “No. I’m fine, thanks.” Maria left, closing the door behind her. Augusta wondered about listening and/or monitoring devices. She was especially alert to cameras. Because there was a fair chance there was a device she was careful about being too observant while being observant. The carpet was stunning by any account and she began there by leaving her chair and crouching down close to it, examining the design and color while taking in the bottom half of the room as well as a subtle glance under the table. She saw nothing as she stood while doing a brief scan of the upper half of the room, pretending to have a knee event that forced her into an awkward turn. When she sat she knew that it would be a step too far for her to inspect the floor lamp. If there was monitoring, any inspection of that lamp would be a dead giveaway to an observer that she had an agenda beyond the consultation. She sat in stillness but on high alert. Alexandra had watched Augusta Satin cross from her car to her house noting the long pause as she looked out over the Mississippi River Valley. Augusta Satin was about six feet with a body that appeared trim and athletic. Her African heritage was exhibited with pride by her care of a well-attended medium afro. The gold rings in her ears were large, her black framed glasses contrasted nicely with her light brown complexion. She walked with an air of confidence. High curb appeal her realtor client would say. Her appointment was made through Maria who was now showing her into the house. Maria had indicated that Augusta needed counsel urgently on a delicate matter. She had heard three women talking about Alexandra’s skills in the shower area of the YWCA. Maria reported that Satin thought that it was a message from God. That she was fated to overhear the three. Alexandra was very attuned to such occurrences and totally understood Augusta’s reasoning. Helping her was another matter still. She channeled people when God allowed it. She knew that nothing was certain in the realms that she inhabited. She gave Augusta five minutes from her coming into the house until she would enter the sacred room. Alexandra had learned about every creak and every noise in the house that led to the Persian room as she called it. It was named after the early 19th century carpet from Iran that fitted almost perfectly into the room. It had been scavenged in a closure process in 1995. She had had it valued just before moving to the Quad Cities from Cincinnati. She was told $75,000 at a minimum. Its coloration, sophistication, age, and striking beauty was obvious to any observer. Very few clients failed to mention and re-mention its effect on them. It was her custom to come upon a client as though she was catching a butterfly in midflight. To sense them before their defenses became a moat. She hoped that silent as a cat movements went unheard or unfelt. Few clients sensed her, felt her presence. They had varied levels of recognizing this gift. She wondered about the African as she gently turned the knob of the closed door that led into the Persian room. She shook her bracelets just slightly as she came upon her, noticing that her body had already stiffened slightly. Augusta Satin had some pieces of the gift. She sat across from her. Satin had an angular face, pronounced features, strong jawline, enlarged lips, straight nose and beautiful hazel eyes. Her hair had some ribs of white. Alexandra put her at a similar age to herself. All told she was a stunning woman. “Augusta, I am Lady Alexandra.” “Pleased to meet you. Thanks for seeing me on such short notice.” Alexandra raised her hand, palm outward. “Please close your eyes and give me your favored hand. Do not speak again, please.” Augusta complied readily to the request. It was now a matter of capturing her complexities. The feel. Sometimes Lady Alexandra received no return, defenses too high. But this hand released energy. There were messages to be deciphered. Alexandra also closed her eyes and listened with her senses. She listened for the body first. It took several minutes until she was satisfied. Messages clear. As she then turned her attention to Augusta’s mind she felt uncomfortable. It was as if she found her way into some force field, contradictions. Deceits? She stayed in there as long as she could and then separated her hand. “Please continue to keep your eyes closed.” She looked very closely at Augusta now, a bit confused.