Never Forgotten - a Mary O'Reilly Paranormal Mystery

by Terri Reid

The grin broke through. “Let’s just say that recently a whole new world has been opened up to me.”

  “So, the woman came to Mary?” Regina asked, the smile slipping from her face.

  “Yes, on Christmas Day. She was badly beaten.”

  Sympathetic tears welled in her eyes. “She didn’t give you her name?”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “She was pretty incoherent. At first we could barely decipher what she was saying.”

  “Wait…you saw her too?”

  Bradley wondered just how much information he wanted to share with Regina. Then he thought of all of the people that had been entrusted in her care and knew he could trust her.

  “We have this thing, this connection,” he explained. “If I have a hand on her shoulder, I can see the things she sees too.”

  Regina looked at Bradley for a moment and then smiled slowly. “Is that the only connection you have with Mary O’Reilly, Chief Alden?”

  “That, Regina, is none of your business.”

  She laughed. “I’ll go through all of my files to see if anyone matches your description. I’ll also talk to the folks who manned the phones over the holidays to see if they got any calls that would match.”

  Bradley stood and extended his hand. She took it and shook it. “We’ll help you,” she promised.

  “Thanks,” he replied.

  Just as he put his hand on the door knob, her voice stopped him.

  “Bradley,” she said.

  He turned.

  “Mary does not need the carbs.”

  He just chuckled and left her office.

  Chapter 14

  “Morning, Mabel,” Stanley called as he stomped the snow off his boots on the floor mat just inside the Belt Line Cafe. “How’s the coffee this morning?”

  “Hot,” Mabel, the sixty year old waitress called from behind the counter.

  “Just like me,” Stanley replied, receiving a number of fairly uncomplimentary comments from the people, mostly men, sitting at the counter and surrounding tables.

  “You’re just jealous,” he responded, hanging his overcoat on the coat rack and swinging onto a stool at the counter.

  The Belt Line Cafe looked just like it had when it opened twenty-five years earlier, like your neighbor’s kitchen. The blue and yellow country decor with Thomas Kincaid pictures hanging on the walls, plastic gingham tablecloths and friendly waitresses just waiting to refill your cup was the epitome of a small town restaurant. The Belt Line opened early, so farmers could get a hearty breakfast and the old timers could catch up on local gossip. It closed at two in the afternoon, after the lunch crowd. Diners looking for dinner would have to go elsewhere.

  Mabel brought Stanley a fresh cup of coffee and small pitcher of cream. She knew Stanley didn’t care for that “artificial crap” others might put in their coffee. “So, you want the usual?” she asked.

  Pouring the cream into his coffee, he smiled and nodded, “Ain’t New Years, so I ain’t gonna change my ways.”

  Mabel laughed. “Stanley, you’ve been coming in here for twenty-five years and you haven’t changed yet.”

  Stanley winked at her. “Might just surprise you one of these days.”

  Picking up the cup, he took a sip and smiled. That was a good cup of coffee. He glanced around the room and saw the usual crowd was out in force. At one table sat Steve Turner, owner of the local funeral home, he was a good guy with a strange sense of humor. But, Stanley decided, all the funeral directors he’d met either had no sense of humor at all, or a slightly strange one. He preferred the slightly strange.

  “So, Steve,” Stanley called. “How’s business?”

  “People are dying to see me,” he replied.

  Several moans and a few chuckles greeted his response. Although Stanley heard the same joke every day for twenty-five years, he still chuckled.

  “I was talking to a relative last week and she was trying to recall the name of the family where the wife up and left her husband and her kids,” Stanley said casually. “I seem to recall it was about twenty-five years ago.”

  “Damn shame,” Earl Livingston said, shaking his head. “Damn shame.”

  “You know the family?” Stanley asked.

  “No,” Earl replied. “Damn shame it wasn’t my wife.”

  “Yeah, the rest of us wonder why she’s still with you,” Leo Hankins commented.

  “It’s my good looks,” Earl said.

  “Have your wife come and see me, I’ll make some time for her this week,” Charlie Morris, the optometrist, called out.

  After the laughter died down, Mabel, arriving with Stanley’s breakfast, said, “You know, I do seem to recall a story like that. They were farmers, down from around the Orangeville area. Husband was a real mean kind, I never did blame her for leaving, but I couldn’t believe she didn’t take the kids.”

  “You’re right,” Leo added. “Name was Tomlin or Thomas or something like that.”

  “Name was Thompson, Mike Thompson,” Bud Porter said, Bud had been the Stephenson County Sherriff, until his retirement fifteen years ago. “Her name was Shirley, as I recall. Although in those days it was Mrs. Mike Thompson.”

  “You mean Doc Thompson’s dad?” Stanley asked.

  Bud nodded. “Yeah, he called me out to the farm,” Bud said. “Showed me her clothes were gone, suitcase was gone and her little jewelry case, shaped like a small steamer trunk, was gone too. I always wondered how little Shirley Thompson could have carried all that stuff down the road without anyone seeing her.”

  “Did you think she had help?” Stanley asked.

  “Well, I wouldn’t have blamed her if she did,” he said. “Old Mike would get real mean when he was drunk. Course, he got real mean when he wasn’t drunk. She probably just got tired of it all.”

  “Yeah, I remember when Mike nearly killed that guy for taking his parking spot over at the grocery store,” Earl said. “The poor guy didn’t see that Mike was waiting and just pulled in.”

  “Yeah, not too many people came to his funeral,” Steve added. “Just his two boys, what were their names? Luke and Paul. That’s right, Luke and Paul.”

  “Yeah, Luke was the older one,” Earl added. “Grew up to be a doctor. His maw would be proud of him.”

  “Paul’s still out there on the farm,” Bud said. “He’s got himself a fine set up and a pretty little wife.”

  “Bud, when Mike’s wife went missing, did you investigate?” Stanley asked.

  Bud shook his head. “No, the kids were pretty young and they didn’t need folks talking about their mom like that,” Bud said. “Seemed pretty cut and dry at the time.”

  “Well, you didn’t hear this from me,” Mabel said. “But from what I heard yesterday, history just might be repeating itself.”

  “Why?” Stanley asked, trying to remain casual.

  “Thompson boys were in here for lunch yesterday and Paul was pretty upset,” she said. “I overheard them talking about his wife. How she just up and left on Christmas Day, of all days.”

  Stanley’s stomach dropped, this had to be the one. “So, what was her name again?” he asked, “Can’t seem to remember.”

  “Margaret, ‘course folks called her Peggy,” Mabel said. “Peggy Thompson.”

  Stanley laid a five dollar bill on the table and slid off the stool. “Just remembered I have to be in early,” he explained.

  “But you ain’t even touched your breakfast,” Mabel said.

  Stanley picked up his plate. “Steve, did you have your breakfast yet?” he asked.

  Steve, well known for his appetite, looked down at his empty plate and shrugged. “Just the first course.”

  Stanley placed his plate on the table in front of Steve. “Second course is on me.”

  He hurried out of the cafe and pulled out his cell phone. When he reached Mary’s voice mail he left a short message, “Mary, I think I found your ghost. Come over to the shop when you get in.”

  Chapter 15

&nbs
p; “You don’t have a body, you don’t have probable cause and no one has filed a complaint,” Mary argued. “How are you going to search that property?”

  Sitting back in her chair, Mary looked up at Bradley who was pacing back and forth in her downtown office. The Christmas lights were still up, festive white against slightly browning greenery with red bows. Occasionally he would brush against some swags, sending a sprinkling of needles to the floor.

  Stanley was sitting in the chair across from Mary, his feet propped up on the desk. “She’s got a point,” he agreed, “We ain’t got nothing but a conversation with a ghost. And who’s gonna believe that?”

  Bradley paused and turned to both of them. “Whether they believe me or not, I don’t want Mary going out to that farm by herself.”

  Mary shook her head. “Okay, while I really appreciate the concern,” she said. “Remember, I was a cop in Chicago, I think I can handle a farmer. And if you go out there, you’re going to scare them and they might get rid of any evidence.”

  Bradley ran his hand through his hair, “Don’t try to be logical when I’m being emotional,” he said, with a self-deprecating smile. “Yeah, you’re right, but, you know…”

  She smiled, “Yeah, be careful out there.”

  Stanley dropped his feet from the desk. “So, when are we going?”

  “We?” Mary asked.

  “Well, yeah, you don’t want the Chief here to be with you,” he said. “But I ain’t no threat to no one. I can go with you.”

  “I like that idea,” Bradley added.

  “Actually, I like it too,” she agreed. “No one will suspect the two of us. When can you go?”

  “What’s wrong with right now?” Stanley asked.

  “Nothing,” Mary replied with a grin, standing up and grabbing her purse.

  “Stanley, can you give us a minute here?” Bradley asked.

  He nodded, “Yeah, I’ll go warm up my car,” he said.

  “Wait, I thought I would drive,” Mary protested.

  “Listen, I ain’t never had a woman drive me around before and I ain’t planning on starting now,” Stanley said firmly. “Sides, that fancy car of yours would drop its engine on those country roads with all the rutting and wash outs.”

  Once the door closed behind Stanley, Bradley walked over to stand beside Mary. He put his hands on her shoulders, pulled her close and laid his forehead on hers. “I want you to promise that you won’t take any unnecessary chances,” he said.

  She smiled. “Only necessary ones,” she agreed. “I promise.”

  “Funny, Mary O’Reilly, very funny.”

  Mary tilted her head and lightly kissed him. “I remember what she looked like, Bradley,” she whispered. “I realize what kind of animal I’m dealing with. I’ll be careful.”

  He nodded and then stepped back. “See that you do.”

  “So, do you have plans tonight?” she asked.

  He nodded and grimaced, “City Council meeting,” he said, “And then some special meeting after that about new procedures through the Coroner’s Office.”

  “You and Angela are meeting together?” Mary asked. “Alone?”

  Bradley grinned. “Jealous?”

  Mary didn’t smile. She thought about her encounter with Angela. “No. At least, I don’t think I’m jealous. I just think she’s an odd duck,” she replied. “Watch yourself.”

  He picked up his uniform cap and placed it firmly on his head. “If I get done early, can I stop by?”

  Smiling, she nodded. “That’d be nice.”

  He walked to the door and then stopped, bracing his hand on the frame.

  “Are you okay?” Mary asked.

  He nodded. ‘Yeah, my stomach’s been acting up a little. No big deal.”

  He took a deep breath, smiled at her and walked out of the office.

  A few minutes later, Stanley and Mary were riding out of town in “Betsey,” a turquoise blue 1961 Chevy Impala 4-door sedan. Stanley had purchased her off the lot, brand spanking new in 1961. She was the size of a boat, had the engine power of a locomotive and, through Stanley’s careful ministrations, purred like a kitten - a big, gas-guzzling V-8 kitten. “Careful you don’t hit that snowplow, Stanley,” Mary cautioned. “We wouldn’t want to have to pull them out of the ditch.”

  “Funny, girlie,” Stanley growled. “You just don’t appreciate good quality machinery when you ride in it.”

  “Oh, I appreciate it,” she answered. “And I know why all of the gas station owners run out and wave to you when you drive by. They must have sent all their kids to college on the money they earned from you gassing up this good quality machinery.”

  Stanley chuckled. “Well, a good date’s never cheap.”

  Slowing down to thirty miles per hour as they drove through Cedarville, Mary noted the large piles of snow on the sides of the road. “This is going to be a mess once it begins to thaw,” she commented.

  “Don’t have to worry about that until June,” he teased.

  Laughing, Mary shook her head. “Don’t say that, it’s not even January and I’m already a little tired of the snow.”

  After Cedarville, they drove about five miles further north on Highway 26 and turned left on one of the country roads. The road twisted and turned, past farm fields and barns, and over narrow one-lane bridges. When the road changed from asphalt to gravel Mary got concerned. “Stanley, you do know where you’re going, right?”

  “Yep, it’s just up here a ways at the end of the lane,” he said, his voice vibrating as the car drove up the washboard rippled road.

  The farmhouse was neat and trim. Cheery Christmas decoration covered the front porch and a festive wreath hung on the front door. Sparkling white lights hung from under the eaves and were turned on even though it was daylight. Stanley pulled up the gravel drive and parked between the house and the barn. “So, where do we check first?”

  “Let’s go up to the house first,” Mary said. “I would guess that’s where she was murdered. Then, if we have a chance we can check the out buildings.”

  “And if someone asks us what we’re doing here?”

  Mary shrugged. “I’m still working on that one.”

  “Well, that gives me a great deal of confidence.”

  Mary grinned. “Thanks Stanley, that means a lot to me.”

  They both exited the car and walked down the narrowly shoveled lane to the house. Snow rose up two feet on each side of the shovel-wide walkway. The walkway was only shoveled to the back of the house. Mary turned to Stanley with a question in her eyes. “Folks in the country don’t generally use their front doors,” he said. “Everyone comes around back.”

  The back porch was covered with a green metal awning and held an assortment of shovels, brooms and rakes. The black Welcome mat was slightly askew and the steps had no trace of snow or ice.

  “That’s strange,” Mary commented. ‘You would think there would be a little snow or ice on the steps.”

  Stanley looked around. “Concrete steps, south facing porch, could be it just melted.”

  Mary nodded. “Yeah, good point.”

  Mary knocked on the back door. “Hello,” she called, “Anyone home?”

  She tried the door, it was unlocked. She pushed it open and called out again, “Hello. Is anyone here?”

  She turned back to Stanley. “It seems that no one is home,” she said, in mock dismay.

  She scanned the yard, and then said, “Stanley, you’re looking a little pale.”

  “I am?”

  “Yes, you are. You probably need to take some kind of medicine and you probably, urgently, need a glass of water in order to swallow your pills.”

  “Ahhh, yes, you’re right, I’m afraid my ticker ain’t what it used to be,” he replied, thumping on his chest. “You better hurry on in there for some water before I kick up my toes right here on the porch.”

  Mary grinned. “I’ll be right back with your water.”

  The back door opened into a mud
room that held an assortment of work clothes, boots and a washer and dryer. The top of the dryer was covered with a pile of unfolded laundry. Mary walked through and opened the next door which led to the kitchen. The sink was filled with dishes, pots and pans. The remains of meals were scattered on the stovetop and counters, and the table was overflowing with filled bags from the grocery store.

  “Housekeeping is not quite as easy as you thought, obviously,” she muttered.

  Being careful not to disturb any potential evidence, she walked cautiously around the kitchen, hoping to be contacted by Peggy. She felt nothing. She moved into the dining room and living room space. A Christmas tree sat in the corner of the room, the presents underneath unopened. Two cups of coffee sat on the coffee table. Mary moved closer and saw that a film had formed over the liquid and decided it had sat for at least a couple of days.

  She moved over to the fireplace and saw a framed photo on the hearth. The man and woman in the photo stood in front of church in their wedding clothes. They looked to be very much in love with one another. Studying the photo, she saw love evident in their faces. “What happens to cause love to die like this?” she wondered aloud.

  Stanley’s very loud coughing alerted her. She ran back to the kitchen, found a paper cup and filled it with tap water. Rushing out the back door, she saw the large man heading toward the house. “Here you are,” she said loudly, being sure her voice carried to the bulky farmer only yards away. “Now take your medicine.”

  She handed Stanley the cup and looked up and smiled at the approaching man. “Hello, I’m Mary,” she said, walking down the stairs and meeting the farmer with an outstretched hand. “I am so sorry that I just barged into your home. My friend, Stanley, was starting to feel uncomfortable and needed to take his medicine, but we realized we forgot his water bottle back in town. I knocked and called out, but it was an emergency.”

  The man looked tired and worn. He shrugged. “Paul Thompson,” he replied. “No, harm done, I’m just a little embarrassed about the condition of the house. My wife left unexpectedly and with chores and all, I haven’t been able to keep up.”

  “Oh, well, when your wife gets back, she’ll realize just how much you need her,” she replied.