by Terri Reid
“Thanks,” Mary said, eager to leave the hotel and get back to her house. “I’ll be back later this afternoon and then we can start.”
“Mary,” Tracey said, stopped her. “I just have one question before we meet together with the others.”
Mary waited expectantly.
“Does Peter know who killed him?” she asked.
She really has been reading up on about me, Mary thought.
“No, he doesn’t,” Mary said. “But we both agree it was murder.”
Chapter Thirteen
The vacuum cleaner had been back in its place in the broom closet for about fifteen seconds before there was a soft knock on Mary’s front door. She wiped her hands on the back of her jeans, brushed her hair from her face, tucked in her blouse and took a deep breath. “Coming,” she called brightly.
No sooner had she opened the door than she was enfolded in a warm hug. “Mary, darling, it’s so good to see you,” her mother, Margaret, said.
Mary placed her head on her mother’s shoulder and just enjoyed the sweet comfort of the hug. There was nothing better than a mother’s embrace. “I’ve missed you too, Ma,” she replied.
“Oh, well, I see you do still have a car,” her mother replied wryly, stepping back and smiling into the face of her daughter. “Is it too far a drive from Freeport to Chicago?”
Mary slipped her arm around her mother’s shoulder and led her into the house. “Well, I have been a wee bit busy lately,” she said, “Solving murder mysteries, chasing serial killers, taking care of Clarissa and planning a wedding. You know, the usual things.”
“Excuses, excuses,” her mother teased, wrapping her arm around Mary’s waist. “And do you have time for a cup of tea?”
“It just so happens I have a pot steeping right now,” she said. “And I made cookies yesterday.”
“Cookies! And Ian actually left me some?” Margaret laughed.
“I hid them,” Mary confessed.
Margaret slipped off her coat and hung it in the closet. “Your house looks lovely,” she said. “I don’t know how you have time to do all you do and keep a neat house.”
Mary sighed. “Well, to tell the truth,” she began.
“Darling, never tell me the truth about housekeeping,” Margaret interrupted. “There are secrets no daughter need share with her mother.”
Grinning, Mary nodded as she placed tea cups and saucers on the kitchen table. “Well, then, if you must know, I get up at 4:30 every morning and scrub the house from top to bottom,” she said. “It pretty much always looks like this.”
Margaret picked up a cookie and took a small bite. “That’s exactly what I thought,” she said with a smile. “I raised my children to be hard-working and brilliant.”
“Well, brilliant liars,” Mary laughed.
“As long as they’re brilliant,” she countered. “That’s all that matters.”
A little while later they were seated at the table, enjoying their second cup and going through the list of things to do for the wedding.
“So, how sure are you of the caterer?” Margaret asked.
“Well, I started working on the case earlier this morning,” Mary said. “It’s going to be a little tricky because he died ten years ago and we really have nothing to go on.”
Mary paused for a moment and sighed, “And he really had a lot of people angry with him. And he was a fairly miserable man with a huge ego. And everyone who was connected to him was very familiar with different ways to kill people.”
Margaret picked up her cup of tea and took a sip. She put the cup down and looked at Mary. “So, you’re telling me that you’re fairly sure about the caterer, right?”
Mary chuckled and nodded. “Right. And in the meantime, Rosie is making meatballs.”
“Good! Everyone likes meatballs.”
Margaret sat back in her chair. “And when was the last time you and your handsome fiancée went on a date?” she asked.
“A date?” Mary asked slowly.
She thought about it for several minutes. “Well, there was the one time he asked me out, but then there was a train derailment and so we ended up just going for a run in the park,” she said. “That was the night he asked me to marry him.”
“And you’re telling me that you and Bradley have never gone on a date?” her mother asked incredulously.
“Well, we spend a lot of time together,” Mary prevaricated.
“Chasing bad guys and freeing ghosts does not count as quality time,” she lectured. “You need to spend some time together, to get to know each other without the stresses of work or home.”
“Well, yes, but we just don’t have time,” Mary explained.
“So, you’re going to marry each other without even going on one date? I don’t think so,” Margaret said.
“What do you mean?”
“I want you to call him up, right now, and tell him your mother is babysitting tonight so the two of you can go out together.”
“Really?” Mary asked, a smile brightening her face. “No, I couldn’t ask you…”
“You couldn’t ask me to spend the evening alone with my granddaughter-to-be?” she said. “And why would that be?”
Mary shook her head. “No, I didn’t mean that,” she explained. “It’s just that Clarissa has homework…”
Margaret stood up and carried her cup and saucer to the sink. “So, you’re saying I’m too stupid to help an eight-year-old with her homework?” she asked, her eyebrow raised over a twinkling blue eye.
“No, ma,” Mary replied. “But…”
“Have you had a chance to wear that little black dress you bought a while back yet?” her mother interrupted once again.
Leaning back against her chair, Mary shook her head. “No, I was wearing it the night of the train derailment,” she confessed. “But it’s been on the hanger since then.”
Margaret came back and picked up Mary’s cup and saucer. “And don’t you want to knock his socks off before he sees you walking down the aisle?”
A small smile grew into a grin. “That would be nice.”
“Call the man,” Margaret insisted. “And Clarissa and I will do homework, eat pizza and watch a movie together.”
Mary picked up her cell phone and dialed, and with her eyes on her mother, she said, “Hi, it’s Mary. My mother just insisted on babysitting tonight so we could go on a date. That is, if you’re interested.”
Her smile grew wider and a slight blush brightened her cheeks as she listened to his response. “Okay,” she replied softly. “I’ll see you then.”
She hung up the phone and inhaled deeply.
“So he liked the idea?” Margaret asked with a smile.
Mary nodded, “He really liked the idea.”
She got up and hugged her mother. “Have I mentioned how grateful I am that I have a wise and wonderful mother?” she asked.
Margaret laughed. “No, you haven’t, but feel free to mention it at any time.”
“You are amazing, thank you,” Mary said, kissing her mother’s cheek.
“How much time do you have to get ready? You’ll want to give yourself enough time to be pampered.”
Mary glanced at the clock. “I’ll have enough time,” she said. “But first I have to meet with a couple of authors about a ghost.”
“Well, you go and do that and I’ll get myself settled,” she said.
Mary hurried into the living room and pulled her coat from the closet. “I love you, ma,” she said.
“I love you too, Mary-Mary,” she said. “Now, off you go so you can get back and make yourself beautiful for your man.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Mary said with a wink, as she hurried out the door.
Chapter Fourteen
The restaurant was empty except for the three women sitting at a small table in the corner. Mary smiled at the bartender/waitress as she walked past her.
“Your usual?” the woman asked pleasantly.
Mary nodded. “Yes, Diet
Pepsi would be great.”
As she approached the table, Tracey looked up and smiled at her. “Mary, thanks for taking the time to meet with us,” she said. “Please sit down.”
Mary took the empty seat and pulled a small digital recorder and notebook from her purse. “Thank you for allowing me to interview you,” she said.
The waitress placed Mary’s drink on the table next to her and quickly went back to the bar.
“Well, I’m sure you’ll find, once you speak with us, that we will be much more useful to you than merely an interview,” Sally said. “My novels have won numerous awards. They don’t give those kind of awards to just anyone.”
Mary smiled politely and nodded. “I’m sure they don’t,” she said, as she turned on the recorder. “How long did you know Peter?”
“They never really knew me,” Peter criticized, from directly behind Mary. “They were too busy promoting their books.”
“Does your recorder pick up EVPs,” Honora asked, “Just in case Peter is here too?”
“You know, I never used to believe in all that spiritual crap,” Peter said. “Who would have thought that Honora, of all people, was right?”
“EVPs?” Tracey asked.
“Electronic Voice Phenomena,” Mary replied. “Noises picked up on the recorder that resemble words, but are not from any human recording.”
“Ghost-recording?” Sally scoffed. “Really, you expect to pick up Peter’s voice on that thing? Why don’t we just all hold hands and have a séance?”
“Honora, I don’t know if my recorder is sensitive enough for EVP because I’ve never had to use it for my investigations,” she replied. “I wanted it here today because there are three of you and I wanted to be sure I caught everything all of you said. Any small detail could be important in solving the case of Peter’s death.”
Waving her hand at the waitress and lifting her wine glass in the air, Sally complained to the rest of the table, “Really, it’s not like there’s anyone else in here.”
“She was always a little impatient with servers,” Peter said. “Which always surprised me because she was a waitress for many years.”
“Sally was a waitress?” Mary blurted out, surprised, and then covered her mouth with her hand. “Oops.”
Turning towards Mary, Sally stared at her. “How did you know that?”
“Come on, Sally,” Tracey said. “Mary is a Private Investigator. Any of our characters would have done background checks before they arrived at a meeting like this. Of course she knows you were a waitress. That isn’t exactly classified information.”
Sally sniffed. “It was a long time ago,” she said.
Honora nodded her head, her dangling earrings clinking as she did. “Oh, yes, a long time ago,” she agreed helpfully. “When Sally was still young.”
Mary quickly lifted her soda to her lips to hide her smile. She took a sip, schooled her features and placed her drink back on the table. “Okay, why don’t we try this again,” she suggested. “How long did you know Peter?”
“I met Peter a couple years before his death,” Tracey said. “We met through this convention. We spoke a few times, nothing more.”
“I hit on her and she turned me down,” Peter said. “Damn shame.”
“I understand Peter was interested in you,” Mary said. “Could that interest have sparked a jealous reaction from anyone else?”
Tracey laughed and leaned back in her chair. “Peter hit on anything in a skirt,” she said. “I never took him seriously and I doubt anyone else did either.”
“He never hit on me,” Honora said.
“She had too many psychic friends with her,” Peter said. “I don’t operate in a crowd.”
“It was probably because of your spiritual sensitivity,” Mary suggested. “It might have spooked him.”
“It was more likely because he thought you were a kook,” Sally inserted. “Psychic contacts? Really Honora?”
“Now there is a woman who knew how to play games,” Peter said. “Sally was exotic in more ways than one.”
“Sally, I understand that your relationship with Peter was more of a…personal one…than either Tracey or Honora,” Mary said.
“You slept with Peter?” Honora asked, aghast. “But I thought you hated him.”
Tracey pulled a slim breadstick out of the container in the middle of the table and tapped her lips with it. “There’s a fine line between love and hate,” she said. “When did you stop sleeping with him?”
Enraged, Sally glared at Mary. “I don’t know where you’re getting your information,” she spat. “But you’re wrong. He and I never…we never…”
“Did the wild thing?” Honora inserted helpfully, her high-pitched voice slightly tremulous.
Peter snorted. “Ask her if she remembers Dubuque?”
“I have information about a brief…liaison…in Dubuque,” Mary said, watching Sally’s face go white.
“How could you…how do you…?” Sally stuttered.
“She’s better than you thought, isn’t she?” Tracey asked Sally. “Perhaps we ought to start helping her and stop trying to protect ourselves.”
Picking up a napkin, Sally blotted her face and nodded. “Yes, I suppose we should.”
“Excellent,” Mary said, sending a grateful smile to Tracey. “Now, tell me, why would someone want to murder Peter?”
“There are many reasons,” Sally said, “Probably too many to enumerate. But that evening, the main reason would have been his announcement that the money we gave him to ensure a publication contract for our books had fallen through.”
“None of you were going to be published?” Mary asked.
Honora shook her head. “No, there must have been at least twenty-five of us in the group that had been promised a contract,” she said. “All we wanted was to be published and Peter held the key.”
The alarm went off on Mary’s phone and she quickly silenced it. “Continue,” she requested.
“What’s the alarm for?” Tracey asked.
Shrugging, Mary blushed slightly. “It’s nothing,” she said, “I have a date tonight.”
Tracey sat back in her chair. “A date with somebody important?”
“My fiancé,” Mary replied casually. “My mother’s in town and she insisted we go on a date before we’re married.”
Sally turned quickly, her chair scraping on the floor. “You’re engaged and you haven’t even dated the man?”
Mary shook her head. “It’s not like that,” she said. “We’re both in law enforcement, he’s Chief of Police and I do private investigation. Life just seems to get in the way whenever we schedule anything. The last time we were supposed to go out a train derailed.”
“It was a sign,” Honora said. “Are you sure you are supposed to marry this man?”
Blushing again, she nodded her head. “Oh, yes, I’m very sure,” she said.
Just as she finished her comment, the door to the restaurant opened and Bradley walked in. He looked around the room and, when he found Mary, he smiled and walked over to their table. “Hi,” he said softly. “Your mom said I’d find you here.”
Her smile grew broader. “Hi,” she replied, and then turned to the women at the table. “This is Police Chief Bradley Alden, my fiancé. Bradley, this is Tracey, Sally and Honora. They are all mystery writers who are helping me with this case.”
“Nice to meet you, ladies,” he said with a slight nod and then he turned to his fiancée. “Mary, I just have a quick question.”
“Sure,” she said.
“How do you feel about Italian food?” he asked.
“I feel very good about Italian food,” she replied.
He smiled and nodded. “Great. I’ll pick you up at six, okay?”
“Okay. See you then.”
The table was silent until Bradley left the restaurant.
“That was your fiancé?” Honora asked. “Oh, my, his aura is very powerful.”
Tracey snorted. “S
he means he’s hot,” she added. “So he’s picking you up at six?”
Mary nodded and bit her lower lip. “Yes, I guess so.”
Tracey looked down at the watch on her wrist. “Oh, wow, look at the time,” she said, “I had no idea it was so late. I’m sorry, Mary, but we’re going to have to reschedule.”
Mary smiled, but stayed firm. “No, that’s very nice of you,” she said. “But it’s important to continue this conversation.”
Sally stood up and hooked her purse over her shoulder. “I find that I too am fatigued,” she said, covering her mouth as she yawned. “I will be more than happy to continue this tomorrow morning. Shall we say 10:00?”
“But…but…we were just getting to the good part,” Mary insisted. “Really, we can keep going.”
“No, I think we need a place that’s more conducive to friendly spirits,” Tracey suggested. “And we need to meet tomorrow morning.”
“Oh, well, that’s a good idea,” Honora said. “Where?”
The other two women looked expectantly at Mary. “Oh. Oh, um, my house,” she blurted. “Yes, we can all meet at my house tomorrow morning at 10.”
“Perfect,” Tracey said, jotting down her phone number on a napkin. “I’ll drive. Why don’t you text me your address and the rest of us can meet in the lobby at 9:45.”
“That would be great,” Mary responded, wondering when she totally lost control of the situation.
“Good night, Mary,” Tracey said as the ladies walked out of the restaurant. “Have fun tonight.”
Chapter Fifteen
Mary stood in front of her bedroom mirror and frowned. The black dress hugged her curves and fell just above her knees. Her sheer black stockings and spiked high-heels added a shot of sexy, and her diamond earrings and necklace added glamour. But something was missing.
She heard the low wolf whistle before Mike appeared in her room behind her. “Are angels allowed to whistle like that?” she asked, looking at him through the mirror.
“Yeah, well, I’m still not too clear on everything that’s in the handbook,” Mike said with a shrug, “But you look hot.”
She looked at herself again, biting her lower lip. “Something’s missing,” she said.
