“Jackson, down,” the woman’s voice commanded from the other side of the door. “Andy, grab Jackson.”
Mary heard a slipping sound and a thump, and then the door was opened by a woman she guessed to be in her late forties. The woman smiled and extended her hand. “Hi, I’m Lisa Merrill.”
Just past her a large Golden Retriever was on its back next to a small decorative table that was lying on its side. A young man, probably in his early twenties, knelt next to him trying to stand the table up again and control the dog at the same time. But when the dog saw Mary, he quickly rolled over, righted himself and lunged at the door.
“Jackson, sit,” Mary commanded. Jackson stopped mid-lunge, dropped his large haunches immediately to the ground and looked up to Mary with adoring eyes and a lolling tongue.
“How in the world did you do that?” the young man asked, pulling himself up from the floor.
“A trick I learned in a past life,” Mary replied. “Hi, I’m Mary O’Reilly.”
“Great trick. Please come in,” Lisa said and then, motioning to the young man, explained, “This is my son, Robbie.”
“Jackson never listens to us,” Robbie said. “The trainer said that he has a greeting disorder.”
Mary laughed and patted Jackson’s big head. “So you have a greeting disorder do you? Well, you make up for it in personality.”
Jackson wagged his tail and tried to scoot closer to Mary.
“Robbie, why don’t you put Jackson out in the backyard while I visit with Miss O’Reilly?”
“Sure, Mom,” Robbie agreed.
Lisa led Mary into a simply furnished living room. “I’ve heard about you. You do private investigation, right?”
Mary nodded. “Yes, I have an office in the old Hawthorne Building.”
“That’s a great old building,” Lisa said. “Good place for an office. So, what did you want to talk to me about?”
“I wanted to ask you about Renee Peterson,” Mary said, watching Lisa for an initial reaction.
Lisa sat back on the couch and clasped her hands together tightly. “Renee Peterson,” she said softly. “Wow. That really takes me back.”
“She and I were roommates. I was going to school part time and working at JC Penney. Renee was working for the senator, on his campaign.”
“What kind of roommate was she?”
Lisa shrugged. “I don’t know, we were both young and fairly easy-going. If the dishes didn’t get done right away, no one cared. But I always knew I could count on her and I think she knew she could count on me.”
“On the night she died, what do you remember?”
“She seemed so excited about the party,” Lisa said. “She went into town early to have a couple of last minute alterations to her dress.”
She shook her head and looked directly at Mary. “For the longest time I blamed myself. I mean, what if it hadn’t been an accident? What if she killed herself? Shouldn’t I have been able to tell if she was depressed? Shouldn’t I have been able to stop her before she committed suicide?”
Mary leaned forward. “What if it wasn’t accidental or a suicide?”
Lisa’s eyes widened. “But then, that would mean…”
“That someone killed her,” Mary supplied, sitting back in her chair.
Lisa was confused. “Why would anyone want to kill her? She wouldn’t have hurt anyone. She was so sweet, so…”
“So in love with the senator?” Mary supplied.
Lisa looked surprised. She studied Mary for a moment and nodded. “Yes, she was very much in love with Ryerson. But she wasn’t, you know, promiscuous.”
“Did she have other relationships?” Mary asked. “An old boyfriend or someone who was interested in her?”
“No,” Lisa said, “she was pretty sheltered. I don’t think she dated much in high school or in college, for that matter. She was pretty mature for her age. I think Ryerson was her, um, first, if you know what I mean. She really loved him.”
“What did you think about the relationship?”
Lisa shrugged. “Okay, well, I didn’t really know the man; I only knew what Renee told me. But I didn’t think too highly of a guy who slept with one of his employees behind his wife’s back. I mean, really, that’s just sleazy.”
“Did Renee think it was sleazy?”
“Oh, no, she thought he was wonderful. She said he was going to leave his wife for her.”
“Did she think the baby would make a difference?”
Lisa froze. “How did you know that she was pregnant?”
Mary shrugged, quietly pleased that Lisa had indeed confirmed the pregnancy. “It’s what I do.”
Lisa nodded reluctantly. “Yeah, she found out on election day. She got one of those home pregnancy kits because she had missed her period, but she didn’t want anyone to know.”
“So she told him?”
Lisa shrugged. “I don’t know. She said that she was going to tell him after the party.”
“Did anyone else know about it?”
Lisa shook her head. “No, I’m sure she wouldn’t have told anyone else. She would have never jeopardized Ryerson’s future.”
“Perhaps someone else who worked on the campaign with them, someone she could trust?”
“No, she didn’t really get along with the other members of the campaign team. They were from the good old boys club and treated her like their personal secretary rather than Ryerson’s assistant. She wouldn’t have told them.”
“Did Renee and Ryerson have any special place they met?”
Lisa thought for a moment. “Yeah, there was some garden in the back of the estate. It was a little way from the house. It was a hidden garden with a heated pool. She told me they would sneak away and meet there all the time. She called it their secret paradise.”
“That’s where they found her,” Lisa continued, her eyes widening in understanding. “I hadn’t put it together before, but that’s where she drowned.
“Do you think that he…?” She stopped and put her hand over her mouth. “All these years, why didn’t anyone investigate her death?”
“Because everyone assumed that she drowned,” Mary said.
“I can’t believe it,” Lisa said. “What will her parents think?”
Mary moved forward in her chair. “Lisa, I haven’t spoken with her parents yet,” Mary explained. “At this point, I’m hesitant to do so until I can find more concrete information about the case. Do you understand?”
Lisa nodded. “Yeah, why bring something up if you can’t prove it,” she said. “They would just have to relive her death again.”
“Exactly,” Mary said. “I know you kept Renee’s confidence about her pregnancy for all of these years. Can you keep this confidence until I learn more?”
“Yes. Yes, I can,” she said. “You’re going to figure this out, aren’t you? You’ll find out who did this.”
Mary nodded. “I promise.”
EIGHT
Mary pulled up to the front of her office and parked. Although it seemed a little dramatic, she had dressed in all black to be sure she didn’t attract attention.
Mary acknowledged the downtown area had a different feeling at night. The stores were closed, the people were gone, just buildings that sat waiting for the next day to come. Even the shadows of the past were different: the distraught teen waiting at the Greyhound Bus Stop, the secretary and her boss sneaking out a side door, and the broken-down drunk sipping from his brown paper sack. The shadows only appeared for a moment and then faded away like mist in a field. It was all slightly creepy.
She locked her car and headed down Main Street. She’d decided that parking in front of her office and walking made more sense. She didn’t want anyone asking questions about why her very distinct car was parked in the Freeport Republic lot at one a.m.
She jumped when she caught someone lurking behind a streetlight post. “Damned scarecrows,” she swore when she realized the stalker was made of plywood.
She walked to the back of the building and pulled herself up on the loading dock. She knew the building would be locked, but because her contact had had a penchant for smoking, she figured Anna would find her way out to the dock for a cigarette break.
Mary settled herself on a stack of pallets and leaned back against the wall. She didn’t have to wait too long. In a matter of moments, Anna Paxton glided out of the building and hovered over the dock.
“Anna,” Mary called and was amused to have startled the ghost. “I have a deal for you.”
“Why would I want to deal with a second-rate private eye?” she sneered. “You aren’t even in my league.”
“Hey, you give me information and I give you the scoop of a lifetime,” Mary said, hoping Anna wouldn’t realize that giving her a scoop would do her absolutely no good.
Anna eyed Mary with suspicion. “What kind of scoop?”
“Okay Anna, here’s the deal: do you want the scoop or not?” Mary shrugged. “Hey, it’s okay. I can always ask your replacement.”
An angry hiss escaped the ghostly form and she moved closer. “She’s nothing but a no-talent bitch,” Anna sneered. “She doesn’t deserve a scoop.”
Mary shrugged. “Yeah, well, if I can’t have the best, I’ll have to settle for the imitator.”
Anna slowly smiled. “Yessss, that’s what she is—an imitator. Trying to be me, trying to replace me. No one can do that.”
Mary glanced down at the list of names she brought and thought she’d try one.
“I don’t know, Jerry Wiley sure seems to think she has what it takes.”
One and a half hours later Mary walked back to her car with a notebook filled with venomous comments, snide innuendoes and really juicy gossip. She hoped that she would be able to dissect it and find some threads of truth.
She walked back to her office and put the information in her files. She glanced at the clock—it was two-forty-five. There was no way she was going to get up and run in the morning.
Then she thought about the Chief of Police. She thought about his smirk. His Andy Taylor comment. Her lack of response to any of those.
“If I don’t show, he’s going to think he intimidated me. And damn it, I’m not going to let anyone think that.”
The alarm clock rang less than two hours later. Mary moaned, but forced herself out of bed. She grabbed the diet cola she had left out the night before. “This is so bad for me,” she admitted as she guzzled down her caffeine fix.
Pulling open the top drawer, she grabbed her running gear.
“We’ll just show him that Mary O’Reilly isn’t a pushover.”
Mary jogged into the park looking for a fight. Just let him say something smart, she thought irritably, I’ll kick him back to Mayberry, police chief or not.
Her mood brightened a little when she saw his surprise as she jogged toward the carousel. “Yeah, didn’t think I’d show up, did you,” she murmured to herself. “I showed you.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear what you said,” Bradley said, looking confused.
Mary glared at him. “I wasn’t talking to you.”
“Oh,” he nodded understandingly. “Are we in the presence of ghosts?”
Mary studied him for a moment. Yes, there was mocking in his voice. Yes, he thought he was pretty superior. And yes, she was really pissed off.
“Yeah, Andy Taylor’s standing behind you and he wants to kick your ass,” she replied. “Are you ready to race?”
“Yeah, but I…” he began.
“Good,” Mary interrupted and sped down the path. She was enjoying the look of shocked surprise on his face for a few moments until she could hear the sound of his footfalls gaining on her.
“Crap.”
Mary pushed forward and kept ahead of him for another mile, but she could feel the effects of a mostly sleepless night taking hold. The muscles in her legs began to shake and she knew she was going to lose this race. She finally slowed down to a jog and waited for him to pass her.
“Well, at least the view will be nice when he passes. He might be an idiot, but he has cute buns.”
Mary chuckled.
“So, what’s so funny?”
She was surprised to see Bradley keeping time with her slower pace.
“I thought you’d have passed me and been all the way to the finish line by now,” she said.
He shrugged. “Yeah, well, I didn’t get a whole lot of sleep last night. Someone reported seeing a cat burglar prowling the streets of downtown last night, so I was on stake out.”
“A cat burglar, huh?” she asked with a gulp.
“Yeah, they said it was just like that movie with Angelina Jolie. How did he put it? ‘A total babe dressed in all black.’”
Mary grinned. “Angelina Jolie, huh?”
He nodded. “Yep, the funny thing about it—she had a car just like yours and it was parked in front of your office.”
Crap! Busted, she thought.
“Wow, that is funny,” she replied, trying her best to look unconcerned.
“So, why are you so tired this morning?” he asked.
Mary knew a set-up when she saw one.
“I didn’t see you follow me home,” she said, dropping from a jog to a walk.
At least he had the decency to look slightly ashamed when he grinned. “Well, yeah, I stayed about half a block behind you and kept my lights off.”
“You know that’s against the law,” Mary stated.
“I was willing to risk it,” he replied.
Mary laughed; she couldn’t help herself.
“I can assure you that what I was doing last night had nothing to do with burglary,” she told him.
He nodded. “I didn’t think it did. Are you working on a case?”
“Yes,” she answered.
“You want to talk about it?”
“Not yet,” she said, “but when the time’s right I promise I’ll call you in. I do have respect for the law.”
“Even if it’s being represented by Barney Fife?” he asked stopping and blocking her way on the path.
Mary blushed. “Okay, for that I apologize,” she said.
He grinned. “Apology accepted. Shall we start over?”
Mary nodded.
“Hi, I’m Bradley Alden, the new police chief,” he said, extending his hand.
She smiled and shook his hand. “Mary O’Reilly, private investigator. It’s nice to meet you.”
The quick click of the handcuff over her wrist had her pulling back in shock.
“What the…?”
Bradley shrugged apologetically. “Sorry, there’s a warrant out on you for trespassing and planting an explosive device. I’ve got to take you in.”
He gently took her other arm and clapped the handcuff on her other wrist. He started reading her the Miranda Rights.
“Planting an explosive? What the hell?” she snapped. “I never…”
“Yeah, well, let’s do this by the book, so we can figure out what’s happening.”
Mary turned to him. “You don’t really think…”
Bradley looked into Mary’s eyes. “I’ve had lots of experience in law enforcement. I’ve had military experience. And I’ve done my share in special ops. I think I would have recognized a terrorist if I’d been running with one every day for six months. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Mary nodded. He finished her Miranda Rights and led her to his cruiser.
“Besides,” he added. “The bomb was put together like an amateur did it. If you’d have done it, it would have been professional.”
Mary grinned. “Damn straight!”
Ten minutes later Mary sat in the regulation metal and vinyl chair next to his desk and did the best she could to answer the questions.
“Were you on the loading docks at the Freeport Republic last night at approximately one a.m.?”
Mary knew enough about law enforcement to realize that unless they had her fingerprints or an eye witness, they would
never even ask her the questions—so, as usual, honesty was the best policy.
“Yes, I was on the loading dock at the Freeport Republic last night.”
“What were you doing there?” he asked, motioning with a look to the recorder on his desk, so she didn’t give him a smart-ass answer.
“I was interviewing a source for some information in a case I’m working on,” she replied.
“What is the name of your source?”
She shook her head. “I believe that the names of my sources are protected under the 2nd Amendment to the Constitution.”
Bradley smiled. “Good try, but that’s only if you’re a journalist, not a private investigator.”
“I was at the newspaper office,” she tried. “Shouldn’t that count?”
He just shook his head.
Mary shrugged. “Well, you’re not going to like my next answer any better.”
“Try me.”
“I was speaking with Anna Paxton, the former society columnist of the Freeport Republic.”
Bradley looked confused. “Why wouldn’t I like that answer? Now we have a witness who can verify where you were and what you did.”
“Because Anna Paxton died about twelve months ago.”
Bradley stood up and slammed his hand on the desk. “Dammit, Mary, this isn’t the time to be funny. Explosives. Bombs. Those go under the category of Homeland Security, and they don’t play games.”
Mary took a deep breath and stood up to face Bradley.
“I’m not being funny, I don’t play games, I understand this is serious—but I actually am able to communicate with ghosts.”
Bradley ran his hand through his hair. “Come on, Mary, you can trust me. I know you use this ‘ghost thing’ as a marketing ploy, but you can tell me the truth.”
Mary took another deep breath, this one to prevent her from socking Bradley in the arm.
“Yep, you got me. I mean, being an honorably decorated ex-cop, part of the vice squad and up for promotion to detective status, as well as graduating with honors in criminal justice, wasn’t enough experience to start my own P.I. agency. Yep, I needed a spin, so I just thought I’d throw in that I can see dead people,” she fumed. “Yep, that would keep the kooks away.”
Crimes of Passion Page 90
