Bertie called the next morning, just as Harry opened the office door. “You could have given me time to get in the door,” he said with a chuckle. He knew she was a morning person.
“No time to waste,” she replied. “The paint can is calling my name… unless you need me for anything…”
“I’m fine,” he told her. “Nothing to report yet. Go do your painting.”
“Are you going out again tonight?”
“I haven’t decided yet. I’m starting to think the place might have been abandoned. Or perhaps it’s just been set up.”
“That’s possible, I guess. Call me if you learn anything. I’m curious.”
Harry laughed. “I know you are. I’ll keep you informed.” He disconnected the call and booted up the computer. Maybe some research would give him an idea or two…
An hour later he was sitting back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head, eyes closed and picturing that stone circle. At this time of year the sun should be nearly directly over that spot in early afternoon, say around one o’clock. Then he began to wonder. The trees around that area were very tall and close together there. Could someone be out there when the sun was directly overhead, to take advantage of the extra light for some reason?
Locking the office door, Harry went to the house. He had time for a nap before heading out again so he lay down on the sofa and set the alarm for twelve-thirty. As soon as the alarm went off Harry was awake and on his feet, then out the door and in the truck without delay. He stopped at the deli, picked up a roast beef sandwich and ate it on the way.
He parked in his usual spot and walked back towards his little viewing place. As he drew near, he heard something, almost like whispers. Moving very cautiously, he crept down the trail until he could see part of the stone circle. The place was occupied by a group of people sitting on yoga mats inside the circle. They had blankets over their shoulders… their eyes were closed and they were chanting in very low tones. No, it wasn’t like chanting exactly… where had he heard that sound before?
A pot of something on a small camp stove in the centre seemed to be boiling but he didn’t recognize the scent. It was time to find out what was going on here. He stepped out where they could see him.
“Good afternoon, ladies.”
Startled, all twelve turned towards him, several getting to their feet, looking as if they were ready to run, uncertain who he was and what he wanted. They were all women.
“May I ask what you are doing out here? And what’s in the pot?”
One of the women came towards him, smiling. “I’m Martha Marks and I know who you are, Mr. Hogan. We come here most Fridays, weather permitting, to meditate, or at least we will until the snow comes. Afterwards we share a cup of herbal tea, Chamomile today.”
Meditation! Something clicked in Harry’s mind. That was the sound they were making. “And you can’t do this at home?”
She laughed lightly. “We can and we do, several times a week. We get together in our homes. But it’s nice to get outside like this, surrounded by nature, breathing the fresh air… it’s rejuvenating, Mr. Hogan.”
