by Terri Reid
Mike shrugged. “I don’t know. Forever, I guess,” he said. “Why?”
Bradley paused and stared at Mike for a moment, a small smile flitting over his features. “Because, my friend, you and I are in for the adventure of a lifetime,” he replied. “Clarissa and Maggie have decided they want to be detectives, like Mary.”
“What?” Mike exclaimed. “They can’t do that, it’s too dangerous.”
“Well, you can try and talk them out of it,” he said. “I already have my first assignment from them.”
“What is it?”
“Nothing big,” he said. “I just have to find the body of an old man who died and is locked in somewhere. He probably had a heart attack in a closet.”
Mike breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay, that’s an easy one.”
Bradley nodded. “Yeah, no danger there.”
Chapter Thirty-seven
The narrow residential street in Dubuque, Iowa, was lined with cookie-cutter ranch style homes that all seemed to boast some kind of unique lawn ornament. From gnomes and dressed geese to pink flamingos or statues of saints, each house seemed to have its own theme. Copper walked past the house with yard gnomes and the one with silhouetted plywood cutouts of people performing yard work to the house with the giant purple gazing ball and smaller reflecting “flowers” all around it. He looked down at his watch; it was seven o’clock, exactly the right time for his appointment.
He walked up the carefully manicured sidewalk to the concrete steps with wrought iron balustrades. He pressed firmly on the lighted doorbell and waited for a minute before the door opened, revealing an elderly man dressed in a button down shirt and brown slacks.
“Hello,” Copper said with a friendly smile. “I called earlier about the car you had for sale.”
The man squinted up at Copper. “Yes, yes, I’m Clyde Casey,” he said, extending his hand for Copper to shake. “The car’s parked in the garage. Just give me a minute, I have to get the keys,” he said.
He walked away, keeping the door wide open, and Copper heard him call to his wife, “Elsie, the young man is here about the car. I’m getting the keys and we’re going to go for a drive.”
A few minutes later, the garage door opened, and Copper sat comfortably in the driver’s seat, while backing the older model sedan out of the driveway.
“We’ve had this car for over thirty years,” Clyde explained. “Made sure we changed the oil every 3,000 miles, always rotated the tires, and always kept it serviced right on time. I got a notebook here in the glove compartment that lists all of the oil changes and service records for the car.”
Copper pulled onto the road and smiled at Clyde. “It sure drives like a dream,” he said. “You don’t often find an older model car like this in such good condition.”
Clyde nodded. “Well, folks these days don’t take care of much,” he said. “It’s a disposable world. Nothing made today is worth owning.”
“I agree,” he said. “Nothing is made with metal anymore, only plastic parts. They don’t last more than a year.”
He turned left and let himself out on John F. Kennedy Road and followed it to Highway 20. “How does she do on the highway?” he asked.
“Give it a whirl,” Clyde answered. “We got a full tank of gas and plenty of time.
Copper laughed out loud. “Yes, we do,” he said. “Plenty of time.”
They went out beyond the city limits and Copper pressed down on the accelerator. The car responded well. “I can’t drive anymore,” Clyde confessed. “My eyesight ain’t what it used to be. I got my license taken away last time I took the test. This car’s been sitting in the garage doing no good to nobody.”
Copper turned off the highway and onto a narrow country road. He drove down the road for several miles, passing farmhouses, barns and fields. The sun had set and stars were beginning to glisten in the dark evening sky.
“You checking the suspension?” Clyde asked. “Ain’t nothing wrong with these shocks.”
“You’re right,” Copper agreed. “This car is going to be perfect.”
He slowed down and pulled onto a dirt road that led into a small grove of trees. “So, Clyde, you know much about what’s going on in Freeport?” he asked.
“No, we get the Iowa news stations,” he said, “We don’t hear much about what’s happening over in Illinois.”
“Well, that’s a shame,” Copper said. “There’s a fellow in Freeport who’s been going around killing people. He even escaped from the courthouse and killed his lawyer.”
Clyde chuckled. “Well, you know what they say about lawyers.”
“Clyde,” Copper said, stopping the car. “This isn’t a laughing matter.”
Clyde looked around. “Hey, where are we?” he asked, his voice shaking. “You need to drive this car back into Dubuque. I don’t know what your game is mister, but you can just stop it right now.”
Copper turned in his seat and faced Clyde. “That man, the killer, from Freeport,” he said calmly. “He’s killed more people than they know. Let’s see. There’s the landlord, I believe his name was Rupp, who now resides in the freezer in the basement. There’s the clerk at the costume shop in Madison who was left in the storage room of the store. And…let me think.”
He smiled coldly at Clyde. “Oh, yes, there’s the elderly couple from Dubuque who were selling a car,” he said. “The old man’s body was found in a lake and his wife, Elsie…well, we’ll just have to see what fun and games he has in store for her.”
Clyde’s face went ashen. “No,” he said. “No, you can’t do this. You can’t hurt Elsie. I won’t let you.”
The wire garrote was easily slipped over the old man’s head and Copper tightened it brutally. He watched with intense pleasure as Clyde struggled for a few moments, clawing at the line around his throat, and finally slumped back in his seat. Copper reached over and unfastened the old man’s seat belt and then, going around the car, pulled him from the passenger’s seat. The sound of water lapping against a pier was loud in the quiet night. Copper dragged the man through the small copse of trees, through the sand and onto the small pier. Pulling him slowly, Clyde’s feet striking against each floorboard, they finally reached the end of the dock. Copper wrapped his arms around Clyde’s chest and whirled around, tossing Clyde’s body into the darkness of the lake. The splash was deafening in the quiet night. Somewhere close by, several geese honked their displeasure and flew away from the lake. Copper smiled and watched the birds take flight before he turned back to the car. “Time to pay a visit to Elsie,” he said with a smile.
Chapter Thirty-eight
Ian woke the next morning with a fairly stiff back and the distinct feeling of being watched.
“Do you think he’s still asleep?”
Ah, that was Clarissa’s voice, he thought. But who is she talking to?
“Yes, ‘cause he’s from another country and they sleep different than we do.”
Well, little Maggie Brennan’s come over for the morning, he decided, keeping his breathing even and his eyes closed to make sure they thought he was still sleeping.
“I wa ta et ge fe br fist,” he mumbled.
“What did he say?” Maggie asked quietly, moving closer.
“I wa ta et ge fe br fist,” he repeated.
“I think he’s having a bad dream,” Clarissa whispered. “Maybe we should wake him.”
Maggie shook her head. “No, you’re not s’posed to wake people from bad dreams ‘cause they can die.”
Ian bit his lip to keep from smiling.
Clarissa jumped back. “I never heard that,” she whispered. “Really? They can die?”
Maggie bit her lip. “Well, I think so.”
“I wa ta et ge fe br fist,” he said again, and threw in some tossing and turning for good measure.
“What do you think it means?” Maggie said, moving closer to the couch.
“I don’t know,” Clarissa said, joining her friend. “Maybe it’s Scottish.”
Ian sat up, grabbed both girls around their waists and laughed when they screamed. “I said ‘I want to eat girls for breakfast,’” he growled.
Maggie, hanging against his side, folded her arms and shook her head. “You can’t eat us for breakfast,” she reasoned. “That would be disgusting.”
Clarissa just giggled.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Ian said, standing and carrying a girl under each arm into the kitchen. “I’m thinking you might be delicious slathered in butter and maple syrup.”
Standing behind the kitchen counter, Mary casually looked up at Ian and the girls. “Oh, good morning, Ian,” she said. “What would you like for breakfast?”
“Oh, good morning, Mary, darling,” he said. “I think I’d like to have two noisy little girls for breakfast.”
“Fried or scrambled?” she asked, while the girls giggled louder.
“I was thinking you could batter them up, so I can have them with syrup,” he said.
Mary considered his request for a moment. “I have a problem,” she finally said. “I don’t have a pan big enough to cook them.”
Ian lifted Maggie up higher and looked at her. “This one’s little,” he said. “She’d probably fit in the toaster.”
“No, I won’t,” Maggie said. “Not even my toe would fit in the toaster.”
Nodding, Mary agreed. “I’m afraid she’s right,” she said. “She’s too big.”
With a giant sigh, Ian looked down at both girls. “Well, if I can’t eat them, perhaps I can eat with them,” he said. “How about if I make pancakes?”
“Yes!” both girls cried simultaneously. “We love pancakes.”
“Well, then,” he said, placing them down. “You both set the table and I’ll mix the batter.”
The girls ran around the counter to the silverware drawer and started pulling out forks and knives.
“And what am I supposed to do?” Mary asked with a smile.
“Go bring your fiancé in from his car and tell him to take a wee nap before he goes into the office,” he suggested. “And, if he’s obedient, I’ll save some pancake batter for him too.”
“Thanks, Ian,” Mary said, walking toward the door.
She met her mother coming down the stairs before she reached the door. “Morning, Ma,” she said. “How did you sleep?”
“Fine, but I’m hungry as a bear,” she admitted. “Did I hear someone say pancakes?”
“Aye, Margaret, you did,” Ian called from the kitchen. “Shall I flip a few for you too?”
“That would be grand,” Margaret replied, scooting past Mary and heading to the kitchen. “And I’ll put the kettle on.”
“There’s a woman who knows the way to a man’s heart,” Ian said, “A hot cup of tea in the morning.”
“Well, I’ll just go and get Bradley,” Mary said.
She opened her door and was about to step out, but she found herself face to face with Tracey. “You’re making a habit of arriving at my doorstep at the crack of dawn,” Mary said. “Is everything fine?”
“Well, yes,” Tracey said. “But shouldn’t I be asking you that? I heard about the bomb scare at the police department yesterday.”
Mary leaned against the doorstop. “You really do have a good information network.”
Tracey shrugged. “Well, you know, small towns, lots of relatives,” she said. “It’s Freeport’s version of Headline News.”
“Okay, but why are you here?” Mary asked.
“Well, to help you figure this out,” she replied. “We can put Peter’s case on hold while we deal with this one.”
“Tracey, I really appreciate your offer…” Mary began.
“Before you tell me I’m just a writer,” Tracey interrupted. “I’d like to remind you that in order to be a believable mystery writer you need to be able to consider all kinds of plot lines or motivation. You need to be able to do research, pull random points together to create a viable story and understand human nature. What is the difference between being a mystery writer and being a private investigator?”
Mary thought for a moment. “I can carry a gun.”
Tracey laughed. “Okay, other than a gun,” she acknowledged. “Really, Mary, I want to help.”
Mary sighed and moved out of her way. “Well, thank you,” she said. “I appreciate the help. Why don’t you go in and tell Ian we’re going to need more pancakes.”
Chapter Thirty-nine
Two hours later, Bradley came down the stairs after a solid nap and found Ian, Tracey and Mary gathered around the kitchen table.
Mary looked over when she heard him. “Hi, are you hungry?” she asked.
Shaking his head, he wandered to the refrigerator, pulled out a cold can of diet cola and opened it. He took a sizable drink and then put it down. “No, I just needed a kick in the pants,” he said. “What are you up to?”
“Well, Ma is with Rosie addressing invitations,” she explained, “while Stanley is watching guard over them.”
“Don’t I have a patrol car watching their house too?” Bradley asked, running his hand through his hair and disheveling it in a way that made Mary want to run her hands through it too.
“Yes, you do,” she said with a smile, and then imitated Stanley’s voice. “But iffen Bradley thinks I’m a gonna let some young recruit watch over my Rosie, he’s got another thing coming.”
Shaking his head, still trying to wake up, Bradley looked down at Mary. “But Officer Killoran is forty-two years old.”
“Well, it’s all in your perspective, isn’t it?” Ian said with a grin. “Forty-two is a mere babe in arms for Stanley.”
Lifting the can, Bradley took another shot of caffeine. “I can’t even go there right now,” he said, walking over to the table and sitting down. “So, what are you up to?”
“The four of us are reviewing Copper’s case to see if there is anything we might have missed or if we can identify some kind of pattern,” Mary said.
Bradley looked around the table, confused. “The four of you?” he asked.
“Oh, sorry,” Mary replied and put her hand on Bradley’s shoulder. “Peter is a ghost.”
Bradley lifted his head and watched as the ghost slowly materialized in front of him. “Nice to…,” he began, “What the hell? Mary’s he’s naked!”
“Yes, we try not to notice,” Ian replied, biting back a grin.
Turning to Mary, Bradley pointed in Peter’s direction. “Mary, this ghost is naked,” he repeated. “There is a naked ghost in your house.”
“You die in a bathtub and see what you’re wearing,” Peter complained. “I didn’t ask to come back naked. As a matter of fact, I didn’t ask to be murdered.”
“Peter is the ghost from the hotel,” Mary explained.
“You mean where they’re going to cook our food?” Bradley asked, a look of disgust on his face. “They let naked ghosts hang around areas where they’re cooking food?”
“Well, it’s not like he’s going to drop a hair in something,” Ian said.
“Oh, gross,” Tracey said. “Thanks for the visual, Ian.”
Ian turned to Bradley and casually commented. “Actually, he was sitting in your chair before you came into the room. Naked and sitting in it.”
Bradley started to jump out of the chair, when Mary’s hand restrained him. “He teasing you,” she said. “Ian, be nice.”
Taking a deep breath and another drink of soda, Bradley looked back at Peter. “I apologize,” he said. “Of course it’s not your fault that you’re naked. I’m just not used to seeing naked ghosts I suppose. Please, don’t let me interrupt your discussion.”
Mary leaned over and placed a kiss on Bradley’s cheek. “You’re a good sport,” she said, and then she turned back to the other members of the group. “Okay, we know he’s been seen at the school, at the courthouse and at my house, several times.”
“Has he ever tried to break in when all of you were home?” Tracey asked.
Thinking for a mo
ment, Mary nodded. “Well, he snuck in right after Clarissa and I had been out shopping. We were all upstairs because Bradley was painting Clarissa’s room. I heard the doorbell and came downstairs to find a note.”
“But he never tried to attack you when everyone was home?” she asked.
Bradley shook his head. “No, he doesn’t seem to operate like that,” he said. “He generally incapacitates his victims, or he kills them in a one-on-one situation, and then only if they are elderly or weak. He’s a coward.”
Tracey sat back in her chair and tapped her pencil on her lips, thinking. Finally, she sat up and aimed her question at Mary and Bradley. “So, why would he randomly break into your house the other night? How could he know that only Margaret and Clarissa would be home?”
“Damn, he’s been watching us,” Bradley said. “He knew we were out.”
Nodding, Mary agreed. “But he didn’t attack right after we left,” she said slowly. “We were ready to order when Mike appeared. So, what took him so long?”
“Well, my guess is that he followed the two of you,” Ian said. “And when you weren’t an easy target, he decided to try the house.”
Shivering, Mary rubbed her hands up and down her arms. “He was following us,” she said. “Why didn’t he…”
“Valet parking,” Bradley said, turning to Mary. “We used valet parking, so there wasn’t a clear shot where it wouldn’t be noticed.”
“If this is true, I’m going to bronze those high heels,” she replied.
“Chief Alden,” Peter said, interrupting. “Do you have this man’s description at every hotel and motel in the area?”
“Yes, we have his mug shot and possible disguises all around the area,” he replied. “Even in the bed and breakfast homes. Why?”
“Well, I assumed that was the case, but I wanted to be sure,” Peter replied. “So, if your culprit is following you, if he knew enough about the downtown to evade your officers after planting the bomb and if he has been seen several places around town, one must assume that he has either rented a home or apartment somewhere or is living in an abandoned domicile in town.”
