by Terri Reid
She paused for a moment. “I am positive we paid him, even though Dale thought he should have paid us for all the trouble he caused. Do you think that was it?”
“Well, sometimes contractors put the lien papers in, as a hold until they are paid,” Mary said. “As you suggested, he might have just forgotten to take it off. Is there a way to contact him?”
“No, he died several years ago. I think it was a heart attack as I recall,” Greta said. “I don’t know how in the world we are going to work this out.”
“This is great,” Dale said. “Now she’ll have you contact the kids.”
“Do you have any family who might remember the situation?” Mary asked. “Perhaps I could talk with them and we could come up with a way to figure it out.”
“Oh, that’s a great idea,” Greta said. “They are all much better at dealing with business situations than I am. They all say I chatter far too much. Let me write down their phone numbers for you, and then I’ll give them all a call and tell them to expect your call. I’m sure we’ll be able to figure this out.”
“Thank you so much, Mrs. Johnson,” Mary said. “I really do love your house.”
“It’s a wonderful home for a family,” Greta said. “I do hope we can work this all out so you can buy it. I would be very happy knowing you are living there. My husband and I were very happy there.”
“Yes we were,” Dale agreed softly. “Very happy there.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, what happened to your husband?” Mary asked.
Greta sighed deeply and sat back against her chair. “He was killed in a farm accident,” she said sadly.
“I’m so sorry,” Mary replied.
“It was terrible,” Greta said, turning to stare unseeing out the window. “Somehow he was trapped in a grain bin during harvest. He suffocated.”
She turned back and met Mary’s eyes. “I always wondered about his death,” she confessed. “He was too smart to close a bin door behind him. He was always so careful about proper procedure. I just have never been able to bring myself to consider it an accident.”
“Well, that’s my Greta,” Dale said. “She was always the smart one.”
“Do you think it might not have been an accident?” Mary asked.
“Well, now, that’s a problem, isn’t it,” Greta sad softly. “If I think Dale was killed, then who would have done the killing? I’ve watched those television murder mysteries for years, Mrs. Alden. I understand what motivates people and I pray to God every night that one of my children wasn’t so overcome with greed that they decided to remove the one person that stood between them and a small fortune.”
“With those suspicions in your mind, how do you continue to carry on a relationship with your children?” Mary asked.
Greta shrugged. “It hasn’t been easy,” she admitted. “I try to love them and accept them, but always in the back of my mind, there’s a little fear, a little doubt. We haven’t been all that close since Dale died, especially Abe.”
“Abe? Why is that?” Mary asked.
“He was the one driving the truck that night,” Greta explained. “He was the one who used the auger to feed the grain from the truck into the top of the bin. It looks like Dale was pounding on the door, screaming for help, but Abe was wearing protective hearing gear because the machinery is so loud, so he never heard him.”
“Abe blames himself for his father’s death?” Mary asked.
“He doesn’t talk about it,” Greta said. “He doesn’t touch the money he got from the sale of the land. He pretty much keeps to himself.”
“Damn it,” Dale swore. “Abe was such a hard-working and good boy; I wouldn’t want my death to ruin his life.”
“Do you think Abe could have done it?” Mary asked.
Greta shook her head. “I’ve lived with these suspicions for over fifteen years. I don’t want to think any of my children would have done it,” she said. “But I also wonder if perhaps it’s remorse rather than guilt that keeps Abe away.”
“Tell her what you do,” Dale insisted. “Tell her about me. Tell her you’re going to look into my death.”
Mary stood and smiled at Greta. “Thank you so much for your time,” she said. “I’ll contact your children about the lien.”
Greta clasped Mary’s hands in her own. “Thank you, Mary,” she said. “I hope you can figure this all out.”
“So do I,” Mary said earnestly. “So do I.”
She let herself out of the room and looked both ways down the hall to be sure she was alone.
“Why didn’t you tell her?” Dale demanded.
“Because she could have said no,” Mary whispered.
“What?”
“Dale, she’s had these feelings about your death ever since you died,” Mary said. “It’s only her current condition that allows her to speak of her feelings. She is protecting her children, she would never agree to me investigating them. And if she called them and told them I was investigating things, do you think they’d be as forthcoming as I need?”
Sighing, Dale shook his head. “No, I suppose you’re right,” he said. “And Greta is right. I hate to think one of our children could kill me.”
“Unfortunately, it happens every day,” Mary said. “But, don’t give up on your children yet. We haven’t even begun to investigate.”
Chapter Eighteen
Mary walked into the lobby of the bank in downtown Freeport. The building itself was old, but the lobby had been recently remodeled and had a warm and welcoming feeling to it. The reception desk was staffed by a friendly young man who immediately looked up when Mary walked through the doors.
“Hello, can I help you?”
“Hi, I was wondering if I could speak with Quinn Edmonson,” she said. “I don’t have an appointment, I was just hoping he’d be free.”
“Let me check,” he replied, picking up the phone and punching in a few numbers on the switchboard.
Mary walked over to the cozy waiting area and settled down on an overstuffed chair near the fireplace. But she didn’t have a chance to get too comfortable, a moment later a middle-aged man came over and greeted her. “Hi, I’m Quinn,” he said, extending his hand.
Mary stood and shook his hand. “Hi, I’m Mary O’Reilly,” she said, using her business name. “I think we’ve met at some Chamber events.”
He nodded. “Yes, I remember,” he said. “You do private investigation work, right?”
“Yes, I do,” she said. “And I’m actually working on a local case right now. Could I meet with you for a few minutes and ask you some questions?”
“Okay, but I can’t divulge any private banking information without some kind of a warrant,” he cautioned, still leading her into his private office off the lobby.
She shook her head. “Oh, no, this has to do with your work before you were employed by the bank,” she said.
Closing the door, he offered her a chair and then walked around and sat on the other side of the desk. Templing his hands, he met her eyes. “Before I was employed by the bank?” he asked. “When I was working for Maughold?”
“Yes, that’s right,” she said. “I’m doing a real estate investigation, nothing too tricky. There appears to be a lien on some property and Maughold purchased some of the adjoining land. I was hoping you could remember if you had a lien issue too.”
“I don’t remember any lien issues,” he said. “But maybe if I knew the owners of the property…”
“Of course,” Mary said with a smile, waiting to see his reaction when she offered the name. “The last name was Johnson. The original owner was Dale Johnson.”
Several emotions flashed across his face before he was able to school his emotions. There was regret, sadness and a little anger. Finally he nodded. “Yes, I actually remember the Johnson farm well. There was no lien on the property when we purchased it,” he said.
“Are you sure?” Mary asked. “I mean, I’m sure you worked with so many different farmers.”
“Actually, I got to know the family quite well, so I would remember this one,” he said. “As a matter of fact, Jessie Johnson and I were dating.”
“Oh, how nice,” Mary replied. “I’m not working for the Johnson family, I’ve been hired by someone who is interested in the house, but I understand they are lovely people.”
“They’re lovely unless they suspect you of murder,” he muttered.
“Pardon me,” Mary asked, but she had heard every word.
“Nothing. It was nothing,” he replied. “After Dale passed away, I dealt primarily with Josh, the oldest son. He wanted to liquidate the property quickly. Much faster than the rest of his family wanted to move.”
“Why the rush?”
Quinn sat back in his chair. “Well…,” he paused and studied Mary. “This is confidential, right?”
“Absolutely,” Mary said.
“The county board was going to vote on allowing the Maughold project to go through or not at the next board meeting,” he said. “Farmers were offered an incentive to sell before the vote in order to encourage the board’s positive reaction to the project. The Johnson land was a keystone property in the whole project, if we didn’t have their land, we really didn’t have a project. So, let’s say Josh was given an incentive, a nice incentive, to sign quickly.”
“But the whole family got their share, right?” Mary asked. “It wasn’t only incentive for Josh?”
“No, Josh split the money evenly,” he replied. “But if he had waited a little longer, like the rest of the family wanted, there would have been no sale. The board voted down the project and the land’s value dropped to one tenth of what Maughold was willing to pay for it.”
“One tenth?” Mary asked, astonished.
“Yes. And if poor Dale Johnson hadn’t had his farming accident when he did, the family would still be eking out a living as farmers rather than living the high life they now enjoy.”
“If you don’t mind me saying,” Mary inserted. “You sound a little bitter.”
He sighed. “I really cared for Jessie, actually I loved her,” he said. “But it was my job to push Josh to sign. It was my job to do everything I could to see the project through completion. But I wouldn’t have killed someone for it and I have to say, I got the feeling that she had her suspicions after he died.”
“Did she ever accuse you?”
He shook his head. “No, because if they claimed it was something more than an accident there would have been an investigation,” he said. “And if it wasn’t me, then it might have been her sainted brother.”
“Do you really think he could have murdered his father for money?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I really don’t. But people have done worse for a lot less.”
Suddenly the alarm on Mary’s phone went off and she jumped. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “It startled me.”
She looked down and saw the appointment reminder for the psychologist. “I’m so sorry, I have to run,” she said. “But I want to thank you for the information about the Johnson farm. You’ve been very helpful.”
He stood and shook her hand. “If you’d like I can go back and see if I have the title search,” he said. “When the project folded, I kept all the files.”
“That would be very helpful,” she said, reaching into her purse and pulling out a card. “Here’s my card. If you find anything, just call me and I’ll come over.”
“I’ll do that,” he said. “Have a good day, Miss O’Reilly.”
“Mary,” she said with a smile. “Please call me, Mary. And you have a good day too.”
Chapter Nineteen
Bradley and Clarissa were already in the waiting room when Mary arrived. “Hi,” she said, placing a quick kiss on each of their cheeks. “How did your day go?”
“Mine was great,” Clarissa offered. “I got an A on my spelling test and we played kickball in gym.”
“Congratulations,” Mary replied with a smile. “That’s great.”
“Um, the Mayor gave me a gold star,” Bradley inserted. “Am I great too?”
Clarissa and Mary laughed. “Oh, Daddy, you’re always great,” Clarissa said. “But did he really give you a gold star?”
Bradley sighed and then shook his head. “No, he didn’t,” he confessed. “I just thought it sounded good.”
Mary leaned over and gave him another kiss. “It did sound good, darling,” she said, winking in Clarissa’s direction, “Just not as good as Clarissa.”
Clarissa snorted and clapped a hand over her mouth to keep the giggles in. Bradley turned towards her, his eyebrows raised. “Oh, so you think that’s funny, do you?”
“No Daddy,” she choked, her hand still over her mouth. “I don’t think it’s funny.”
“Good,” he replied with a satisfied nod.
“I think it’s hee- sterical,” she added with a chorus of giggles.
Mary laughed. “That was brilliant, Clarissa,” she said.
The inner office door opened and the laughter stopped immediately. All eyes went to the professional looking woman standing in the doorway. Her brown hair was pulled back in an efficient French twist, her business suit was navy blue and her tailored blouse was a crisp blue pinstripe. She looked down at the clipboard in her hand for a moment and then looked up again at the three of them. “The Alden family?” she asked.
“Yes, that’s us,” Bradley said.
She nodded and added a wisp of a smile. “Please, come in, all of you,” she said, motioning into her office.
All three Aldens stood at the same time, like a choreographed marching band, and walked into her office, pausing in front of the long couch against the wall.
“Please sit,” Dr. Springler commanded politely and all three Aldens sat, Bradley and Mary on either side of Clarissa.
Dr. Springler sat across from them on a leather office chair, her pen poised on the yellow pad on the clipboard and nodded. “Now, why don’t you tell me why you’re here today and what you’d like to get out of our meetings together?”
Clarissa’s eyes widened and Mary could see the panic in them. “Why don’t I start,” Mary suggested, “since I was the one who set up the appointment.”
Dr. Springler nodded for Mary to continue.
“We are an unusual family,” Mary said. “Clarissa is Bradley’s natural daughter, but she was lost to him for eight years and they finally found each other. Clarissa has been through all kinds of challenging situations in her young life - the loss of both her adoptive parents, a threat on her life and now, helping us figure out how to become a family. Bradley and I were recently married and we are figuring out how to be a couple, but also how to be parents. We both love Clarissa, but we understand that she has gone through a lot and needs time to learn how to trust us.”
Dr. Springler looked at Clarissa. “What do you think about what your mother just said?” she asked. “Do you consider her your mother?”
Clarissa looked at Mary before responding to the doctor. Mary smiled at her. “Tell her what you really feel,” she encouraged. “You’re not going to hurt my feelings. I want you to be able to tell the truth.”
Dr. Springler turned from Clarissa to Mary. “Actually, she might hurt your feelings,” she said. “She should still tell the truth, but Clarissa needs to understand that you have feelings too. Feelings that can get hurt when someone is thoughtless.”
Clarissa nodded and took a deep breath. “I had a first mom, I never knew her because she died when I was born, but Maggie told me about her. And then I had another mom, she adopted me, and she died too.”
“Do you think all of your moms are going to die?” the doctor asked.
At first Clarissa just looked at the doctor, then a single tear slipped down her cheek and she finally nodded quickly. “Yes,” she whispered. “I think moms die.”
“How about dads,” Dr. Springler asked. “Do dads die?”
Clarissa shook her head. “No, not like moms,” s
he said. “Daddy Bradley has been looking for me since I was a baby. He never stopped and he didn’t die. My moms get sick and die, bad guys don’t get them.”
“Ah, well that does make a difference, doesn’t it,” Dr. Springler said. “Are you worried about Mary getting sick?”
Clarissa glanced at Mary and then back at the doctor. “I heard her throwing up, in the morning,” she said, her voice quivering. “My adopted mom threw up every day. She would run to the bathroom at night and turn on the water, she thought I couldn’t hear her or I didn’t know, but I did. She never talked to me about being sick, but I knew she was sick. I tried to help her. I got her water and food; I made her take her medicine. I was really quiet so she could sleep. I never told her about stuff that would worry her. But she still died anyway.”
Dr. Springler turned to Mary. “Did you throw up this morning?” she asked.
Bradley and Mary’s eyes met, Mary’s brimming with tears in sympathy for the little girl. Turning in her seat, she took Clarissa’s hands in her own. “Clarissa, you are right,” she said. “I did throw up this morning. And I threw up yesterday morning too. And I think I threw up at my office this afternoon.”
Clarissa eyes widened and she inhaled sharply, releasing the air in a stuttered shudder.
“But, the reason I am throwing up is because there is a baby growing inside me,” she said. “And that often causes women to throw up.”
Clarissa face turned from fear to wonder. “A baby?” she asked softly.
Mary nodded and placed her hand on Clarissa’s cheek. “A baby brother or baby sister for you,” she said. “How do you feel about being a big sister?”
Her bright and eager smile erased all doubts in Mary’s mind. And when Clarissa wrapped her arms around Mary’s waist and hugged her, Mary felt her heart melt with gratitude and love. She kissed the top of Clarissa’s head. “You will be such a wonderful big sister,” she said.
