Mary O'Reilly 10 - Veiled Passages

by Terri Reid

  The ghost scowled at her. “I’m Peter Swift,” he said, nodding his head slightly as he introduced himself. “Noted author, distinguished intelligence agent, super spy and international playboy.”

  “You forgot one really important designation,” she said.

  He sat up straighter and looked surprised. “And what would that be?” he asked with a sneer.

  “Dead guy,” Mary replied and picked up her soda and took a sip.

  “Were you talking with someone?” the bartender asked as she slipped back behind the bar.

  Mary shook her head. “Phone call. Bluetooth,” she explained. “I always worry people will think I’m talking to myself, or worse yet, I’m talking to ghosts.”

  The woman behind the bar chuckled, but shook her head. “Don’t mention ghosts to Angus,” she cautioned. “He’s pretty superstitious and he thinks that if word gets out that the hotel is haunted, he’ll lose business.”

  “The hotel is haunted?” Mary asked quietly.

  The bartender nodded. “Yeah, some room upstairs has a bathroom door that won’t stay closed whenever someone is taking a bath. They say some guy drowned in the bathtub and he keeps opening it. Some kind of pervert ghost.”

  “I am not a pervert,” Peter announced. “I am merely trying to save lives.”

  “How did he drown?” Mary asked.

  “Drunk,” she said. “They found an empty wine bottle on the table next to the TV. I heard he had a couple of drinks downstairs and then went upstairs to finish off a bottle on his own. If he’d only gone to bed instead, he’d be alive today.”

  “I never got to drink that bottle,” Peter insisted. “The murderer must have drunk it to cover up his fiendish plot.”

  “Was there an investigation?” Mary asked.

  The woman shook her head. “No, it was pretty cut and dry,” she said. “Well, except for the cash they found in his room. Seems the old guy was cheating his fellow writers out of some hard earned cash. There weren’t a lot of nice words spoken about the deceased.”

  Mary glanced over at Peter and he turned his head away from her. “It wasn’t one of my better moments,” he confessed. “I am ashamed I allowed money to overrule my better judgment.”

  “So, does Angus really think the place is haunted?”

  “I do, and that’s a fact,” Angus roared from the doorway. “And it’s also a fact that I’ve tried all kinds of things to rid myself of the presence. Why do you ask?”

  Mary swiveled in her stool and faced the burly Irishman with a smile. “Have I got a deal for you.”

  Chapter Five

  “So, you’ve made a deal with the caterer that if you get rid of his ghost, he’ll cater the reception?” Bradley asked, still trying to overcome his astonishment. “But what happens if you don’t solve the mystery?”

  Mary walked back to the refrigerator and put the milk away. “Bradley, don’t worry. I’ll solve it,” she replied. “I always solve the mysteries.”

  Rosie, sitting at the kitchen table next to Bradley, reached over and patted his arm softly. “Well, just in case, I’ll start freezing meatballs,” Rosie added. “Everyone loves meatballs.”

  “Have you forgotten that you have a murderer stalking you?” he asked. “How do you expect to solve a case when you are supposed to be under police surveillance?”

  Mary walked back to the counter. She picked up a wooden spoon and began stirring the batter in the big yellow bowl on the counter. “Well, actually, the ghost is a former spy and intelligence officer,” Mary said. “So, he might actually be of help to me.”

  “Mary, he wasn’t that good,” Bradley said.

  “How do you know?” Rosie asked.

  “Because he’s dead,” Bradley replied firmly.

  Rosie picked up her cup of tea, took a sip as she considered his words and finally placed the cup down and looked over to Mary. “You know, he has a point,” she replied. “Even in the movies, the good spies never die.”

  Rolling her eyes, Mary stopped mixing the cookie dough. “I’m sorry, who was the person who asked me to move the wedding up this morning?” she asked.

  Sighing, Bradley nodded. “I was.”

  “Thanks for that clarification,” she replied, starting to mix again. “I was afraid I’d made a mistake.”

  “But do we really need a caterer?” he asked. “Couldn’t we just…”

  “If you suggest we order pizzas I will throw my spoon at you,” she replied.

  “Pizzas?” Ian asked, coming down the stairs. “That sounds like a great idea. I’m starving. I’ll have pepperoni with extra cheese.”

  Rosie shook her head. “You’ll have to wait two weeks for them,” she said. “You’ll be really hungry by then.”

  Ian stopped on the bottom step and slowly backed up several steps. “Okay, let’s just run this scene again,” he suggested. “Pizza? Pizza for what?”

  Mary chuckled as he continued down the stairs and entered the kitchen. “Bradley was just about to suggest that we order pizza for the reception,” she said.

  Turning to Bradley, Ian shook his head. “You said that out loud?” he asked. “Most men just think it. You are braver than I thought.”

  “Don’t encourage him,” Mary warned.

  Ian laughed. “Oh, by the way, great news,” he said, dipping his finger into the cookie dough and snatching a bite. “Gillian is going to be able to come to the wedding. She got her tickets today.”

  “Oh, that’s great,” Mary replied. “I can’t wait to meet her.”

  “What kind of pizza does she like?” Bradley asked with a grin.

  “You are a brave man,” Ian said.

  He turned to Mary. “So, why pizzas? I thought I was helping you. I’ve already looked up my dear-grandma’s recipe for wedding haggis,” he said.

  “What’s wedding haggis?” Rosie asked.

  “Well, it is quite a spectacle,” Ian said, walking across the room and sitting next to Rosie. “First, a fellow wearing a kilt and playing a bagpipe leads the procession, followed by another fellow carrying the haggis on a silver platter. They are followed by the bride and groom.”

  “Sounds disgusting,” Bradley muttered.

  “Disgusting!” Ian cried, “Ach, no, it is poetry and it softens the hardest of Scottish hearts. The haggis is laid on the center table and then Robbie Burns’ poem about haggis is recited.”

  “Wait! Robert Burns wrote a poem about haggis?” Mary asked. “The Robert Burns?”

  “Oh, aye, he did,” Ian replied. “Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face, great chieftain o the puddin'-race! Aboon them a' ye tak your place, painch, tripe, or thairm: Weel are ye worthy o' a grace as lang's me arm.”

  Mary, Bradley and Rosie looked at each other, all equally confused.

  “But…but I thought Scottish people spoke English,” Rosie finally said.

  Ian chuckled. “Aye, they do Rosie,” he said. “With a wee bit of their own dialect added in for the charm of it. Let me see if I can translate for you. ‘Fair and full is your honest, jolly face; great chieftain of the sausage race! Above them all you take your place, stomach, tripe, or intestines: well are you worthy of a grace as long as my arm.’”

  “I liked it better when I didn’t understand it,” Bradley said.

  “Aye, but wait until you take your first bite,” Ian said with a wide grin. “There’s nothing like a thick slice of warm haggis to start a reception.”

  Bradley stood up, scraping his chair on the floor, and walked over to Mary. He took both of her hands in his and said, “Mary, please tell me what I can do to help you solve the mystery at the hotel. I really want the caterer now.”

  Mary glanced over his shoulder to Ian, sitting next to Rosie, and smiled. He winked back at her and grinned.

  “So, I suppose we won’t be needing the meatballs after all,” Rosie whispered to him.

  “No,” he whispered back. “I think we’ll be having a catered affair.”

  Chapter Six

 
The little house sat at the far northwest edge of town, a section of town that had been ravaged time and time again by the flood waters of Yellow Creek and time and time again had been rebuilt by the residents. But, the lack of available flood insurance and the tight economy had caused many residents to become more creative in their home repairs. Pieces of sheet metal or sections of plywood covered the places windows used to be. Siding often hung haphazardly from the side of the house where the creek’s waters had rushed through with ferocious power. Upturned trees and piles of thick mud often covered the areas neat lawns and flower gardens used to inhabit. The residents, disheartened by the look of their once lovely community, came home after work, locked their doors and closed their blinds to shut out the reminder of their loss. It was the perfect community for Gary Copper.

  The rental agreement had taken a matter of moments. Gary had given Mr. Rupp, the owner, fifteen hundred dollars in cash for a five-month rental of the tiny one-room house and Rupp had nearly been overcome with glee. He shook Gary’s hand incessantly and walked down the cracking concrete steps whistling a merry tune.

  Unfortunately, the poison Gary had laced his drink with was fast acting enough that his whistling ended mid-tune and the man dropped even before he reached the door of his ancient sedan. Gary was outside immediately, appearing to help Rupp into his home. He not only helped the man inside, he also helped him into the bottom of an antiquated chest freezer that was sitting, molding in the old limestone basement. And, of course, before slamming down the lid and securing it tightly, he helped himself to the money the man had stuffed into his coat pocket.

  The day was gray and the wind was seeping through the warped wooden windows. Gary rose from his meal of imported French brie, crusty baguettes and Cabernet Sauvignon and turned up the thermostat to 80 degrees. Since the electricity and gas had been opened in the owner’s name, Gary had no problem being comfortable. Sitting back down at the table, he opened his copy of the newspaper and scanned the contents. His story was now fourth page news under an AP story about a movie star’s imminent divorce. Chuckling softly, he bit down on another slice of cheese-covered baguette. People were so fickle these days; murder didn’t hold their interest for more than a few days and then they were off looking for the next thrill. He paused, slowly licking the remnants of brie from his lips, as he remembered the feel of Mary’s skin under his hands. She was so soft and smooth, so desirable. He knew she wanted him. If it weren’t for Bradley Alden she would be his.

  Closing his eyes he could picture her again in the basement of his office building. He remembered seeing the longing in her eyes, he was sure of it. She wanted to be his. She wanted her stomach taut and stretched, his child moving beneath her skin. She wanted to do his bidding, be at his call, waiting and willing to do whatever it took to pleasure him. He inhaled deeply, feeling the rush of desire pulsate throughout his body. He allowed himself to enjoy the sensation: the heat, the tension and the power.

  He opened his eyes, exhaled slowly, and thrust the knife into the soft body of the brie. She would be his…and soon.

  Chapter Seven

  “What smells so good?” Clarissa, Bradley’s eight year-old daughter, asked as she entered the front door accompanied by Officer Ashley Deutsch of the Freeport Police Department.

  Ashley had been assigned to watch Clarissa until Gary Copper had been captured.

  “Cookies,” Ian said, “Chocolate chip and oatmeal raisin.”

  “Yummy!” Clarissa yelled.

  “Well, they would have been,” Ian continued, walking over to her and plucking her stocking cap off her head. “But I ate them all. I’m so sorry, I tried to save you some, but I just couldn’t help myself.”

  Placing her hands on her hips she shook her head. “You are going to get fat and Gillian won’t love you anymore,” she stated.

  Raising his eyebrows and looking down at her, he folded his arms across his chest. “Are you calling me fat?” he asked.

  “If the cookie fits,” she replied, trying hard not to smile.

  He dove at her, scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the couch where he dropped her down and tickled her. “Take it back,” he said, as she laughed and squirmed in his arms.

  “No, no I won’t,” she replied through her laughter. “You’re fat, fat, fat!”

  “It’s not fat, it’s muscle,” he insisted.

  “Fatty muscle,” she giggled and dove under the cushions for protection. “I’m going to send Gillian a picture of you and she’s going to be disgusted.”

  “Well, now, you won’t have to send her a photo at all,” he replied. “She’ll be here in two weeks for the wedding.”

  Silence fell over the room immediately after the words left his mouth.

  Clarissa scooted out from beneath the cushions and climbed to the top of the couch. She looked across the room to Bradley and Mary who were just coming out of the kitchen. “You’re getting married in two weeks?” she asked, astonished.

  Ian sighed. “It’s sorry I am for letting the cat out of the bag,” he said and then he turned to Clarissa. “Darling, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “No. No, it’s alright,” Bradley said, hurrying across the room and sitting next to his daughter. “Clarissa, this morning I asked Mary if we could move up the wedding.”

  “Why?” the little girl asked.

  Bradley ran a hand over her head softly. “Because I want us to be a family as soon as possible,” he said. “And the best way to do that is to get married sooner.”

  Clarissa looked over to Mary. “Do you want to get married faster too?” she asked.

  Mary came over and sat opposite Bradley, on the other side of the little girl. “Yes, I do,” she replied. “I want us all to be together and be a family. Is that okay with you?”

  Nodding slowly, Clarissa seemed to be mulling things over. “Will I still get to wear my dress?” she asked.

  Smiling, Mary nodded. “Of course.”

  “Will Maggie still match me?”

  “Yes, she will. You will be the prettiest flower girls in the whole world,” Mary responded.

  Pausing for a moment, Clarissa bent her head and whispered, “Will I be your little girl then too?”

  Mary wrapped her arms around Clarissa and held her tightly. “Oh, yes, you will be my little girl for forever,” she said, taking a deep breath to hold back her tears. “And we will have the most amazing time together.”

  Clarissa looked up and smiled at Bradley. “I like us getting married faster,” she said with a wide smile.

  Leaning over, he placed a kiss on her forehead. “Well, good,” he said. “I’m glad that both of the ladies in my life agree with me.”

  “That’s probably never going to happen again,” Ian said. “Enjoy it while you can.”

  Laughing, Mary gave Clarissa another quick hug and said, “Are you hungry for some cookies?”

  “Ian didn’t eat them all?” she asked, her eyes twinkling.

  “Oh, he tried,” she replied. “But I protected them for you.”

  Returning Mary’s embrace, Clarissa grinned, “Let’s hurry and eat them all up before he gets any more.”

  After settling Clarissa at the table with milk, cookies and homework, Mary carried a container of cookies over to Ashley. “So, any signs of anything?” she asked, keeping her voice low.

  Bradley joined them just as Ashley took the offered container and shook her head. “No, after I walked her to school, I kept an eye on the school all day,” she replied, matching Mary’s tone. “I didn’t see anyone that matched his description.”

  “So, do you like cookies, Officer Deutsch?” Mary asked, making sure her voice carried across the room.

  “I love them,” Ashley answered loudly, “Especially chocolate chip.”

  “How is Clarissa doing?” Bradley asked.

  Nodding, Ashley glanced at the little girl who was busily chewing on a cookie and explaining her math homework to Ian. “She’s doing great,” she said. �
��She knows I’m there to make sure the bad man stays away and she seems to have accepted it. Of course, running from the bad man has been a part of her life for a long time.”

  Mary sighed softly. “I really wanted her life to be more normal,” she said. “Worry about the things little girls are supposed to worry about.”

  Smiling, Ashley nodded. “You mean like that boy in class who tried to kiss her?”

  “What?” Bradley exclaimed, his voice echoing in the room.

  “Calm down, Chief,” Ashley replied. “He only tried and it was on a dare.”

  “A dare?” Bradley asked, lowering his voice. “What the hell…”

  “Because she’s the police chief’s daughter,” Ashley said slowly and calmly. “The other boys told him that you would lock him up in jail if he tried to do it.”

  “Damn right,” Bradley growled.

  “The bottom line,” Mary interrupted, biting her inner cheek to stop her laughter, “is that in spite of the bad man, Clarissa is enjoying herself in school and is being accepted by her peers.”

  “Exactly,” Ashley agreed. “She has a lot of friends and is included at recess playtime. Really, she seems to be pretty much going with the flow.”

  Bradley turned to watch his daughter. She was teasing Ian by holding a cookie in front of his mouth and then pulling it away when he tried to bite it. Her laughter resonated throughout the house. “She is amazing,” he said softly.

  “Takes after her dad,” Mary whispered.

  “Yeah, well, this is getting way too mushy for me,” Ashley said. “I’m taking my cookies and hitting the road. I’ll see you both tomorrow morning.”

  “Thanks, Ashley,” Bradley replied. “You’re doing a great job.”

  “Thanks for trusting me, Chief,” she replied.

  Chapter Eight

  “So, what do I hear about you getting married in two weeks?” Stanley asked Clarissa, who was sitting next to him at the dinner table. “Ain’t you a little young to be considering marriage?”

  Clarissa wiped the spaghetti sauce from her lips with her napkin and giggled. “I’m not getting married,” she replied.