by Terri Reid
“The weatherman said it’s supposed to snow today,” Clarissa said, picking up her bowl and carrying it to the sink. “So you probably should drive your chief car.”
Mary grinned at Clarissa’s nickname for Bradley’s cruiser. “And, in case of emergency,” Mary added. “It’s so much more professional when the police chief isn’t running down the street making his own siren sounds.”
“Good point,” Bradley replied with a smile. “Maybe I’ll just have to spend more time working out.” He glanced over at his wife. “That’s right. We were going to work out this evening, weren’t we?”
She blushed slightly and nodded. “Yes. Yes, we were,” she said. “So don’t work too late.”
“I won’t,” he said. “Call me when you get home from the cemetery.”
“I will,” Mary replied.
Once the door closed, Clarissa hurried to the closet and pulled out her coat. “Can Maggie come over for Thanksgiving?” she asked.
“Isn’t Maggie having Thanksgiving with her family?” Mary asked.
Slipping on her coat, Clarissa nodded. “Yeah, but she said her Thanksgiving is boring compared to our Thanksgiving,” she said. “She just has her plain, old family, and we have lots of people.”
“Well, I’ll call the Brennans and see if they want to join us for Thanksgiving,” Mary said. “How about that?”
“That would be so cool,” Clarissa replied as she picked up her backpack.
Mary came over and gave Clarissa and hug and a kiss. “Have an excellent day at school today,” she said.
“Thanks,” Clarissa replied. “And you have an excellent day at the cemetery.”
Mary laughed. “Thank you. I will.”
Chapter Three
Snow was falling, a light dusting that turned the empty farmers’ fields into a winter wonderland. Mary turned off Highway 20 onto Brown’s Mill Road. She drove past the entrance to the Stephenson County Convention and Visitors Bureau building, with a parking lot filled with people traveling to Galena to get an early start on the Thanksgiving holiday, and continued a little farther up the road.
The new SUV they bought several weeks ago was four-wheel drive and handled well on the narrow, gravel road that surrounded the cemetery. She pulled past the stone marker and drove a few more yards ahead, leaving enough room for another vehicle to pull in behind her, just in case there was a visitor to the cemetery. Placing the car in park, she turned off the engine and slipped her gloves on before she climbed out of the vehicle.
The stone marker next to the drive had “Gund Cemetery, Established 1850” carved into its face. Mary glanced back at the marker and the ornate, wrought iron archway that welcomed visitors to the long and narrow strip of hallowed ground. The cemetery was less than 100 yards wide, but nearly 500 yards long. And of course, Mary thought with resignation, the area she needed to reach was at the far end. Typical of rural cemeteries, there were fields surrounding it on three sides, and on this cold, snowy morning, there was nothing to stop the sharp wind that stung Mary’s face.
She took a deep breath, forced herself to clear her thoughts and slowly gazed around, allowing her unique ability to come to the forefront. Slowly, images of people dressed in old-fashioned clothing appeared at the far end of the cemetery, gazing at her in curiosity. She smiled at them and nodded, then casually walked towards them.
“Good morning,” she said, her voice appearing as puffs of steam as she spoke. “It’s a lovely day.”
The ghosts were dressed in summer clothing and were not affected by the cold or the snow. Their deaths occurred in the summer, and their spirits were confined to that season. During Mary’s first visit, several small children had stopped chasing each other and hurried over to talk to her, the friendly stranger in their cemetery. They were open and trusting, and she had no problem teaching them how to look for and walk into the light. But now, most of the children were gone, and she was working with the adults. It was a slow process, but she felt that she was beginning to gain their trust.
She finally made it to the oak tree at the far end of the cemetery, its leaves brown and leathery, still attached to the branches. The old oak had been planted as a seedling over the mass grave of the cholera victims over 100 years ago, and now, its ancient branches spread wide and tall, protecting the hallowed ground.
Mary gazed around at the spirits watching her and decided on her next challenge. There was one group of women who had avoided her and huddled together near the fence line. They would look in her direction and speak to each other, but none ever attempted to speak with her.
“Old-fashioned mean girls?” Mary murmured to herself. “Well, this isn’t high school, and I’m not going to be put off by them.”
She purposely walked in their direction, meeting their eyes and nodding as she got close. “Good morning,” Mary said directly to one of the women she’d seen before.
She was surprised when the woman came over to meet her. “I need to show you something,” the woman said, motioning urgently.
Mary followed, interested to see what the woman wanted to show her. They walked to the edge of the cemetery, and the woman pointed out into the distance. “Do you see her?” she asked, her arm raised. “There in the field?”
Mary squinted her eyes, and sure enough, the air seemed to vibrate and then solidify. She could see the spirit of a young woman standing in the field, looking around. The spirit glided around the area, as if she was searching for something, and then turned and looked the other way.
“She’s not one of us,” the spirit standing next to Mary said. “She’s only been out there for a little while. And I think she’s lost.”
Mary studied the ghost. The young woman was dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt with the logo of the local university, definitely not one of the spirits from the 1800s.
Looking up and down the fence, Mary sighed, deciding it was too high for her to climb over in her current condition. She was going to have to walk all the way back to the road. The ghost next to her smiled with understanding. “There is a break in the fence a short walk to the west. I can show you,” she offered.
Mary nodded gratefully. “Thank you,” she said. “I would really appreciate it.”
The break was just large enough for Mary to slide through and walk onto the field. She carefully navigated the rows and ends of dried corn stalks sticking out of the ground, not wanting to stumble on the frozen ground. She stopped when she was several rows away from where the spirit lingered, and slowly scanned the area. If this was a crime scene, she certainly did not want to get any closer and risk contaminating the area.
The new covering of snow made it difficult to discern objects underneath the white blanket, and she couldn’t tell if the lumps she saw between the rows were a body or upturned clumps of soil. “Hello,” she called out to the spirit.
The spirit stopped her movement and turned to Mary. “You can see me?” she asked.
Mary nodded. “Yes, I can,” she said. “And I’d like to help you.”
The ghost glided closer, and Mary could see the stain of blood on the front of her sweatshirt, the soil entangled in her hair and the bright scratch on her face.
“I think…” the ghost paused for a moment and looked across the field again. “I think I might have been shot.”
Mary nodded and met the ghost’s eyes. “Do you remember when it happened?” Mary asked.
The ghost stood quietly for a moment, thinking about her answer. Then she looked up at Mary. “Am I dead?” she asked hesitantly, her voice a mere whisper.
“Yes,” Mary replied gently. “Yes. I’m afraid you are.”
A sad shudder passed through the ghost’s frame. A translucent tear trailed down her cheek, and she looked away from Mary. “Well, that make sense,” she said, her voice catching.
“Do you remember where it happened?” Mary asked.
The ghost turned and pointed to a row that was higher than most. Mary stepped onto the row in front of her, to give herself a little eleva
tion and could see the shape of a body under the snow. Regret filled her heart, and tears filled her eyes. With remorse in her eyes, Mary turned back to the ghost of the young woman.
“I can see you,” Mary said softly. “I can see where you fell.”
“That’s me?” the ghost asked, looking at the lifeless shape on the ground. “That’s me?”
“I’m sorry,” Mary said. “But, yes, I think it’s you.”
“How…how could this happen?” the young woman asked, looking down at the ground and slowly shaking her head. She turned back to look at Mary. “How?”
“I’m going to call the police,” she said, “so, we can find out what happened to you.”
The ghost nodded silently and returned to staring at her remains.
Pulling her cell phone out of her purse, Mary dialed Bradley’s number. “Hi, it’s me,” she said when he answered. “You need to come out and meet me at Gund Cemetery. I have a feeling I may have just stumbled upon a homicide victim.”
Chapter Four
Mary placed her cell phone back in her pocket and turned back to the ghost still staring silently at the ground. “I’m so sorry,” Mary said.
The ghost turned back and shook her head. “I’m only twenty years old,” she said, her voice breaking. “I had my whole life in front of me. Why would someone do this?”
“That’s a very good question,” Mary replied calmly. “And we are going to find that out. But first I need to know your name.”
“Oh. Of course,” the ghost replied, taking a deep breath. “My name is Ruth. Ruth McCredie.”
“Hi, Ruth,” Mary said. “I’m Mary. Mary O’Reilly Alden.”
Ruth nodded. “Hi,” she said, her voice still shaky. “So, what happens next?”
“Well, we wait until the police chief shows up and he asks you a bunch of questions,” Mary said. “And then we figure out what happened.”
Ruth looked around the field. “Do I have to stay here?” she asked. “Do I have to stay here in the field all by myself?”
“No,” Mary said, shaking her head. “Now that you and I have met, you’re going to be able to leave the field. And anytime you need me, all you have to do is think of me and you’ll be where I am.”
“That’s weird,” Ruth said, looking a little concerned.
“I know,” Mary replied with a shrug and a sad smile. “But that’s how it happens.”
“Do you do this kind of thing all the time?” Ruth asked, her concern turning into intrigue. “Find dead people?”
Mary nodded. “Yeah, a lot,” she said. “It’s kind of what I do.”
“Wow. I was studying agriculture in school,” Ruth replied. “I didn’t even know this was a thing.”
Mary smiled. “Well, I don’t know if it really is a thing,” she said. “It’s more like a natural talent. Or, I guess I should say supernatural talent.”
Ruth chuckled sadly. “Good one.”
Mary heard car tires on gravel and looked over to see Bradley’s cruiser pull up and Bradley get out of the car. She was surprised when the door on the other side of the car opened and Alex Boettcher, the Stephenson County D.A., got out and joined Bradley as they walked across the field.
Bradley was dressed in his uniform, his jacket zipped and his work shoes easily covering the ground. Alex, as usual, was dressed like he had just walked off the pages of GQ magazine, with a three-piece suit and an open, black, cashmere overcoat flapping in the wind. Unfortunately, his leather dress shoes weren’t quite as rugged as Bradley’s shoes, so his pace was more measured so he didn’t slip. Bradley easily outpaced him as they hurried towards her.
“Stop right there,” Mary called to Bradley as he neared the area Ruth’s body lay.
He froze in his tracks. “Where is the body?”
“One row ahead of you and about three yards to the east,” Mary replied.
Bradley looked over and nodded. “I see it,” he said.
“Her,” Mary called back to him. “You see her.”
Understanding dawned on his face and he nodded. “Thank you,” he said. “I see her.”
Alex reached Bradley and looked over. “Is that the body?” he asked.
“Yes, that’s her,” Bradley replied.
“And you know it’s a female because…” Alex began. Then he stopped, looked over at Mary and shook his head. “I don’t want to know, do I?”
“Her name is Ruth McCredie,” Mary said. “She’s twenty years old, and she was shot.”
The men approached her body carefully, Alex following carefully in Bradley’s footsteps. Kneeling next to her, Bradley gently brushed the snow from Ruth’s face.
“That’s really me,” Ruth said, her voice hitching.
Bradley stood and pulled out his radio to call for an ambulance. Alex moved around him so he could see her face and then he sighed. “She’s only a kid,” he said. “I’m sure her parents are looking for her.”
“My parents,” Ruth gasped. “They must be worried sick.”
“We’ll contact them,” Mary said. “We’ll make sure someone goes to your house and talks to them.”
Alex stood up, brushed the snow from his coat and turned to Mary. “Do you know when this happened?” he asked.
Mary turned to Ruth for the answer. “I was out here on the night of the super moon,” Ruth explained. “Um, October 28th. I was picking up samples for a research project.”
“The night of October 28th,” Mary replied.
Slipping his radio back in his pocket, Bradley slowly scanned the area. “Were there any deer in the area that night?” he asked. “Could she have been mistakenly shot by a poacher?”
Ruth nodded. “There was a herd of deer that ran from the west side of the field towards the road just a few minutes before I was shot,” she explained. “But it was pretty bright outside.”
“There was a herd of deer in the area just before she was shot,” Mary relayed. “But they had already run past her and were headed towards the road a few minutes before she was shot.”
Alex stared at Mary for a moment, shook his head and then sighed. “Could you ask her if there was any reason someone would want to kill her?” he said with resignation in his voice.
Ruth shook her head sadly. “No, no reason,” she said, her voice filled with emotion. “But that doesn’t matter does it? Because now I’m dead.”
Slipping her arms around her chest, Ruth hugged herself and sobbed softly. “I’m dead.” Then she slowly faded away.
Chapter Five
“Mary… Mary,” Alex called.
She had been so focused on Ruth’s sorrow, Mary hadn’t heard Alex calling to her. Turning, she shook her head to clear it. “I’m sorry,” she replied. “What did you need?”
“Could you ask her —,” he began.
“I’m sorry,” Mary interrupted. “She’s gone.”
“Can you get her back?” Alex asked.
“No, it doesn’t work like that,” she said. “But I’m sure she’ll contact me again. She…” Mary’s voice caught in her throat. Suddenly it was just too much. This wasn’t just another ghost she had to help move on from years ago. This was a young woman with her whole life in front of her. A young woman whose life someone else had decided wasn’t worth anything. Tears burned her eyes, and she shook her head. She was so young. Why? Why would someone? How could someone?
She drew in a shuddering breath and tried to stem the tide of tears, but she knew it was too late. Turning away from the men, she reached into her pocket for a tissue to blot the tears on her face.
“Mary?” Bradley asked softly.
Still facing away, she waved her hand in an effort to ward him off. “Give me a minute,” she called, trying to keep the sorrow out of her voice.
But, instead of waiting, he hurried over to her and gently pulled her into his arms. She felt Bradley’s hands on her upper arms, and he gently turned her to face him.
“Please, I don’t want…” she stammered, looking over at Alex
and then back at Bradley.
Glancing over his shoulder, Bradley realized her dilemma and moved so his body blocked her from Alex’s view. Lifting his hand, he tenderly wiped the tears from her cheeks. “This one’s hard,” he said softly.
She nodded and sniffed, wiping her eyes with the tissue. “Yeah. Yeah, it is,” she said, and then took a deep breath. “But I’m not helping solve her case by getting emotional.”
“Getting emotional only proves you care,” he said.
“Thank you,” she replied with a watery smile. “But now I’ve got to suck it up and be professional.”
“Mary, you don’t have to…” he began.
She placed her hand on his chest and looked up at him. “I’m good,” she said. “Really.”
Nodding, he moved to her side and they both faced the crime scene again.
Alex stepped over the few rows of corn that separated them and walked over to Mary. “What you did today,” he said. “Finding her. Telling us about her. Without your help, I don’t think her body would have been found until next spring when the farmer came back in the field. And then most of the evidence would have been destroyed, even if her death was accidental.”
“I don’t think it was an accident,” Mary said. “I think she was murdered.”
Alex folded his arms over his chest and nodded at her. “Okay, I’m listening,” he said. “Why are we opening up a homicide case on this one rather than an accidental shooting?”
“Well, she said with the super moon it was pretty bright outside,” Mary replied. “And the deer had run to the road several minutes before she was shot.” She paused and collected her thoughts. Think like a cop, she told herself. “The bullet wound looks like it was mid-chest. With her light-colored sweatshirt, it would have been easy to see that a person was in the field, not a deer.”
“Okay, all valid points,” Alex said and then turned to Bradley. “Do you mind if I work this case with you?” he asked. “Although we need more evidence, I’m beginning to agree with Mary; Ruth McCredie was murdered.”
