by Terri Reid
Hurrying across the room, she walked through the doorway to the big country kitchen.
“What are you doing in my house?” the man demanded.
Mary turned and gasped. He was standing in the far corner of the kitchen, near the back door. He was wearing an old barn jacket over a pair of worn overalls. But his head was twisted sideways and it was too narrow and long, as if it had been crushed. She looked carefully and saw his body also seemed to have been broken by the way he stood.
“I’m not going to ask you again,” he snapped. “What are you doing in my house?”
“Hi, I’m Mary,” she said, approaching him. “Mary O’Reilly. I was invited here because your family is interested in selling the house.”
“What the hell?” he growled. “We’re not selling this place. This place has been in our family for generations. I don’t give a damn what those land speculators say, we ain’t selling, not one acre.”
“Well, I agree with you, Mr—” Mary paused.
“Johnson. Dale Johnson,” he replied, gliding over to her. “I own this place. Don’t do all the running of it anymore - my kids do that- but I still own every single square foot.”
“It’s a beautiful place,” Mary agreed. “I don’t blame you for not wanting to sell it.”
He smiled and nodded. “Yes, it is beautiful and it’s got plenty of good memories wrapped up inside it. And I thank you for being so polite. I’ve had my house invaded for the last little while by strangers who think they can just walk all over without even a ‘how do you do.’ I follow them around the house, demanding they leave, but they just ignore me. Peeking in my closets and opening my drawers, who the hell do they think they are?”
“This might seem like an odd question,” Mary said. “But what’s the last thing you remember doing on your farm?”
He paused for a moment, walked over to the back door and stared outside. “Why, I fed the calves,” he said slowly, “Just like I do every night. Had Buster, my dog, with me. I remember it was getting a might chilly and I could tell winter wasn’t too far off.”
“Then what did you do?” Mary asked.
“I watered the calves and then…,” he stopped and then turned to her. “The door to the grain silo was open. Sometimes those boys are just careless. Full grown men and they can’t even remember to latch the silo door. I need to remember to talk to them about that.”
“So, did you latch the door?”
“Well, let me see now,” he said, scratching the side of his misshapen head. “I remember going into the silo, just to be sure no one was in there. You don’t want to be caught in a locked silo during the harvest.”
“That makes sense,” Mary said. “Was anyone in there?”
“No. It was all cleaned out, ready for the corn,” he said. “The boys were out in the field with the combines and the trucks, trying to get the grain in before we got rain. They were working like crazy ‘cause they waited until the last minute again. I told them they could have pulled that grain in a week earlier, but no, they wanted a couple more days of drying. Don’t know what good that did anyhow.”
“Do you remember latching the door?” Mary asked. “Or talking with your sons?”
“I…I remember looking around the inside of the silo,” he said slowly. “And then… And then I remember hitting my head. Can’t imagine what I’d hit my head on, but it knocked me off my feet and onto the ground. I woke up a little while later and…”
He stopped, turned back to the door and looked out the window. Mary could see he was still running the event through his mind.
“What the hell?” he said softly and then turned and met Mary’s eyes. “I don’t remember getting out of the silo. I don’t remember anything…”
Eyes widening, he shook his head. “I didn’t leave, did I?”
“No,” Mary said. “You didn’t leave. You got trapped in there and died.”
“I died?” he asked, his voice hoarse and unsure. “I’m dead?”
He glided past her, rushing into the dining room. “Greta! Greta, where are you?”
Mary turned to Rosie who had been standing back next to the doorway to the great room. “Who is Greta?” she asked.
“Greta is, well, was, his wife,” Rosie said. “They moved her to an assisted living home because her kids didn’t think it was safe for her to be living out here all by herself.”
“All by herself?” Mary asked. “Didn’t the kids live close by because of the farm?”
“Oh, no, most of the farm property was sold off years ago,” Rosie said. “All they had left was the house and these five acres.”
“Well Dale is not going to be happy about that,” Mary said.
Chapter Eight
Mary climbed the stairs to the second floor and found Dale sitting in the middle of the master bedroom sobbing. He looked up when Mary entered the room.
“Is my Greta dead too?” he asked.
Mary sat down on the wood floor next to him. “No, she’s still alive. She’s older now and needed a little more help, so she’s living in an assisted living home.”
“How’s she doing?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she replied. “I haven’t met her yet. But I would be happy to go to her and bring her a message from you.”
He didn’t answer, just looked around the room. “So, is this hell?” he asked. “Being stuck in a place that holds all your memories, but you sit here without the people you love?”
“It probably seems like hell,” Mary agreed. “But, no, actually you’re still on earth.”
“I’m dead, but I’m still on earth. What am I, a ghost?” he scoffed.
“For lack of a better word, yes, that’s exactly what you are.”
He rose to his feet and stared down at her, affronted. “I don’t believe in ghosts, young lady,” he said. “And I was a good Christian man. If I died, I should have been sent to heaven.”
Mary suddenly felt nauseous and took a deep shaky breath.
Dale stopped his tirade and knelt down next to her. “Are you okay?” he asked. “You looked a bit peaked.”
She nodded slowly. “I think it has something to do with being pregnant,” she said. “I just found out.”
He smiled kindly. “This your first?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, stroking her stomach. “I’m a real novice.”
“Well, my Greta got sick as a dog for the first three months,” he said. “And after that, it was smooth sailing.”
“What did she do for the sickness?” Mary asked.
“Seems to me, she always carried soda crackers around with her, everywhere she went,” he said.
Mary felt her stomach twisting. “And if she didn’t have soda crackers?”
“She made a beeline to the toilet and didn’t hold back,” he replied. “Said she always felt better once she got it out of her system.”
Mary took another deep breath. “Bathroom?” she asked.
Dale moved out of the way and pointed. “Last door on the left at the end of the hall.”
He was right, Mary thought a few minutes later as she splashed cold water on her face over the bathroom sink. I do feel better.
She pulled a tissue out of her coat pocket, blotted her face, opened the bathroom door and met a concerned Rosie in the hallway. “Are you okay?” Rosie said. “I thought I heard…”
“Morning sickness,” Mary supplied. “Yeah, I feel much better now. Thanks.”
“I have some crackers in my purse,” Rosie volunteered. “It’s in the car, but I’ll only be a moment.”
Thinking that crackers actually sounded good, Mary nodded. “Thanks, that would be nice. I’ll be in the master bedroom talking with Dale.”
Looking down the hall, she could see Dale standing in the doorway watching her. “I’m feeling much better,” she admitted, as she got closer. “Thanks for the advice.”
Chuckling, he moved away from the door as she entered. “Always worked for Greta,” he said. “Every m
orning, like clockwork, she’d dash down the hall to the bathroom. Got to give her credit for doing it three times. I wouldn’t have lasted through one.”
He glided to the window and looked down at Rosie opening her car door. “So, can your friend see me too?” he asked.
Shaking her head, Mary followed him to the window. “No, she can’t. But she could feel your presence. That’s why she asked me to come by.”
“You’re an expert?”
Laughing, she shrugged. “Well, I guess you could call me that,” she said. “I’ve been doing this for a couple of years.”
“What do you mean by doing this?”
“I find people who have died, ghosts, and help them figure out why they’re still here,” she said. “So they can continue on to heaven.”
He turned to her. “What’s holding me back?”
“I don’t know,” she answered. “What do you think it is?”
He glided away from her to a side window that overlooked the old grain silo. Vines and brush had grown up around it and the barn had fallen into a state of disrepair. The pens that had housed the calves were now gone; only broken slabs of concrete with grass growing up between them remained.
“What happened to my farm?” he asked.
“Rosie, my friend, told me that all of it was sold off,” Mary explained, “except for the house and five acres. Your wife lived here since your death.”
“But, we talked about selling it off,” he said, shaking his head in confusion. “We all decided that we needed to keep it. We didn’t want some big corporate farm to get the land.”
“You all decided?” Mary asked.
“Yeah, well, Josh, my oldest son wanted to sell the farm,” Dale said. “He said we could get enough money for all of us to do whatever we wanted to do. I told him I wanted to farm. Told him that if farming was good enough for his grandfather and his great-grandfather, it ought to be good enough for him.”
“What did the other children think?” Mary asked.
“Abe, my youngest boy, was a farmer, just like me,” he said. “He wanted to hold on to the land.”
“And your daughter?”
“Jessie was siding with Josh,” he said. “She wanted to move away from Freeport. She wanted to live in the big city. She even had a boyfriend from Chicago.”
“So you voted?” Mary asked.
“Hell no,” he replied. “The land was mine. The boys worked it and Jessie did the books. I paid them well. But the land was mine. And no one was going to sell it. Over my dead body.”
Mary didn’t say a word and watched as Dale realized the meaning of his words. “My dead body,” he repeated slowly, turning and looking at Mary. “I got hit in the back of the head. I didn’t bump my head. When I woke up, someone had locked the door. I pounded on it and I screamed, but no one opened the door. It was a trap.”
He slowly sunk to the floor and laid his head in his hands. “Damn it all to hell,” he whispered. “I was murdered.”
Chapter Nine
Rosie locked the door and they both started to walk down the porch stairs when a pickup truck pulled into the gravel driveway. They both waited on the porch until the truck stopped and the passenger got out. He was a short and wiry older man with a John Deere cap resting on his head. He looked at the two women and tipped the brim of his hat in their direction.
“Afternoon,” he said, walking around the front of the truck and coming to the porch.
“Hello,” Rosie replied, taking a protective step in front of Mary. “Can I help you?”
“Well, that’s kinda what I wanted to ask you,” he replied. “This here house is empty and I know the owners and, quite frankly, you ain’t them.”
Rosie smiled, pulled a card out of her pocket and handed it to him. “I’m Rosie Wagner,” she explained, “a real estate broker. I’m handling the sale of Greta Johnson’s home. And this is Mary, she’s interested in the home.”
“Oh, I see,” he said as he studied the card. “I’m afraid I have to apologize, ladies. I’m Greta’s neighbor, Sawyer Gartner. I own the property next door. There’s been some break-ins out here in the country, especially when folks aren’t home during the day. So I always keep my eyes open.”
“Yes, actually Jessie mentioned the break-ins which is why we didn’t put a For Sale sign out in front of the house, we didn’t want to advertise that it was empty,” Rosie said. “But it’s nice to know they also have a concerned neighbor.”
“Well, the Johnson’s are good people, always have been,” he said. “And that’s what farmers do; we look out for each other.”
Mary stepped forward. “Have you always lived next door?” she asked.
He nodded. “Yeah, the Johnsons and the Gartners have farmed next to each other for generations. I grew up with Dale.”
“I agree with Rosie, it’s nice to know there are nice neighbors around,” Mary said.
“You won’t find a nicer place to raise a family,” Sawyer said. “Nothing like room to run.”
Mary nodded. “You’re right, this place seems ideal.”
****
A little while later, the two women were back in Rosie’s SUV driving back towards town. “If he really was murdered, then someone in his family is a murderer,” Rosie exclaimed, as she turned onto Highway 20. “And they seemed to be such lovely people.”
“Just because he believes he was murdered, doesn’t necessarily make it true,” Mary said. “It still could have been just a farming accident. There still could be another reason. But, in order for him to move on, we need to solve the mystery.”
“A murderer,” Rosie said. “I signed a house contract with a murderer. Why they could have killed me right there on the spot. Signed the contract and ‘poof’ just off the real estate broker.” She paused for a moment. “They still do say ‘off’ don’t they?”
Rolling her eyes, Mary replied. “Yes, they do still say ‘off’ but generally only in the movies. And, Rosie, why would they kill you? They want you to sell their house.”
Exhaling deeply, Rosie nodded. “That’s right,” she exclaimed. “I’m not a threat. I’m just an innocent real estate broker.”
She turned and grinned at Mary. “Well, maybe not that innocent,” she inserted with a snicker. “But I’m not a threat. I don’t know anything…Wait, I do know something now. I know they killed their father.”
“Rosie, you don’t know they killed their father because their father is a ghost and people don’t believe in ghosts,” Mary said.
“That’s right,” Rosie agreed, nodding her head purposefully. Then she paused and turned to Mary. “But, really, we do believe in ghosts, right?”
“Yes, we do. But they don’t. So we can’t tell them or they will think you’re a kook and they will cancel the contract.”
“And we can’t solve the murder case if we don’t have a contract,” Rosie added.
“Exactly,” Mary said.
“So, should I be carrying when I show the house?” she asked.
“Not unless you’re going to be showing it to gangsters,” Mary answered.
“Gangsters are interested in the house?” Rosie cried.
Mary couldn’t help herself; she threw her head back and laughed. “Oh, Rosie, I just adore you,” she said, then after a moment to pull herself together she turned to her friend. “This is how we’re going to handle this case. You pretend like nothing is wrong. Continue to show the house and keep the client updated, but don’t meet with them in person for now.”
Mary knew her dear friend would have a hard time not giving everything away.
“Then, it would be very helpful if you could search back in the real estate records to see how quickly the other parts of the farm were sold off and who bought them,” Mary continued. “And if you happen to know the broker who handled the sale, it would be great if we could get copies of the sale.”
“I’m sure I can find it,” Rosie said. “I’ll start looking this afternoon.”
“Grea
t,” Mary said. “Let’s meet tomorrow morning at my office and go through what you’ve found.”
Rosie pulled her car into the parking spot next to her office. “Thank you so much, Mary,” she said. “I had no idea it would turn out this way.”
Mary leaned over and gave Rosie a hug. “You were right, it’s a wonderful home,” Mary said. “And it’s mostly filled with happy memories. We just need to help Dale move on, and then some lucky family can make it their own.”
“You know, you and Bradley should consider it,” Rosie said with a smile as she opened her door. “It would be wonderful for a growing family.”
“I don’t think we need to add buying a new house to our list of things to do,” Mary said, joining Rosie on the sidewalk. “I think we have enough on our plates for now.”
“Well, if you change your mind,” Rosie called as she unlocked her office door.
“Sure, just don’t hold your breath,” Mary replied with a smile, turning and walking back to her office.
The red button on her answering machine was frantically blinking when she opened the door. She dropped her coat and purse on the chair next to her desk and pressed the messages button.
“Hi Mary, this is Jodi from Union Dairy Ice Cream Parlor,” the machine repeated. “I have an…issue here at the store. Something I need your help with. Could you come by today or tomorrow so we could talk?”
Union Dairy Ice Cream Parlor had been a Freeport establishment since the early 1900s when Stephenson County was the dairy farm capitol of Illinois. Recently renovated, the building sported a fifties theme with a bright red linoleum counter, matching red plastic and stainless steel revolving stools and intimate red and white booths. The restaurant’s menu was extensive including: sundaes, sodas, shakes, malts and an assortment of burgers. And, with the jukebox playing in the background, you could almost believe you had traveled back in time.
Mary glanced at the clock on the wall. She only had fifteen minutes to make it to her doctor’s appointment, so Jodi was going to have to wait until tomorrow. Ice cream, she suddenly thought. Ice cream sounds really good. Maybe I’ll swing by after the appointment if I have time.
