Caverns of the Heart: Jane Donavon Adventures

By Reno J. Doell

Jane Donavon never thought she would be asked by CSIS to impersonate her unknown twin, let alone while trying to find her missing mother. And where is the Art of the Angels? Jane's journey leads her to London, Portugal and Malawi to find her mother and to find the Art of the Angels, something mentioned in some long forgotten explorer's journals. However, will Jane beat the Dark Angels to the cave that holds the mysterious drawings? And will she find her mother? Caverns of the Heart brings us a new genre of "the women's adventure novel" that will take you to interesting places and meet interesting characters.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Reno J. Doell
• Release date: May 2, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393715474

Reno J. Doell

Reno J. Doell loves a bit of adventure in her life. While she has traveled to over 40 countries, and lived in 3, Reno always has her passport ready to go exploring. Her Jane Donavon series take place in countries where she has traveled.

Book preview

Chapter 1 Beauty 1954 Malawi

The small girl curled into herself in the darkest corner of the mud hut. Particles of termite chew fell down from the thatched roof above her and settled on her nappy head. Her chitenji, a faded orange and blue two-meter long strip of cloth, was tightly wrapped around her thin body. Beauty’s slender fingers grasped the edge of the cloth with white knuckles, and she felt hidden from the flashing eyes around the only light in the room.

On the grass mat in the middle of room, sat four men, the village headman, the local chief, Beauty’s father, and a stranger that Beauty had never seen before. Their dark faces shimmered in the light of the paraffin lantern; they talked animatedly, their hands flying in the air. Even though they were speaking Chichewa and not the Tonga the girl spoke, she knew that the animated discussion involved her possible marriage to the nephew of the negotiating stranger.

The stranger was tall, his skin as light as tea with milk, probably from the south. His hands cut firmly into the air with confidence and authority. This girl child, the drums reported, had seen the art of the angels and obviously lived to tell about it, with no white hair and only a shining face. She must be very powerful and very pure of heart to have accomplished that.

She is worth more than two cows. I will not accept less than five cows for my oldest daughter.

The other men looked at each other in obvious relief. Beauty’s father obviously did not realize how valuable this girl child was to them. He could have asked for ten cows and the stranger would have found a way to make the payment for his nephew.

Beauty saw the men shake hands, the three-way handshake in the way of African men. Once thumb up, one thumb down, again thumb up. It meant a deal had been made, and her life was about to change. She turned her eyes to the ground and imagined his face. As soon as she was able to do it surreptitiously, Beauty left the hut to go to her favorite thinking place.

Smoke tendrils floated above the thatched roof, as the cooking fires died away. The village consisted of ten mud huts, along with an assortment of granaries, chicken huts and latrines. The headman of the village had the largest hut, with four rooms. A few cooking pots sat on rock circles and an empty tripod hung over the cold coals of the day’s fires outside the smallest hut. Beauty’s home, a brown small box demure in dusky shadows.

Off in the distance, the purple sides of Mount Kasungu shone under the rising full moon. The tall grasses behind Beauty swayed seductively under the evening’s cooling breeze. A lone cow lowed twice somewhere off to her right and then was silent. The Malawi countryside was peaceful tonight, and Beauty sat on the edge of the hill that overlooked the valley towards the mountain.

Although Beauty knew that her future was limited to marriage and motherhood, she often wondered if she was the only woman in Africa who came out to look at the stars on clear nights. She would often leave her bed mat and take a walk down to this hilltop behind the banana grove, just to think, and wonder. She felt so insignificant under the dark ceiling with its many lights high above her dark head and yet so totally alive.

If there were such an option, she would like to take off like a fish eagle and reach the stars. In the sky she would float high above the difficult life of her country, she would find answers for her questions, and visit strange places that she had never seen before, have audiences with queens and angels, strong forceful women who could make up their own minds about who they would marry and where they would live, who had enough kwacha to buy food for her family, a new dress for her mother, and a bicycle for her father.

Beauty wrapped her chitenji even tighter around her shoulders as she shivered in her thoughts. Her eyes were bright, far away from the rough hill on which she sat this night. There was a small corner of her mind that knew that she would soon be married to a stranger, and she could only pray that she would be able to make this unknown nephew, her new husband, happy, well fed and give him many children. She could only hope that he would care about her in some small way.

Chapter 2 Jane Present Edmonton, Canada

Jane sat on the edge of her mother’s bed and rubbed her eyes. She was so tired. There was no note, no indication of where Mom might have gone. It was now 12:37 a.m. by the clock radio on the bedside table. Mom’s red suitcase was gone, as were many of her clothes; but some of the things Jane would have expected her to take with her if she was taking her suitcase were still here in the house.

House, not home? According to Dr. Laura Schlessinger, Jane’s mother, Della, had done one of the ten most stupid things a woman can do to mess up her life. Where was the happy home Jane had hoped for my widowed mother when she had said, I do to the handsome Steve that had swept her off her feet. Married a man she had only known for five months and let his good looks and extravagant spending push her right to the altar. Exactly what her mother had done, in spite of Jane telling her frantically to slow down, take her time until she knew Steve a little better. After all, Della had not dated at all in the ten years since Jane’s father had died.

Now she was gone. No note, no phone messages, nothing. And the police seemed to think it was just a "newlyweds‟ tiff, with Della going somewhere to cool off for a few days. Jane left the bedroom and headed down the stairs to the living room to where Steve was talking to the police officer.

No, officer, she would just leave me like this without telling me where she was going. The men looked up as Jane entered the room. Steve was sitting in the green easy chair while the police officer towered over him.

You are right, Steve, Jane said. Her suitcase and some of her clothes are gone. But she didn’t take her contacts solution or her hair-blower and a few other things that I would think she would want with her.

Miss Donavon, can you think of any reason why your mother might have left? Is there anyone who would want to harm her?

I glanced at Steve. His dark eyes were unreadable.

Not really. Last time I talked to her, she was wishing she could go with Steve to his conference, back to Portugal where they met. But she had already used up all her vacation time, and with the nursing home in the middle of a construction project, it seemed impossible to leave. She was planning some things she and I could do together while Steve was gone. In fact, she even got tickets to a concert for this Friday.

You are going to a conference, Mr. Schmidt? The officer looked up from his notebook, his pen dangling from his left hand.

Yes, I am registered for a liquor conference in Lisbon.... Steve left the sentence in the air, dangling for breath. His long fingers rubbed the back of his neck, and then his hands fell helpless between his knees. I think Della was just miffed that I get to go back to Portugal, and she can’t. I’ll only be gone ten days.

But if she is taking time off from work now, why can’t she do it to go with you? If she was just miffed, she would have told you so, or found some way to get time off if she really wanted to go with you.

Jane did not mean to sound argumentative in front of the cop, but it struck her that Steve’s argument was not congruent. She turned to Constable Regier to see if he agreed with her, but his face remained passive.

Steve shrugged and looked at the officer too. The contrast between the two men was interesting. Steve, in his early 50‟s, was tough looking with handsome features and dark coloring, but a hardness that had nothing to do with the angles of his cheeks. The young blond officer had a toughness that came from hard training, not a hard life.

As she has only been gone 11 hours, we are not going to panic yet, said Regier. Did the nursing home say whether she had left her shift on time today?

She showed up on time this morning, worked hard, but left for a late lunch saying she had some business to take care of, and never returned. Steve was careful not to look at Jane, wanting to shut up her next argument.

The officer closed his notebook, and put his hat back on his head, his back ramrod straight.

Why don’t we all sleep on this, and see if there is some news by morning? You would be surprised how many supposedly missing people turn up the next morning, contrite and perfectly fine.

But, officer Jane protested, You can’t do nothing. This is my mother, and I know she would not just take off without telling us.

The officer put up his hand as if to stop traffic. You can try calling friends, relatives, hotels, and hospitals yourself, but we don’t have the manpower to follow up on lovers’ quarrels that only need a little time to get settled.

Jane let out a long puff of air. Maybe he was right, and she was over-reacting. She would call Aunt Suzie and a few other people, just to see if they had heard from Della.

Steve saw the officer out the door and came back to stand beside Jane, putting his hands on his head. She moved over to the kitchen door where the landline phone hung on the wall, putting distance between them.

Do you want me to make the phone calls from here?

Steve shifted his head to look at the kitchen clock. I’m beat, and I have to get out to the airport by tomorrow at nine, and I still have to pack. If you could do them from your place, I could still get a good sleep.

Jane exploded. Don’t you care about your wife? My mother would not just take off like this without a really good reason! Her words came out like sharp pins spewing from her lips. I don’t think I can go to sleep without knowing she is okay.

Steve turned and walked up the stairs, not even answering her outburst. Instead his calm words floated over his shoulder down to Jane.

See yourself out and let me know if you hear anything before I leave tomorrow. Otherwise I will see you in ten days. I am sure Della will be back here, ready to apologize when I get back.

Jane snorted, grabbed her gear and stormed out of the house, making sure to bang the door extra hard. Now what? She put on her helmet, and jacket, stowed her purse in her sidecar trunk, and straddled her Beemer. She laid her head against the handlebars of her motorcycle in frustration.

Jane’s mother had a good job as an Intake Director at the Westview Nursing Home, and before Steve was on the scene was relatively secure with her first husband’s life insurance wisely invested. Now all of her accessible money was tied up in Steve’s accounts, another stupid thing Della let her new husband talk her into.   Sweet talk, stupid sweet talk, and Della had fallen for it, after promising herself she would never, ever do that, in fact lecturing Jane never to do the very same thing only the year before she had met Steve. Even Della’s pastor had told her that she was making a big mistake, but she said she was in love, and was sure God would bless that. How could Jane’s mother have been so dumb, so mesmerized? So many years of single independence and she had blown it all for what? A handsome face that treated her like a meal ticket and flirted with other women. Jane knew that Steve was not entirely faithful.

When they had first met, Della had been thrilled to have this younger handsome man take notice of her, the frumpy middle-aged widow. She had not had a relationship with a man in almost ten years, after 26 years of marriage. Della said Steve had rescued her from the boring single widow’s life, and he liked to remind her of this over and over, long after the joke had become very old.

Portugal was where Della had first met Steve. Della had decided to splurge on her way back from visiting Jane in Malawi, Africa and booked herself into a comfortable guesthouse in the town of Sintra, 30 miles north of Lisbon. Della had been flushed and excited as a high school senior telling Jane how she had met Steve who was attending a sommelier conference in Lisbon. Della was bowled over by Steve’s charm, and extended her stay by an extra four days just to get to know him better. By the second day, he was skipping conference sessions, and they were walking along the streets of Lisbon holding hands, buying strawberries by the five-pound bag to bring back to her guesthouse, and kissing under the street lamps after a late dinner at a nearby bistro. He had charmed her right into the church sanctuary.

When Steve discovered that Della also lived in western Canada, he said they were made for each other. He had transferred to a job in Edmonton from Vancouver, and they were married three months later.

Now there was no note, nothing, except Jane’s mother was gone. And she had no clue why. She started up the motorcycle and rode off to her own place. An hour of phone calls, an hour of prayer and hopefully God would give her some answers.

Chapter 3 RCMP Building, CSIS Headquarters, Ottawa, Canada

David Darnell pushed the elevator button for the fifth floor in the Royal Canadian Mounted Police building. The fifth floor was the home of CSIS, the Canadian Security Intelligence Service. David took a deep breath, looked at his new haircut in the mirrored wall, and tilted his head. Not bad for a guy in his early forties.

A woman was waiting to get into the elevator as he got off. She was dressed in a dark suit, and her dark hair was pulled back in a no-nonsense ponytail.

David, she said, her face getting pink. How are you?

He looked at her, and smiled his slow smile, designed to melt the knees of women. What was her name again? It’s been too long. How have you been? He racked his brain. Elly? Ellen? Helen? Oh, well. Which department are you in now?

Cryptography. Call me there.

Okay. Good to see you. David pointed his index finger at her like a gun and set off down the hall to William Reed’s office. He still had it.

William’s secretary was not having any of David’s charm.

Have a seat. Mr. Reed will be with you shortly.

David cooled his heels, flipping through a copy of The Economist as he waited.

Five minutes later, William Reed came out of his office, extending his hand. David followed Reed into his office, which