Natural Reaction - A Mary O'Reilly Paranormal Mystery (Book 6)

by Terri Reid

  Half receptionist, half security guard, Ian thought. I wonder why they feel the need for both?

  “Good afternoon, I’m Professor Ian MacDougal,” Ian began.

  “If you’re looking for a grant you have to request a form through our website,” the man interrupted.

  “Well, thank you, but I’m not interested in a grant,” Ian said. “I’m here...”

  “If you’re looking for a job in our research department, we are currently not seeking new employees, but feel free to fill out an employment form on our website.”

  “Again, thank you, but I’m not searching for employment, either,” Ian said, curtly. “I’d like to speak...”

  “If you need information about our products for your research, please see our specific product pages on...”

  “I know, your website,” Ian interrupted. “I’m working with the Chicago Police Department. And we can make this hard or we can make this easy.”

  The man sat up in his chair and shook his head. “What?”

  Well, damn, those stupid movie lines really do work, Ian thought.

  “I’m working with the Chicago Police Department and the University of Chicago,” he said. “I’m working on case that requires me to speak with the president of your company. I called earlier to see if he was available and I was told to come here. I could get a warrant if you’d like, but then I’d be obliged to make anything I find public record. Your choice.”

  “Um, let me call Mr. Brandlocker.”

  “I’d be much obliged,” Ian said.

  “Pardon?” the man asked, looking confused.

  Ian sighed. “Thank you.”

  “Oh, hey, no problem.”

  A few minutes later Ian was ushered into the inner offices of B&R Manufacturing. A pert secretary offered him his choice of beverage and reading material and he assumed that he would be cooling his heels for quite a long time. However, he was pleasantly surprised to see the large oak door at the far end of the room open and an athletically built older man walk out.

  “Professor MacDougal?” the man asked.

  Ian stood and nodded. “Aye, that would be me.”

  “I’m Ephraim Brandlocker,” the man said. “Please come into my office.”

  The office would have been considered luxurious on Michigan Avenue, in Freeport it seemed so out of place it was almost decadent.

  Ephraim slid onto his leather chair and brushed his hand over the polished mahogany and ivory inlaid desk. “I like nice things,” he said.

  “It seems you do,” Ian said, noting both the desk and many of the art objects on the shelves and walls were obviously smuggled into the United States because they were considered contraband. “And it’s obvious you like a little...risk...in your decorating choices.”

  Laughing, Ephraim opened a drawer and pulled out a Cuban cigar which he offered to Ian. “The best isn’t always the ...easiest to obtain,” he said. “But I always get what I want.”

  Ian smiled and shook his head, turning down the cigar. “Ach, no, it’d be a shame to get used to the taste of those on a college professor’s salary,” he said.

  “Ah, yes, a college professor,” Ephraim repeated. “I took a few minutes to check your references. The Chicago Police Department speaks highly of your skills.”

  Ian nodded, acknowledging his remark.

  “And you’re no ordinary college professor,” he said, “with a professor’s salary. You and I have a lot in common.”

  “Do we?” Ian asked.

  “We both have a lineage that not only sets us above the others around us, but requires more from us than the average citizen,” he said. “I believe in the UK you call it noblesse oblige.”

  “Actually, that would be French,” Ian said. “But we borrow their words all the time. It makes us sound much more sophisticated than we actually are. You’d know about that, wouldn’t you Ephraim?”

  Ephraim’s eyes narrowed. “You came here wanting something from me, I believe,” he said. “And you choose to be rude. Maybe you don’t know who you’re dealing with.”

  “Oh, perhaps you didn’t know this about the Scots,” Ian said, standing and leaning over the table. “Let me enlighten you. We are a warrior people. We’re often crass. We don’t do things in a small way. Hell, we flip telephone poles across a field as a national sport. We wear kilts, because, quite frankly, no one dare stop us. And we don’t put up with a lot of crap. You’re wasting my time, Mr. Brandlocker. I’ve already mentioned to my friends in Chicago I might need a warrant to search your files. It’ll take a day to get here. And with it will also come several other investigators looking through your files. But, I’d rather wait a day than sit here listen to you tell me how great you are for another minute.”

  Ian turned to leave.

  “Wait,” Ephraim called out. “What do you want?”

  “The fire investigation file for the Chemistry lab explosion in the 1960s,” he said.

  Ephraim reached across his desk, picked up a manila envelope and handed it to Ian.

  “I know what’s going on in my town, Professor. I have a feeling that we might have both underestimated each other,” Ephraim said.

  Ian shook his head. “No, I understand you completely.”

  Chapter Thirty-four

  “Mr. Gormley will be happy to see you now,” the assistant said, ushering Rosie back into Walter’s office.

  Walter stood and extended his hand. “Thank you for coming back to see me,” he said.

  “Well, I did promise you that I would give you updates,” she said. “There isn’t much news. But we do feel that it was more than an accident. Perhaps there was a secondary explosion and that’s what killed Coach Thorne. But tonight is the first night we’re going to use the key. We going to go over late tonight and try to get in touch with his spirit.”

  “Tonight?” he repeated. “You’re going to go tonight?”

  Rosie nodded. “Yes, um, the atmosphere is, um, primed for psychic phenomena. So, we should be able to speak with him.”

  “I find this highly interesting, Rosie,” Walter said. “There is so much in the world we don’t know about.”

  “Indeed,” Rosie replied.

  “And you see ghosts?” he repeated.

  “Yes, yes I do.”

  “And Professor MacDougal, remind me again, does he see ghosts?”

  Rosie shook her head, concentrating on getting the answers right. “Oh, no, he just has equipment to record them.”

  Special equipment?”

  “Yes, very special equipment,” she said, praying he didn’t ask her to name them.

  “And where is Professor MacDougal staying?”

  “Oh, at Mary’s house,” Rosie said, relieved to know the answer.

  She clapped her hands over her mouth. “Oh, dear, I wasn’t supposed to mention that.”

  “Well, Rosie, you and I are old friends,” he said. “Don’t worry; your secret is safe with me. So, that would be Mary...”

  “O’Reilly, Mary O’Reilly,” Rosie said. “But she can’t see ghosts at all. She has never been able to see ghosts.”

  Rosie giggled. “It would be totally absurd to think that Mary O’Reilly could see ghosts.”

  Walter nodded his head. “Well, I’m sure seeing a ghost is a very rare ability, Rosie. And certainly not everyone can do it. So, I don’t think less of your friend if she can’t see ghosts.”

  Rosie took a deep breath and smiled. “Thank you, Walter, that was the perfect thing to say.”

  Chapter Thirty-five

  The clock on the dashboard displayed 11:45 as they pulled into the teachers parking lot at the high school. “Is there any reason we had to wait until nearly midnight to do this?” Ian asked.

  “Midnight is so much better,” Mary teased. “I wanted to be sure all the ghosts in the school were active.”

  “Oh, you’re funny aren’t you,” he said.

  “I thought you researched ghosts in Edinburgh Castle,” she said. “You seem a
bit jumpy for someone who’s done this before.”

  “Scottish ghosts are much more reserved than your American ones,” he said. “Our ghosts merely parade down a hall or appear near a battlement. There’s no gadding about talking to people. It’s much more dignified and stoic.”

  “Boring if you ask me,” Mary said, grabbing her backpack and slipping it over her shoulder.

  “There’s not a thing wrong with boring,” Ian said, grabbing his own backpack and following her across the darkened parking lot toward the entrance to the school.

  They were nearly to the door when a dark figure stepped out from behind a tree. Ian jumped and Mary reached for a revolver she no longer carried.

  “Going somewhere?” Bradley asked.

  Mary grinned and jogged the last few yards. “You’re back,” she said, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him soundly. “Welcome home.”

  “Well, you won’t be getting that kind of a greeting from me,” Ian said. “But it’s good to have you back.”

  His arm still around Mary’s waist, he chuckled. “A handshake would suffice.”

  “So how did you know we’d be here?” Mary asked.

  “I called your house and Stanley told me where you were heading,” he said, looking down at her. “I thought we decided you would be investigating something safe.”

  Mary shrugged her shoulders. “Bradley, this case is over forty years old and it’s about an explosion in a Chemistry lab,” she said. “What could be safer?”

  “And what you’re not telling me is?”

  She sighed. “He was probably murdered.”

  “Probably?” Bradley asked.

  “Well, I still have to interview Coach Thorne,” she said. “We didn’t have enough time the other night...”

  “When you were breaking and entering?” Bradley interrupted.

  “Well, actually, we were merely entering,” Ian said. “There was absolutely no breaking involved.”

  “But now we’re legal,” Mary added. “The Superintendent gave us a key.”

  “Walter Formley?” Bradley asked. “He knows you’re doing this?”

  “Well, actually, he thinks Rosie is doing this,” Mary said. “But he knows we’re looking into the explosion.”

  “Okay, let’s go in,” Bradley said.

  The halls were dark except for the small circles of illumination from the emergency lights every twenty feet. They made their way silently past the offices until they reached the stairwell. Their footsteps echoed as they climbed to the second floor.

  “I love old schools,” Mary whispered. “There are so many possibilities for ghosts.”

  “Really?” Bradley asked, following directly behind her. “What kind of possibilities?”

  “In most schools there are former teachers who float down the halls retracing their steps in life,” she said. “Then the librarians who still linger in the stacks, looking for students who aren’t whispering. And then, the fiercest of all...”

  “And who would those be?” Ian asked.

  “The lunch ladies who float through the lunchroom, metal spoon still in hand.”

  A clatter at the end of the hall caused them all to stop in their tracks. “Okay, that wasn’t a spirit,” Bradley whispered. “So, for this one, I go first.”

  He quietly moved in front of Mary and took the remaining stairs two at a time, pausing at the entrance to the second floor hall. Mary came up behind him. “Are you armed,” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  “Then stay back,” he ordered, pulling his service revolver out of his holster.

  His back against the wall, he slipped into the hallway and, staying in the shadows, moved slowly towards the end of the hall. Mary waited a moment and started to move after him when Ian caught her arm. “He told you to stay,” Ian whispered.

  “He doesn’t have backup,” she said. “I have to go.”

  Ian rolled his eyes. “Fine, but I’m going as well.”

  They both slipped into the hall and followed Bradley, staying several yards behind him. Mary could see Bradley’s shadow against the lockers when he approached the emergency light. He was moving forward, his gun pointing toward the floor. But then she saw a figure step out of the doorway behind him and pull a gun out.

  “Bradley,” she screamed, “Behind you.”

  Bradley turned and dropped. A gun fired and the emergency light exploded, plunging that portion of the corridor into darkness. Ian grabbed Mary and pulled her to the floor, just before a second bullet slammed into the lockers above them.

  They heard running footsteps echo in the hall.

  “Are you...,” Bradley called.

  “I’m fine,” she interrupted. “I’ll call for back-up.”

  Bradley jumped up and ran in the direction of the gunman. He paused at the end of the corridor and listened. He heard a door close softly and muffled footsteps. Quickly moving forward, he found the second floor entrance to the auditorium. Dropping low, he opened the door and slipped inside. Once the door closed, the auditorium was pitch black inside. Bradley knew a flashlight would make him an easy target, so he stayed low and listened for movement.

  He could hear a faint pattering of footsteps near the stage. “Police Officer,” he yelled, moving down the aisle toward the stage. “Freeze.”

  A brief sliver of light flooded the room as the door from the hallway on the other side of the auditorium was opened and a dark figure slipped through. Bradley ran down the aisle, guided by the soft chair lights on the end of the rows, and across the front of the room. He pushed open the door in time to hear the sound of an outside door slamming shut. He ran down the hallway, but there were a half dozen outside entrances on this side of the building and there was no way of telling which one the gunman had used.

  “Damn,” he swore, placing his gun back in its holster.

  He pulled out his radio and called into dispatch. “Gunman escaped through one of the doors on the southeast side of the high school. All units should be on the lookout for a single figure, dressed in dark clothing in the area of the student parking lot, tennis courts, soccer field or baseball field. Be aware the suspect is armed and dangerous.”

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Mary and Ian stood outside, next to her car, as the police did a thorough search of the high school. “You know,” Ian said. “I was just thinking if it had just been Rosie instead of you and Bradley, there might be two very dead ghost hunters.”

  Mary nodded. “I was thinking the same thing.”

  “So, this was much more than a mere accident in a Chemistry lab,” Ian said. “I think the man was murdered.”

  “And the murderer is still alive,” Mary added.

  Bradley walked across the lawn towards them, speaking with one of his officers. “Yes, I just want to take a few minutes with Miss O’Reilly and Professor MacDougal up on the second floor to see if they can recall anything about the suspect,” he said. “I’d appreciate if you would watch the perimeter to ensure no one tries to get back in.”

  He looked up and met Mary’s eyes, concern evident.

  “Obviously the good Police Chief has come to the same conclusion we have,” Ian said.

  They walked over to Bradley, maintaining the appearance of being just witnesses to the crime. Mary took a deep breath. “Did you want to question us, Chief?” she asked.

  “I’d like you to come back into the school with me,” he said. “If we can retrace our steps, perhaps you can remember something important.”

  “Aye, we’d be happy to help you,” Ian said.

  They walked back to the front entrance and into the building. All the lights in the school were lit and the inside was now like midday. Bradley waited until they were in the stairwell, away from any doors and windows to stop and pull Mary into his arms. “I thought this was supposed to be a safe case,” he said, holding her close for a moment. “When I heard that second shot...”

  “Aye, that one was too close for comfort,” Ian agr
eed. “And had you not been here tonight, Mary and I would have walked into an ambush.”

  Bradley released Mary and turned to Ian. “An ambush set for you and Rosie.”

  They started up the stairs once again. “I doubt it was a coincidence the gunman was here on the very day Rosie received the key,” Ian said. “And now we have to solve the murder because we’re the prime targets.”

  “Well, I guess the best place to start is the scene of the crime,” Mary said, entering the Chemistry lab.

  The back of the room was still hidden in the shadows, but this time the lab tables were scattered with equipment for some kind of experiment the students would be performing the next day. The white board was covered with notes and a formula. Mary was happy to see the shades were still drawn, she really didn’t need anyone looking in on this conversation.

  “Why isn’t the door locked?” Bradley asked, following them into the room.

  Mary came over and took Bradley’s hand. He looked around the room and immediately spied the man in the shadows.

  “Because I won’t have another student locked in a burning room with no way to escape,” the ghost said.

  Bradley nodded, his heart beating a little faster. Would he ever get used to actually seeing ghosts? “Well, that sounds like a reasonable answer,” he said. “You must be Coach Thorne.”

  “I go nearly fifty years without anyone being able to see me and in two days three people are talking to me,” he said, moving out of the shadows. “What is this? A convention?”

  Mary chuckled. “No, but it is somewhat out of the ordinary,” she conceded. “This is Freeport’s Police Chief, Bradley Alden.”

  Charlie nodded his head in Bradley’s direction. “Nice to meet you Chief,” he said.

  “Bradley, please,” he said. “I understand you’re quite a hero. One of the people you saved is a dear friend of ours. We owe you a great deal.”

  “Rosie Meriwether,” Charlie said with a smile. “Is she still an interesting combination of happiness, enthusiasm, love and eccentricity?”