Final Call - A Mary O'Reilly Paranormal Mystery (Book 4)

by Terri Reid

  “What are you doing?” Rodney asked.

  “We are arresting you,” Bradley said, “On suspicion of murder.”

  “But...but I didn’t do it,” he yelled. “I want to answer the questions now. I’ll answer any questions.”

  Bradley shook his head and turned to the clock. “Sorry, the last chance for answering questions was three minutes ago,” he said. “You are going to spend the night in jail and tomorrow morning, after I’ve had a couple of hours sleep, we can talk. That is, unless you want to be in charge again and you decide not to speak with me.”

  “Benjamin, help me,” Rodney said as Ashley led him out of the room.

  “I’ll arrange for your bail,” he said. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you out.”

  Benjamin turned on Bradley. “If anything happens to that young man while he’s in custody, I’ll hold you responsible.”

  Bradley smiled and pushed the intercom button again. “Dorothy, tell Ashley to put Mr. McMullen in solitary for the night. Thanks.”

  He walked across the room and opened his door. “Good-night Mr. Middlebury,” he said. “I look forward to seeing you in the morning.”

  “You don’t know...”

  Bradley held his hand up, “Once again, it sounds like you are starting to threaten me. You wouldn’t perhaps want to spend the night with your client, would you?”

  Benjamin stormed past him. “Good night, Chief Alden.”

  “Sweet dreams,” Bradley called after him.

  Chapter Eleven

  Mary woke just before her alarm clock went off. Usually she hated missing those last few minutes, but today she was excited. She had a plan.

  Quickly showering and dressing, she grabbed a protein bar and diet cola on the way out the door. “Delicious and nutritious,” she commented as she stuffed them in her oversized purse.

  Her black 1965 MGB Roadster sat in the driveway with a thick coating of frost on the windows. She opened the car, stored her purse on the passenger’s seat, started the ignition and pulled the scraper out of the back.

  “Hey, Ms. O’Reilly, where ya going?”

  Mary recognized the voice as her ten year-old neighbor, Andy Brennan. She turned and saw he was dressed in several layers against the cold morning, giving him a multi-colored abominable snowman look. From his stiff movements and arms extended in 45 degree angles, she knew the layers continued underneath his coat. She wondered in amazement how his mother managed to get his book bag on his back.

  “I’ve got a little business trip today,” she said. “Where are you going?”

  His freckled face fell. “I’m going to school,” he moaned. “We should have Holiday Break last until all the snow is gone.”

  Shaking her head, she sympathized. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “They should have at least given you an extra two weeks to let you adjust slowly.”

  He nodded. “Or a month,” he suggested with a grin.

  “At least a month,” Mary agreed.

  “You’re not going far, are you?” he asked, concern in his voice.

  “A couple of hours away. Why?”

  “Mom says there a big storm coming our way,” he explained. “Gonna dump up to ten inches on Freeport. She’s sure we’re gonna have a snow day tomorrow. So, I kinda don’t feel too bad about going to school today.”

  “Is your Mom pretty good at picking out snow days?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, my whole family knows my mom is better than the Weather Channel,” he said. “If Mom says there’s a snow day, there’s a snow day.”

  She looked up at the bright blue sky. “Is she sure?”

  “Yeah, it’s gonna start just before school lets out,” he said. “Less of course the ‘berry-merry’ pressure falls and it speeds up. Then it will be here by about two o’clock. That’s what Mom told Dad at breakfast.”

  Mary bit back the grin. “You’ve got to watch that ‘berry-merry’ pressure,” she said. “So, two o’clock?”

  He nodded seriously. “Yes. Mom’s going out to get bread and milk, so you know it’s gonna be real bad. And know what?”

  “What?”

  “She’s getting stuff to make oatmeal cookies too,” he added.

  “Can I come to your house and be snowed in?” Mary asked.

  Grinning, he nodded. “Yeah, that’d be cool. If there’s too much snow, I can bring my sled and we can pull you to my house. My mom always says we have to watch out for our ‘olderly’ neighbors.”

  Mary looked down at him and saw the glint in his eyes. “Yeah, well this ‘olderly neighbor’ is about ready to give her ‘youngerly neighbor’ a face wash in the snow.”

  Delighted with his giggle, Mary darted towards him. She couldn’t contain her laughter as she watched his layered rotund body waddle down her drive way. She easily caught up with him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her head hanging over his shoulder. His face was red and his breath was coming out in steamy gasps of laughter.

  “No fair,” he laughed. “I can’t run in my warm stuff.”

  “You should have thought about that before you called me olderly.”

  He giggled again. “I take it back,” he said. “You’re youngerly. I promise.”

  Mary leaned forward and placed a smacking kiss on his cheek. “And don’t you forget it,” she said.

  The redness in his cheeks expanded to the rest of his face and he looked around quickly. “Did anyone see that?” he asked.

  Can my self-esteem take any more of this? she wondered.

  “No, no one saw it,” she said.

  “Then no one will ever believe me,” he said, his face downcast. “My brothers would be so jealous. They think you’re hot.”

  She grinned. “You better get going or you’re going to miss your bus.”

  He nodded. “Remember the berry-merry pressure,” he said as he continued down the street.

  “I will, thanks, Andy,” she called, as she tossed the scraper into the back of the car, hopped in and watched him through her rear-view mirror. A small ache settled near her heart. She wanted children of her own. She was ready for the joys, the worries, the long nights and the long days. She allowed herself to be melancholy for a moment, then flipped a CD into the player and let the determined strains of “It’s My Life” by Bon Jovi pump up her attitude.

  She pulled out of the driveway, humming along with the music and by the time she was on Highway 20 she was drumming on the steering wheel and singing at the top of her lungs, “Better stand tall when they’re calling you out, don’t bend, don’t break, baby, don’t back down. It’s my life...”

  A pickup truck passed her on the left and the passenger looked down at her. It was so obvious that Mary was singing in the car, the passenger waved and grinned. Mary grinned back. Yeah, today was going to be a great day.

  Chapter Twelve

  Bradley grabbed his third can of Diet Pepsi for the morning and headed down to lock up. He had received about four hours of sleep and, he admitted to himself, he was tired and cranky. This was not going to be a good day. They had already received emergency notifications the storm heading their way through Nebraska and Iowa was going to be intense. He knew most of the afternoon and evening was going to be spent dealing with traffic accidents and other weather-related rescues.

  “Hey Chief,” said Cory Jackson, a tall, powerfully-built African-American officer called out with a laugh. “I understand your going to interrogate the prisoner in solitary. Want me to go with you. Be your back-up?”

  “Hey, Jackson, I was going to ask you, but I figured the kid would be too much for you and I’m trying to work on your self-esteem this month.”

  Cory laughed. “Appreciate it, Chief,” he said. “But, if the kid overpowers you, just call out. I’ve got your back.”

  “And that scares me more than you’ll ever know,” he joked.

  He unlocked the door and found Rodney curled up on the cot sound asleep. The blanket was wrapped around his body and his head was tunneled under the pillo
w. The loud snoring coming from his pillow assured Bradley his prisoner was in fine shape. Bradley lifted a foot and kicked the bottom of the cot. Rodney woke with a start and rolled out of the cot.

  “What? What?” he yelled, trying to get his bearings.

  “Rodney McMullen,” Bradley said. “Are you ready to answers my questions?”

  Rodney nodded eagerly. “Yes, yes, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know,” he said.

  “Fine, pick up your belongings and we’ll go upstairs to my office and wait for Mr. Middlebury.”

  “I don’t need Middlebury,” Rodney insisted. “I can answer the questions on my own. I don’t need a handler.”

  “I’ll need you to sign a release that I offered to wait for your attorney and you declined,” Bradley replied.

  “No problem,” he said. “I know what I’m doing. I studied law, you know.”

  They climbed the stairs up to his office. “So, you’re a lawyer?” Bradley asked.

  “No, I studied law, business, archeology, accounting, and communications,” Rodney said.

  “What did you want to be?” Bradley asked.

  “A policeman,” Rodney confessed, “But my mom thought it would be too dangerous.”

  “Well, she was just looking out for you,” Bradley said. “Moms do that.”

  “My mom does it especially well,” Rodney said. “So does Mr. Middlebury.”

  “I’m sure they just want what’s best for you,” Bradley offered.

  Rodney shrugged, “Why do so many people who want what’s best for me never ask me first?”

  “Yeah, that can be a problem.”

  Bradley led them into his office and handed him the release. Once signed, he offered him a seat.

  “So, Rodney, where were you on Saturday night?”

  “I was home,” he said. “I was watching television.”

  “Was anyone home with you?”

  Rodney chuckled. “You mean like a girl or something?”

  “I mean anyone who could corroborate you were actually where you say you were.”

  “Oh, well, no,” he said. “It was my usual Saturday night. I watch T.V. and eat pizza.”

  “Do you get delivery pizza?” Bradley asked.

  “Why are you talking about pizza? I thought you wanted to talk about me.”

  “The delivery man could verify you were home,” he said.

  “Oh,” Rodney said, a smile spreading across his face. “That’s really smart. Yeah, it was delivery. I got it at about seven o’clock.”

  “Did you see anyone else that night?”

  He thought about it for a minute. “No, I just watched the Lethal Weapon marathon. It was great.”

  “How did you and your aunt get along?”

  “Well, Auntie Faye never got along with anyone,” he said. “She thought I was stupid, immature, wimpy and...”

  He searched for a word.

  “Oh, yeah, worthless,” he finished with a smile. “She’d say that all the time.”

  “That must have made you feel angry.”

  He shook his head. “Nope, because I would just do what my momma suggested, I’d just remember all of the money she was going to leave me when she died. So, I would just smile and take it.”

  “Did you have any money of your own?” he asked.

  “Yeah, even though Mom didn’t get that much money when she divorced my Dad, we were comfortable,” he said. “And then, when I turned twenty-one, I got my inheritance.”

  “When your aunt finally died, what did you plan to do?” Bradley asked.

  “I was going to show them all that I could run the business,” he said. “I was going to make millions.”

  “So, were you anxious to start your new position?”

  He moved forward in his seat and put his hands on the desk.

  “No, Auntie Faye put me in as a junior executive,” he explained. “She told me I needed to learn the ropes.”

  “And how was that going?” Bradley asked.

  “Great,” he said, his voice lifting with excitement. “I’m doing really well. I’m ready to be in charge now.”

  “Tell me about Carl White.”

  Rodney froze and his face lost its animation. “I don’t really know Carl,” he said.

  Bradley leaned forward. “That’s funny,” he said. “It seemed that you knew him last night when you first entered the room.”

  Rodney sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. “We’re not really friends,” he said. “He’s not what everyone thinks he is.”

  “He’s not?”

  Shaking his head, Rodney lowered his voice. “He thinks people don’t know, but word’s getting out that he has some big secrets.”

  “And what are those secrets?”

  “I heard him arguing with Auntie Faye,” he said. “She was telling him that as long as he did what she wanted, she would keep his secret safe.”

  “What secret?”

  “I don’t know, but it must have been pretty bad.”

  “Why would you say that?” Bradley asked.

  “Because Auntie Faye said that he was a bastard.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Listen, Sean,” Mary growled into her cell phone. “Just because you’re the head of the Special Victims Unit, does not mean you can tell me what to do. You’re my brother, not my father.”

  She turned the volume down on her Bluetooth ear piece as she listened to her brother’s tirade. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he yelled. “Now that you know definitively this was not just a break-in, but a murder, you need to turn the information over to the police.”

  She changed lanes, passing a particularly slow moving vehicle on I-39, going south towards DeKalb and then moved back into the right lane. “I’m not trying to solve a murder,” she insisted. “And the information I just shared with you is privileged and I expect you to treat it as such. Even Bradley doesn’t know that Jeannine is dead.”

  There was momentary silence on the other end of the line. “You mean you haven’t told him his wife is dead?”

  She could hear the astonishment and the judgment in his voice. “Do you think I didn’t want to?” she snapped. “Do you think I didn’t argue with Jeannine, telling her that he had a right to know?”

  “He does have a right to know, Mary,” Sean said. “Dammit, Mary, she’s his wife.”

  She sighed. “I know that,” she said. “But she’s also my client and she asked me...no, she told me not to tell him. And then she disappeared. So, I’m not waiting any more, I’m looking for her. Then I can tell her that I can’t wait any longer.”

  “So, you’re not trying to solve this one on your own?”

  “Bradley would never forgive me for working on this case without him,” she said. “I wouldn’t do that to him.”

  Another moment of silence on the line, but this time Mary could hear him shuffling through paperwork. “Okay, I’ll text you the address,” he said. “But be careful.”

  Mary rolled her eyes. “Sean, this case is over eight years old. Do you think the murderer is hanging around the house waiting for someone to solve it?”

  Mary exited on Hwy 64 and traveled east to Sycamore. She found it sadly ironic that the subdivision entrance for Bradley’s former home was off Peace Road. She drove along the quiet residential streets and gauged the demographics. This was an upper middle-class neighborhood. This was a place couples settled to raise a family. She wondered how many people had been home during the day Bradley’s house had been invaded. As she pulled into the cul-de-sac, she wondered why no one had noticed a strange vehicle. Why no one noticed someone taking Jeannine away from her home. Why no one had come forward with any information to help find her killer.

  She parked a few houses away from Bradley’s and looked around. The lots were not overly large, driveways seemed to delineate property lines and there was not much more than ten yards between one house and the next. From where she sat, she couldn’t tell if the backyards were
fenced or not. A perpetrator could have parked in one of the driveways behind the house and come through the back. She shook her head. That still wouldn’t explain why no one saw anything.

  Getting out of the car, Mary slipped on her gloves and pulled her purse out of the car. Then she pulled a brightly wrapped package from her purse and started for the house. The sidewalks were clear, but the snow on either side rose up about three feet.

  “Jeannine,” she whispered. “Jeannine, I’m looking for you now. You can’t hide away forever. I need to talk to you.”

  “I’m sorry,” a male voice called out. “Did you say something?”

  Mary turned quickly; she hadn’t seen the man bent over his snow blower in the driveway next door to Bradley’s former home. “Oh, you frightened me,” Mary exclaimed with a quick smile. “I was... I was talking on my phone.”

  He looked puzzled, mostly, Mary decided, because she wasn’t carrying her phone in her hand. “Um, Bluetooth,” she said, pointing to the ear piece. “I always think people are talking to themselves too.”

  He stood up and nodded. “Yeah, it gets tricky these days,” he said. “You never know who the nuts are.”

  Grinning, she extended her hand. “Hi, I’m Mary O’Reilly, and I’m fairly sure I don’t qualify for one of the nut cases. But some people might disagree with me.”

  He took her hand and shook it firmly. “Brian,” he said. “Brian Keller.”

  “Hi, Brian. Maybe you can help me. I’ve been out of the area for years and at the last minute decided to take some time and come home for the holidays,” she said, lifting the package in her hand. “I thought I’d try to catch up with some long-lost friends. I’ve been trying to find a phone number, but it seems like everyone is unlisted these days. Do you know if Bradley and Jeannine still live next door?”

  He shook his head. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said. “They’ve been gone for at least eight years.”

  “Oh, darn,” she exclaimed. “You don’t happen to have a forwarding address, do you?”

  He turned, looked over at the house and then back at Mary. “They didn’t leave under the best circumstances,” he admitted. “The house was broken into while Bradley was at work; he was a cop you know. They had just about the whole police force here, searching for clues. Searching for Jeannine.”