by Terri Reid
“A friend?” Mary asked.
“A friend of Rosie’s who’s going to be staying with them for a while,” Bradley replied. “She had hip surgery and needs some convalescing time.”
“Well, if I needed some convalescing time, there’s no one I’d rather do it with than Rosie,” Mary said. Then she thought about it. “Of course, I’d end up gaining ten pounds.”
Chuckling, Bradley walked with Mary to their bedroom. She paused at the doorway and peeked inside. “Any sign of…” Mary whispered, looking around the room, “anything?”
Bradley shook his head. “No, it’s been quiet all morning,” he replied.
“Yeah, well, I haven’t been in the picture either,” Mary said.
Nodding, Bradley walked into the bedroom first. “Yeah, I thought of that, too,” he said. “So, I’ll just stay close while you get dressed, just to make sure she doesn’t try anything.”
Mary quickly glanced around, then rose up on her tiptoes and kissed him. “Thank you,” she said. “You’re my hero.”
True to her word, about an hour later, Rosie and Stanley arrived with their guest, Margo Taylor. She had a warm and winning smile, and Mary liked her immediately. In a few minutes they were seated at the kitchen table enjoying Rosie’s famous blueberry muffins and cups of tea.
“So, how did you meet?” Mary asked just before she popped a warm piece of muffin into her mouth.
“Well, I went to Deadwood for a convention about ten years ago,” Rosie said, “and I met Margo. She lives there.”
“You live in Deadwood? South Dakota?” Bradley asked. “And you came to Freeport to recover from surgery?”
Margo smiled at him. “Well, there are a lot fewer hills here and less snow,” she replied. “Besides, I haven’t had a chance to visit with Rosie for ages, and I thought, why not?”
“We invited her down for the wedding,” Stanley said. “But she couldn’t get away. It was a busy time of year for her daughter.”
“Oh, what does your daughter do?” Mary asked.
Margo smiled. “I was hoping you’d ask,” she said. “She’s a famous mystery writer. Ann Charles.”
Mary sat back in her chair and stared, open-mouthed, at Margo. “Are you kidding?” she exclaimed. “You’re Ann Charles’ mom? I love her books.”
“And Margo is something of an amateur sleuth herself,” Rosie replied. “So if you need any help on cases this week…”
“Oh, do you do detective work?” Margo asked.
“Yes, I’m a private investigator,” Mary replied. “I specialize in certain kinds of cases.”
“What kinds?” Margo asked, intrigued.
Mary took a deep breath and was about to try to explain what she did when Rosie turned to her friend. “Oh, Mary can see ghosts. So she helps solve their murders.”
Margo nodded, picked up her tea and sipped. “Well, that’s interesting,” she said calmly.
“You don’t think that’s weird?” Bradley asked.
Margo smiled at him. “Oh, sweetie, I’m from Deadwood,” she said. “There’s not much on this earth that strikes me as weird.”
Chapter Fourteen
Mary sat back on the couch, comfortably resting against Bradley’s arm, and watched Rosie visit with Margo. They had so many stories about their adventures together, each one more hilarious than the last. She loved to see Rosie so obviously happy, and even Stanley got into the act sharing some of his own Rosie stories.
“Did she ever show you her emergency bag?” Stanley asked.
“The one with the blow-up doll?” Margo replied with a chuckle.
“The very same,” Stanley said. “I never, ever met a woman who carried so much stuff with her.”
“Well, one never knows when one might have an emergency situation,” Rosie defended herself. “Besides, it came in very handy, didn’t it, Mary?”
Mary smiled and nodded, remembering how the blow-up doll had taken her place at her desk, throwing one of Bradley’s officers off her scent while she escaped to solve a crime.
Bradley cleared his throat and shook his head. “I didn’t think it was funny,” he said.
Mary reached up and kissed his jaw. “I remember.”
Mary was about to make another comment when the front door burst open and Clarissa and Maggie came running inside. “Hi!” Clarissa called her cheeks pink from the cold. “Do I smell blueberry muffins?”
“Clarissa, did you forget to greet Rosie and Stanley?” Bradley asked. “And this is their friend, Mrs. Taylor.”
Clarissa smiled. “Hi, Aunt Rosie, Uncle Stanley and Mrs. Taylor,” she replied politely. “Um, Aunt Rosie…”
Rosie laughed. “Yes, I did make blueberry muffins, and yes, you and Maggie may have some. Actually, I brought extra for Maggie’s family if you want to bring them over.”
“That would be so cool,” Maggie replied eagerly. “Thank you.”
“Yeah, I was just coming to get more clothes,” Clarissa said. “And my homework.”
“What?” Mary asked, turning to Bradley.
“I’m sorry,” Bradley said, wincing slightly. “I forgot to tell you. Because of the case you are working on,” he said meaningfully, “I thought it might be better if Clarissa spent a couple of nights with the Brennans. I called while you were still sleeping, and I forgot to tell you.”
Mary opened her mouth and then closed it. It really did make perfect sense. She didn’t know how dangerous the poltergeist could be.
“I’m really sorry,” Bradley said quietly.
Mary shook her head. “No. No, it’s fine,” she said. “It makes perfect sense, but I just feel bad about it.”
Clarissa came across the room and gave Mary a hug. “Don’t feel bad,” she said. “We’re actually helping Mrs. Brennan do stuff.”
Mary kissed Clarissa and hugged her back. “Well, as long as you’re helping, I’ll try not to miss you too much.”
Clarissa looked up at her mom and smiled. “You can miss me,” she said. “And I’ll miss you, too.”
“Deal,” Mary replied, feeling a little misty eyed. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Clarissa replied softly. “Is it okay if I go?”
Mary nodded. “Yes, it’s more than okay,” she said. “Do you need help carrying things?”
“No,” Maggie said with a broad grin. “I just called Andy and told him about the muffins. He’s coming over to help carry stuff home.”
Mary laughed. “The sure way to the Brennan boys’ hearts is through their stomachs.”
A few minutes later the girls, Clarissa’s things and the muffins were on their way over to the Brennan’s.
“Mary,” Margo asked, leaning forward in her chair. “What’s this case you’re working on? If you don’t mind me asking.”
Deciding it would be better not to mention the poltergeist, Mary said, “It’s the possible murder of an older couple whose car might have been tampered with,” she said. “Their names are Shirley and Frasier, but I don’t…”
“Shirley and Frasier Koch?” Stanley asked. “Died about six months ago in a car accident?”
Mary nodded. “That sounds about right,” she said. “But they hadn’t given me their last name.”
“Oh, I met them,” Rosie said. “They went to the VFW dinners. Frasier was a friend of Stanley’s.”
“Are you saying they were killed?” Stanley asked.
“That’s what they believe,” Mary said. “But I haven’t had a chance to start looking into it yet.”
“Do they have any suspects?” Margo asked.
“I really don’t want to speculate until I’ve done more research,” Mary replied.
“It’s always the ones you least suspect,” Margo replied sagely. Then she turned to Stanley. “Maybe we could brainstorm a list of people you both knew who could be potential suspects.”
Stanley turned to Mary. “Well, I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes,” he said.
Shaking her head, Mary smiled. �
�No, you would be helping. Thank you,” she said. “I could use the help. My computer is out of commission, so until it’s up and running, I’m lost.”
Chapter Fifteen
“Hello. Computer Dynamics, Renee speaking.”
“Hi Renee, this is Mary O’Reilly-Alden,” Mary said, sitting back in her office chair and relaxing as she spoke on her cell phone. “My computer crashed.”
“You mean your hard drive crashed?” Renee asked.
Mary sighed. “No, my whole computer. CRASH, against the wall,” Mary said.
There was a pause on the other end. “I see,” Renee replied. “Well, let me fill out some paperwork here. Is this a business insurance claim?”
“Does insurance cover poltergeists?” Mary asked.
Another long pause. “Mary, why don’t you just bring it in, and we’ll see what we can do,” Renee suggested.
Mary smiled. “Thank you, Renee,” she said. “And thanks for understanding.”
“I hate to admit this,” Renee said with a chuckle. “But a poltergeist is not the strangest reason for a damaged computer I’ve heard.”
Mary laughed. “Someday we need to do lunch and exchange stories.”
“Yes, we do,” Renee chuckled. “Yes, we do.”
After she hung up the phone, Mary slipped the remains of her computer into her briefcase. “I sure hope they can resurrect you,” she said.
“You’re not supposed to be messing with resurrection,” Mike said as he appeared next to her.
“Oh, don’t worry,” she said. “It’s just my computer hard drive, nothing more spiritual than that.”
“So, you met Shirley and Frasier?” he asked.
She nodded. “Yeah, Saturday night in the guest room closet,” she said. “They seem like really nice people.”
“Salt of the earth,” he said. “And once they retired, they volunteered for everything: VFW, Chamber, Visitors Bureau, Women’s Club. You name it, they either volunteered or ran it.”
“Do you really think their son would kill them?” she asked.
Mike shrugged. “I don’t know enough about him,” he said. “But it sounds like the argument was pretty fierce.”
Mary nodded. “Well, Bradley’s running a check on him today, and Stanley, Rosie and Margo are putting together a list of other potential suspects,” she said.
“And what are you doing today?” he asked.
“Once I drop off my computer, I’m heading down to Sycamore to see if I can figure out who our houseguest is,” she replied. “The sooner we figure out who she is, the sooner my life can get back to somewhat normal.”
Mike laughed. “Somewhat normal is right,” he said. “Can you handle one more project?”
She studied him for a moment and sighed. “What is it?”
“I don’t know exactly,” he said. “But if you could call Bradley’s friend, Rick, and have him meet you for lunch, it would be a good thing.”
“A good thing as in…”
Mike shrugged. “That’s all I’ve got,” he said. “It would be a good thing.”
“Okay,” she nodded. “I can do a good thing.” She smiled at him. “Besides, I love lunch.”
“Thanks, Mary,” he said. “I’ll hang around the house and make sure your guest doesn’t get out of line.”
“Thank you,” she said sincerely. “I’ll be a lot less worried knowing that I will actually have a house to come back to.”
He smiled at her. “Drive safely,” he said as he started to fade away. “And enjoy your lunch.”
Chapter Sixteen
The fields alongside the highways from Freeport to Sycamore were filled with combines harvesting corn and soybeans, like behemoth creatures lumbering across half-barren fields of stubbled brown and gold. Keeping an eye out for displaced wildlife running out into the road, Mary drove with the windows slightly open and the radio blasting, enjoying the bright autumn sun and the unusually mild weather.
As she got closer to Sycamore, fields gave way to small strip malls and residential neighborhoods with lovely old homes with big lawns and wrap-around front porches. The residential area gave way to the downtown district, with old, stately buildings and newer retail shops. She drove through the lovely downtown, much larger than Freeport’s, towards the end of the district and found the distinct, red-bricked Sycamore Library.
The building was originally built in the early 1900s and had a round, turret-like corner on one end. The other end sported a recent addition made of similar red brick and newer windows. Mary walked across the parking lot into the entrance in the newer addition and found the place she was looking for right away, the Joiner Room.
She was greeted immediately when she walked into the room. “Hello,” a woman behind the counter said. “I’m Sue. How can I help you?”
Mary hesitated for a moment. How in the world was she going to ask for help looking for the photo of a ghost?
Suddenly a movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention. She turned to see the ghost of an elderly man with a dapper moustache. He was smiling at her. He winked and then lifted his hand up and knocked a book off one of the upper shelves. Mary jumped in surprise.
“I’m so sorry,” Sue said immediately, appearing more embarrassed than surprised. “That’s Fred. One of our resident ghosts. I’m afraid he often shows off for pretty guests.”
Mary smiled and turned to include Fred in her smile. “Well, I’m so glad he decided to do that,” she explained coming closer to the counter. “You see, my request is, um, slightly paranormal.”
The woman’s smile widened. “Oh, we can handle it here,” she said. “We are fairly used to handling all kinds of unusual requests.”
Mary was telling her about the ghost with the beehive hairstyle when she noticed another ghost coming up behind Sue and nodding to Mary.
“Well, hello dear,” Mrs. Penfield, the teacher from the reunion, greeted her. “It’s so nice to see you again. May I help you find something?”
Mary smiled and tried to address her comments to both Sue and Mrs. Penfield. “I was really hoping to look through some of the old yearbooks and see if I could recognize her,” Mary said.
“Of course,” Sue replied, turning and pointing across the room. “The Sycamore High School yearbooks are on several shelves in that corner. I can show…”
She stopped when the door opened and several other patrons came in. Mary saw that Mrs. Penfield was already headed in the direction of the books. “I can find my way there,” Mary said with a smile. “So you can help the next people.”
Sue nodded. “Thank you,” she said. “But if you need any help, don’t hesitate to ask.”
Mary slipped down the aisle and found Mrs. Penfield slowly fingering the spines of the books, looking for the right dates. She smiled when she saw Mary approach. “Well, your Bradley was always a looker,” she said. “But so oblivious to the girls around him. I’m not surprised someone followed him home from the dance.”
“Well, she’s not very happy to discover he’s married,” she said. “So, we’d really like to discover who she is and see if we can help her move on.”
“Hello, ladies,” a male voice interrupted. “Can I be of any assistance?”
Mary turned to find Fred standing next to them. Mrs. Penfield sighed. “Fred, we don’t need any help from you,” she said firmly.
“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” Fred asked, sending Mary a charming smile.
Mrs. Penfield rolled her eyes. “Fredrick Townsend, this is Mary Alden of Freeport, Illinois,” she replied.
“Shhhhh,” came a whispered order from the corner of the room. They all turned, and Mary saw another ghost, a trim, petite woman dressed in a long, black skirt and white blouse with a set of tiny eyeglasses perched on the tip of her nose. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and she was giving the entire group a disapproving glare.
“That’s Miss Flora,” Mrs. Penfield whispered. “She was one of our first librarians, and she
doesn’t like any noise in the building.”
“I see,” Mary whispered back. She turned to Miss Flora. “I apologize,” she said softly. “I will be sure to keep my voice low.”
With a disgusted sniff, Miss Flora glided away across the floor and melted into the wall.
“Good, she’s going into the library,” Fred said. “She’ll find quite a bit to sniff and glare at in there.”
“Now, Fred, we have work to do,” Mrs. Penfield said, speaking to him as one would a small boy. “You go occupy yourself with something else.”
He sighed, looked around and then smiled. “Sue looks bored,” he said with a grin. “I’ll see what I can do to liven her day.”
He glided away and slipped behind the counter, upsetting the paper clip holder and upended the stapler. Then he turned to Mary and Mrs. Penfield and winked.
“He is quite the character,” Mary said.
Mrs. Penfield sighed. “Yes, he is,” she said. “He’s a rascal. But a charming one. Now, let’s start with the year Bradley graduated.”
Mrs. Penfield started to pull out a book, but when Mary caught the glance of someone staring wide-eyed at a book levitating out of the shelf by itself, she quickly grabbed hold of the book, too.
“I can handle the weight,” Mrs. Penfield gently scolded her.
“Yes, but I’m not sure the other patrons understand floating books,” Mary whispered back.
A delighted laugh floated up from the old teacher. She shook her head. “You know, I quite forgot that I was dead,” she chuckled. “Yes, of course, you should do the lifting while there are patrons about.”
Chapter Seventeen
Mary sat at a small table in the corner of the Joiner Room with a stack of yearbooks next to her. She flipped the last page of the book that was dated three years after Bradley’s graduation. She had reasoned that the ghost could have been a freshman when Bradley was a senior, so she needed to check those yearbooks. She also checked the yearbooks in the other directions. Perhaps the ghost was an older student who met Bradley when he was a freshman. But so far, after searching through nine yearbooks, no familiar face appeared.
