Crimes of Passion

by Toni Anderson

  Row upon row of ancient metal desks with high tech computers sat empty, an occasional glow from a screen saver illuminating the area around it. She didn’t look too closely at the dark corners in the room. She understood more than most, that dedicated reporters never give up on a good story.

  Across the room, the light from the editor’s office glimmered in the corner. Glass walls allowed Jerry Wiley, editor-in-chief, to keep an eye on his employees, but they also offered those outside the office a bird’s eye view of everything Jerry did.

  Mary took a moment to observe Jerry. He was a fixture in that office—he’d worked his way up from political reporter to editor in the nearly thirty years that he had worked for the paper. He was scowling into his computer screen; she could tell something was not pleasing him. And Jerry felt quite comfortable in sharing his displeasure with all those around him.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Mary saw a shadow gliding through the newsroom. She immediately recognized the woman, Anna Paxton, a society columnist who had lived and breathed for her column in the paper. She was a powerful force to be reckoned with in Freeport’s high society and she knew it. But she also knew her power was directly related to her column. If she had ever been forced to give up her column, she would be immediately forgotten by those who had wooed her favor for years.

  She died at her desk while typing the most malicious comments about a society ingénue’s first attempt at a dinner party. That column was replaced by her obituary—which she had kindly penned years before, just in case. She had been quickly replaced, ironically by the same young woman whose societal obituary she had been typing when she died.

  Mary didn’t know if she remained because that last column was never published, or if she preferred the smell of ink and the clicking of keyboards to the choirs of heavenly angels.

  Mary looked at Anna again, recalling some of her unkind columns, and shrugged. Or perhaps, Mary speculated, she was like the Dickens’ ghost Marley and in death needed to work off some of the misdeeds performed while she was alive.

  The ghost slid across the room, paused next to the editor’s office. Mary could feel the enmity vibrating from the specter. As much as Mary would enjoy watching Jerry get spooked, she doubted it would put him in the mood for granting her a favor. She coughed purposefully from her corner. The ghost turned, saw Mary and glowered before she faded into the air.

  Jerry, who perhaps was more sensitive than he realized, lifted his head from the computer and looked around.

  Here’s my chance, Mary thought, and walked across the room to his office.

  “Hi, Jerry,” she greeted, and was slightly amused to see him jump. “Sorry to disturb you so early in the morning. I was just wondering if I could do some research in the morgue?”

  She leaned against the door jamb and smiled. The morgue was actually a large room that housed not only copies of old newspapers, but a computer that held the scanned archives of the paper since the first day it was printed.

  Jerry glanced around once more.

  “Did…did you see anyone else when you came in?” he asked.

  Mary shrugged. “I would venture to say that you and I are the only living creatures in the building right now.”

  Mary bit back a smile as Jerry’s eyes widened at her comment.

  “You see any ghosts in here?” he asked, knowing her reputation.

  Mary smiled innocently.

  “Come on, Jerry,” she answered. “You don’t believe in ghosts, right?”

  Jerry took a deep breath.

  “Yeah, right, ghosts—hogwash, a bunch of crap if you ask me.”

  Mary nodded. “Absolutely. And you sure wouldn’t want to be thinking about them when you were sitting all alone in this old dark building. I mean, if you did believe, it could be really creepy in here.”

  Jerry glared at her.

  “You know where the morgue is, don’t you?”

  Mary nodded.

  “Then go and do whatever you have to do and stop wasting my time.”

  Mary grinned.

  “Thanks Jerry, I appreciate it.”

  As she turned, Jerry stopped her.

  “Hey, O’Reilly, you working on anything interesting?”

  Oh, he’d love an unsolved murder case, Mary thought. But there was no way he was getting any information from her.

  She turned back and shook her head.

  “Just some boring research,” she said with a shrug. “But if I turn up any skeletons in the morgue, I’ll let you know.”

  Jerry grunted. “You do that.”

  As Mary crossed the room and headed toward the morgue, Anna glided past her toward the editor’s office with a grin on her face.

  Sometimes you have to wait until you’re dead for a little payback, Mary thought, but I’m sure the reward is just as sweet.

  As she stepped into the morgue, all of the lights in the newsroom turned off. Mary heard Jerry’s shout of fear, then she closed the door and laughed out loud.

  Since the Freeport Republic was the larger paper at the time of the incident, they had more coverage than the Galena paper. The day after Renee’s death, her story, considered an accidental drowning, had only made the second page. The first page stories were about the election results and the disappearance of an eight-year-old girl, Jessica Whittaker, who had gone out bicycle riding late that afternoon in the small town of Elizabeth and had never returned.

  On the top of the page was a photo of the Ryersons’ casting their votes. Below the fold was a picture of Jessica’s distraught parents standing in front of their modest home, clutching her school picture. Mary could see the heartache in their eyes and wondered if they ever found their daughter.

  She found herself not only searching for information about Renee, but also information about the case of Jessica Whitaker, as she worked through the files that morning. The sun was high in the sky by the time she left the stuffy room that housed the morgue. She had a file filled with information on both cases when she walked back to her office.

  Stanley sat outside his store on his bench reading through the paper when Mary approached.

  “So, Stanley, what’s going on in the world,” Mary sat next to him and peeked over his shoulder.

  “Well, looks like our police chief’s gonna have his way with those parking meters,” Stanley said. “No one at the city council meeting opposed his proposal.”

  “No one in the city council ever goes downtown,” Mary said. “What happened to good old fashioned investigation? Doesn’t anyone ever look before they leap?”

  Stanley grinned.

  “Well, I kinda expected you to show up to the meeting and put them all in line.”

  Mary sighed.

  “You know, I would have been there, but I had an appointment,” she said. “But you’re right; I should have made the time.”

  “Well, there’s still time,” Stanley said. “Police Chief said that he’d wait a couple of weeks before he ordered the parking meters, just in case any downtown businessman wanted to talk to him about it.”

  “Businessman?” Mary asked.

  Stanley’s eyes twinkled.

  “Yep, I believe those were his words,” he chuckled. “Know of any businessmen who might want to talk to the police chief?”

  Mary stood up and took a deep breath. “Why this city decided to hire Barney Fife is a mystery to me.”

  Stanley chuckled. “New police chief didn’t look much like Barney Fife to me,” he said with a grin. “Nope, but then again, my eye sight’s been failing for a long time now.”

  Mary laughed.

  “You have the sharpest eyes of anyone I know,” she said, shaking her head. “But I’ve been a cop, and I can spy a Barney Fife a mile away.”

  Someone with a deep voice cleared his throat just behind Mary.

  Well, crap, Mary thought, I just know this isn’t going to be good.

  Stanley peered around Mary and chuckled. “Why hello there, Chief Alden, we were just talking about
you.”

  Mary glared at Stanley and Stanley looked back at Mary, eyes wide with innocence.

  Mary bit her lip and shut her eyes in mortification for just a moment. She exhaled deeply. Okay, time to put on her big girl pants and take it like a woman. “Hi, I’m Mary…”

  The words froze on her lips.

  “You!” they said in astonished unison.

  The police chief was the first to recover. He grinned. “You know, I’ve always considered myself as more of an Andy Taylor kind of guy. By the way, I missed our race this morning.”

  SIX

  So I finally meet my mystery jogger and she ends up being Mary O’Reilly the nut case, Police Chief Bradley Alden thought as he continued down Main Street. Why are the cute ones always psycho?

  He thought about the look on her face when she finally turned around. He chuckled. The look was priceless. And the Barney Fife line. He had to admit it was funny.

  He scanned the street that made up one fifth of downtown Freeport. She was right, though, he hadn’t taken the time to find out more about downtown. The mayor had suggested the parking meters and, thinking the mayor knew the town better than he did, had just agreed. What the hell was the mayor thinking? Parking meters would only drive business away from an already struggling shopping district.

  He crossed the street and headed up State Street to Stephenson. There were more businesses on Stephenson and they looked to be thriving, but with the onset of the big box stores at the other side of town, he knew these mom-and-pop retail stores were fighting to keep their heads above water.

  Up and down most of the downtown streets he had also noticed a number of empty storefronts, scattered amongst the other shops.

  So how did he go back to the mayor and tell him that he was out of his mind?

  Bradley shook his head. He really hated politics.

  “Got a lot on your mind?” Stanley asked, walking up alongside him.

  “You set her up,” Bradley said, continuing his slow pace down the street.

  “Naw, I wouldn’t do that,” Stanley grinned, falling in alongside him. “Course, if I happen to enjoy when a series of ironic coincidences happens right in front of me, you can’t blame a man.

  “Sides, I figured it was time the two of you met,” he said.

  “Why’s that?” Bradley asked, stopping to turn and look at Stanley.

  “You’re a couple of the few people in town with any common sense,” Stanley said. “Thought you might want to work together.”

  “A woman who sees ghosts for a living?” Bradley asked. “She has common sense?”

  Stanley chuckled. “Guess you got a little more learning to do, Chief.”

  Bradley shook his head and started walking again. “I’ve got more things to worry about than Mary O’Reilly.”

  Stanley chuckled again. “Just tell the mayor that the traffic downtown will never recoup the initial cost of the parking meters. Fiscally responsible, that always makes them feel good.”

  Bradley stopped again. “What? You read minds and she sees spirits?”

  Stanley laughed. “See you’re learning already.”

  Stanley put his hand on Bradley’s arm. “This is where I leave you,” he said. “You seemed to be too smart of a man to judge a person on the gossip of others.”

  Bradley smiled. “That was a back-handed compliment if I ever heard one.”

  Stanley nodded. “Don’t disappoint me.”

  Bradley watched Stanley walk into the coffee shop and have every one of the young waitresses stop what they were doing to fawn over him. “He’s simply amazing.” Bradley smiled.

  He turned and continued down the street. A pregnant woman with long brown hair stepped out of the bakery a few doors ahead of him. Bradley caught his breath and quickened his pace to catch her. Jeannine!

  She didn’t move like Jeannine, but that could have changed during the time she’d been gone. Had she come to Freeport? Was she looking for him?

  He was nearly jogging when the woman stopped to look into a shop window. He saw her profile. His stomach clenched. It wasn’t Jeannine. Damn.

  He took a deep breath. When would he finally stop looking for her? When would he move on?

  Besides, he reasoned, she wouldn’t be pregnant anymore. I’d have a daughter. Our daughter. She would be eight years old. If she’s alive. If they’re both alive.

  He ran a hand across his forehead and leaned against one of the empty storefronts. He had to get a grip on himself before the people in town thought he was as loony as Mary O’Reilly. He shrugged. Maybe she wasn’t that loony—he saw ghosts everywhere he went, too.

  SEVEN

  “So, after you pulled your foot out of your mouth, what did you say?” Rosie asked, sitting on the edge of Mary’s desk and munching on a bag of mini carrots.

  Mary shrugged. “I don’t know…something.”

  Stanley chuckled. “I remember exactly what you said.”

  “Stanley, really, you don’t need to help,” Mary said emphatically.

  “No, I think Rosie needs to understand how you stood up to that police chief for the good of all of the small businesses downtown.”

  Rosie raised her eyebrows as she crunched another carrot. “Really,” she munched. “Wow. Good for you, Mary. What did she say?”

  “Stanley, please,” Mary pleaded.

  “She stood right up to that police chief and said… Now Mary, pay attention and make sure I have this right… She said, ‘Damn it!’ and then she walked away. Did I get that right, Mary?”

  “Good one, Mary,” Rosie laughed, “I always knew you had a way with words.”

  “Thanks for the support, Stanley,” Mary said. “Where would I be without my friends?”

  “You know, I believe that police chief’s single,” Stanley said to Rosie, ignoring Mary’s comments.

  “Is that so?” Rosie asked, her eyebrows rising even further. “Was he that very good-looking young man in uniform walking down the street earlier? Had the look of a young Burt Lancaster?”

  “Yes, the very one,” Stanley replied.

  “Well, well,” Rosie said, her gaze turning to Mary.

  “Yes, that’s what I thought too,” Stanley said, nodding in agreement.

  “Excuse me,” Mary said throwing her arms up in the air, “I don’t think I asked for any help with my private affairs.”

  “That’s the problem,” Stanley snorted, “you ain’t having any private affairs.”

  “Stanley! I can’t believe you just said that.”

  “I’m old—not dead.”

  “A young Burt Lancaster,” Rosie sighed and closed her eyes, hugging herself. “I can still picture the beach scene in From Here To Eternity.”

  She shivered. “It still gives me palpitations.”

  Mary shook her head. “Okay, that’s enough; some of us have work to do.”

  “Are you asking us to leave?” Stanley asked.

  “No, I’m kicking you out. Asking would be too nice.”

  Stanley chuckled. “Good of you to be subtle about it.”

  Rosie sniffed. “I’m only going because I have good manners, unlike some people.”

  “Bye. Don’t let the door hit you…”

  The door closed with a snap and Mary collapsed into her chair, trying to control a grin as Stanley and Rosie walked past her picture window and waved.

  “Good grief, and they’re supposed to be more mature,” she laughed as she turned around to face her desk. She opened the manila envelope Susan had given her the night before and started to scan the content into her computer. As each new document appeared on the screen she gave it a cursory look and then saved it to a computer file. Just as she was clicking on the “Save” button on the next to the last document, a name caught her eye, “Jerry Wiley.”

  “Well, Jerry, what were you up to twenty-four years ago?” she muttered as she pulled the original document out of the scanner. Jerry’s name was included in the list of those attending the party that nigh
t. But he wasn’t just an invited guest; Jerry was listed as a member of the Senator’s campaign team.

  “Well, just look at this,” Mary murmured as she read further down the list. “This list is getting more and more interesting.”

  Other than poor Renee, the other members of the campaign team seemed to have done very well for themselves. Jerry Wiley, assistant campaign manager—now editor in chief of the paper. Mike Steele, campaign fund raiser—now president of Freeport National Bank. Hank Montague, campaign manager—now chair of the local Republican Party and mayor of Freeport.

  She looked down the list of the other guests, it read like a who’s-who of local power brokers. Even though Mary was a recent resident of the area, she could recognize most of the names because of their frequent appearance in the paper.

  She needed to know more about the people on this list than a few quotes. She needed dirt—and she knew just the ghost to give it to her. Glancing at the clock on her computer screen, she saw it was almost four o’clock. The newsroom would be crowded with reporters. She’d have to wait until later tonight to get what she needed. In the meantime she would follow some other leads to find out just what it was about Renee Peterson that made someone want to kill her.

  The small subdivision was just west of Freeport in the rural portion of Stephenson County. By larger city standards it wouldn’t have even been considered a subdivision, just a scattering of a dozen small homes with large yards and a few cul-de-sacs. Mary drove her car slowly down the road, not only observing the twenty-five mph speed limit, but also watching for the address in the dimming evening light.

  Once she found the right house, she parked her car and smiled at the view. Four not-too-scary jack-o-lanterns guarded the front steps. Colorful Mums bloomed in the tiny front garden, and ghosts and goblins hung in the front window. She was sorry that she didn’t have a trick or treat bag with her because she was sure this would be one of the houses that gave out really good candy. This was a house that understood kids.

  She climbed the stairs and knocked on the screen door. Immediately she heard a dog’s excited bark and the clicking of paws against wood floor.