by Terri Reid
“Ah, well, she assumed you were my wife, and it just seemed like a lot of work to explain,” he replied, sitting after her. “And, you know, you have been my wife in the past.”
She smiled. “Well, that was before I was married.”
He chuckled. “Aye, that’s true,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind. I ordered for you.”
She shook her head. “So, what am I getting?”
“Well, Bradley also told me that you ought to be eating plenty of protein, some high fiber, dark green vegetables and stay away from too much sugar,” he explained.
Mary sighed. “So, what am I eating?”
“A small pasty, a large piece of pie and a cup of tea,” he said. “I nearly ordered the Diet Pepsi, but I knew you’d sworn off.”
Grinning at him, Mary nodded. “You can be my husband any time you want to,” she said. “Thank you.”
“Oh, and the pasty comes with a wee bit of cole-slaw, so you’ve got your veggies in case Bradley asks.”
“You are sneaky and brilliant,” Mary said.
“Auch, well now, you’re going to swell my head,” he teased. Then he looked up and saw the waitress approaching with their tea. “I wonder if she knows anything about the fire?”
“You should ask her,” Mary whispered. “She’s got a crush on you.”
Ian looked up as the waitress placed the cups and saucers on the table. “Thank you so much,” he said.
She smiled back. “Is there anything else you need until your order is up?”
“Actually, well, I was wondering something,” Ian said. “We’re in town doing a little research for a project I’m working on. And I was wondering if you knew anyone we could speak to about the Lancaster fire.”
She stared at him for a moment. “The Lancaster Family fire?” she asked.
“Aye,” he said. “We don’t want to open any wounds, but believe me, it’s very important.”
She turned away from them for a moment, and Mary was sure she was going to walk away. But instead, she pulled a chair from a nearby table and started to sit down next to their table. “I lived next door to the Lancasters,” she said. “Ask away.”
Chapter Twenty-one
Ian quickly stood up and waited until the waitress was seated before he sat down.
“Well, ain’t you the polite one,” the waitress commented. She turned to Mary. “It’s that whole continental thing, isn’t it?”
Mary nodded. “Yes. Yes, it is,” she agreed. “So, you really lived next door to the Lancasters?”
“Yes, I was just a kid,” she said. “But I still remember it like it was yesterday.”
Ian started to say something, and then he stopped. “Before we continue this, I have to ask, is this fine with your employer?” he asked. “I would hate to have you reprimanded for helping us.”
“Oh, honey, I own this place,” she said. “I’m the Marge of Marge’s Diner, and I can take a break whenever I want. ‘Sides, it’s slow as molasses in here right now. So, you go ahead and question me.” Then she turned away from them and called to the other waitress on duty. “Annie, you watch for their order, hear? And when it’s up, bring me a diet, too.”
Ian saw Mary look at the woman with envy. Then she picked up her tea and sipped. With a smile, Ian called to the other waitress too. “Annie, darling, would you make it two? And if you have a bit of lime or lemon to put in mine, I’d appreciate it.”
Mary looked up, confused. “But you don’t like…”
He winked at her. “You can’t have a glass full, but certainly a wee sip won’t hurt.”
She brightened. Then she shook her head. “I really shouldn’t,” she replied.
“Aye, but you will, won’t you?” Ian teased.
“Well, if you force me,” she countered hopefully.
“Aye, I’m forcing you to at least have a sip,” he said.
“Then I guess I’ll have to,” she replied, her smile wide. “Thank you.”
“Sometimes you need a wee bit of cheating for comfort,” he said. Then he turned to the waitress. “Now, you couldn’t have been more than a babe in arms when this happened.”
Marge smiled. “Actually, I was nine,” she said. “A little younger than Tony. But I still get chills.”
“Why?” Mary asked.
“Tony wasn’t like regular kids,” she said. “And it wasn’t like he had a mean streak, you know, like some boys do. He was just emotionless. He would torture little animals, like a neighbor’s cat, just to do it. Just to watch the animal suffer. And he was always watching you.” She shivered. “My mom used to bring us kids into the house when Tony was outside.”
“How long did he live next door to you?” Ian asked.
“Well, now, come to think of it,” she mused, “they didn’t live there all that long. As a matter of fact, I think there was some stir up in the town where they used to live, so they moved here to Flynt in a big hurry. I remember my mom mentioning that.”
“Perhaps something that Tony did?” Mary asked.
Marge nodded. “Yeah, something he did to another child in school,” she said slowly. “Now that I remember that, it even seems scarier.”
Anne approached the table with their order and the two glasses of Diet Pepsi. She placed the order on the table and put one of the glasses next to Ian. He took the straw out of the paper wrapping, put it in the glass and slid it over next to Mary. She leaned down, sipped the soda and closed her eyes in delight. “Oh, I really missed that taste,” she said. Then she pushed it away.
“You’ve been off soda for how long?” Marge asked.
Mary glanced down at her belly. “About eight months,” she said. “And I’ve been really good so far.”
Marge cocked her head towards Ian. “So, this one’s a bad influence?” she teased.
Mary shook her head. “No, he is an expert on people, what makes them tick and what gives them hope,” she said. “And, he understands that when people are under a lot of stress, sometimes a little comfort in the form of a bad habit can remove some of the tension.”
Marge smiled. “He’s pretty smart then?” she asked.
“He’s a genius,” Mary replied.
“Well, now, enough about me,” Ian interrupted. “Marge, how were the rest of the family? Did they seem to have the same odd habits as Tony?”
“No, they didn’t,” she said. “Matter of fact, they all seemed almost afraid of him. I remember the mother pleading with him, bribing him, to come in for dinner, and he just stood outside playing her. Even at eight, I couldn’t understand why she didn’t just haul him in and whip his butt.”
“Because he’d find a way to get even,” Mary said.
“Yes,” Marge said. “I suppose you’re right. And, eventually he did. Killed them all whilst they were sleeping. Cold-blooded murder, that’s what the court said.”
“What happened to Tony?” Ian asked.
“He got sent away to the County Asylum,” she said. “The juvie hall was too low security, and he was too young for the adult prison. ‘Sides, everyone knew he was nuts. So he got locked up in there.”
“Then what happened?” Mary asked.
“I heard he died in there,” Marge said. “He didn’t last too long. I heard it was suicide, but folks covered it up.”
“Suicide?” Mary asked, turning to Ian. “Why would someone like that commit suicide?”
“That’s a very good question,” he said. “And I think it’s a very important answer to get.”
Chapter Twenty-two
After lunch, Ian and Mary decided to cross the street and visit the small Flynt library. The library consisted of one long room with shelves that bisected areas of interest; fiction, non-fiction, children and mixed media. They immediately walked over to the circulation desk to speak with the librarian. The librarian, a middle-aged woman with a permanent frown, looked up from her computer and stared at them. “Yes?” she asked curtly.
Ian put on his most charming smile. “Hello, we�
�re doing some research, and we were wondering if you might help us,” he said.
“Did you check the computers first?” she asked. “Most of what you need can be found on the computers if you only take the time to look.”
“Actually, it would be research in your local history section,” he said calmly. “Unless those files have been added to your computer database.”
“No, they haven’t,” she said. Then she looked back at her computer screen.
Ian and Mary waited for a few moments for her to continue the conversation, but she was already typing away. Mary felt her temper rise. “Excuse me,” she said. “Are you or are you not the librarian who is paid to work here?”
The woman looked up, surprised. “I am,” she said.
“Well, good. I’m glad we have that established,” Mary replied. “Now, we asked you a question about the local history collection. Would you please reply?”
“I already did,” she snapped. “I told you the collection was not put on the database.”
“So how can we see the collection?” Mary asked.
“Well, if you had bothered to look at the information on the front door, you would have seen that the local history room is only open one day a week, and that day was yesterday,” she said. “So, come back next week and try again.”
“Isn’t there someone you can call to help us with the information?” Ian asked.
“You don’t live around here, do you?” she asked.
Ian and Mary shook their heads. “No,” Ian said. “Why?”
“Well, if you don’t live around here, you don’t pay taxes. So, you don’t pay my salary or the salary of the local history librarian,” she said tightly. “So, we will not call someone in to help you. You can come back next week. Good day.”
“Why you…” Mary began, but before she could continue, Ian had pulled her away from the circulation desk and guided her to the front door.
“I cannot believe her attitude,” Mary said. “She ought to be fired.”
Ian nodded. “Aye, but it’s a small town,” he said. “And if someone is as rude as she and still has a job, it must be that she’s related to someone else higher up who’s protecting her.”
Mary nodded slowly. “Her brother is the mayor,” she said.
He smiled. “Or something like that,” he agreed.
“I bet the people in this town all subscribe to Amazon to get their books,” Mary grumbled.
Ian laughed. “Aye, I’d rather pay good money than face the she-dragon in her lair,” he said.
They stood on Main Street and then walked back to his car. “So, what shall we do next?” Ian asked.
“We could find the house and settle in before it gets dark,” Mary suggested. “Then, perhaps, we could take a trip out to the asylum.”
Ian nodded. “I’m fine with that,” he said, opening her car door for her. “Something tells me that the asylum is going to be a little less frightening now that Tony is in Freeport.”
Mary shivered and ran her hands up and down her arms before she climbed in the car. “Don’t remind me,” she said. “When I think that he could be targeting our house…”
“Don’t worry,” Ian said. “Between Bradley, Mike and the equipment Wyatt left for them, they’ll be fine.”
Ian closed her door, walked over to his side and climbed in. Then he turned to her. “Really, they will be fine.”
She sighed and nodded. “But the sooner we figure out his whole story, the sooner we’ll be able to decide how to deal with him.”
Chapter Twenty-three
Ian followed the directions Bradley had given him and soon turned onto a quiet, tree-lined residential street a few blocks from Main Street. The house was in the center of a cul-de-sac at the end of the block. Ian pulled the car around the cul-de-sac and into the gravel driveway next to the tiny cottage.
“This is like a fairytale cottage,” Mary exclaimed. The house was one-story but had a tall, steepled roof with a cobblestone fireplace extending along one side. The front door was curved on top, and the edging around the doorway was cobblestone. There were beds for flowers, now covered with snow, on either side of the tiny front porch, and shrubs and miniature trees all along the curved walkway to the house.
Ian helped her out of the car and then picked up both of their suitcases. “Best be wary, Mary,” he said softly. “Remember the wicked witch that caged Hansel and Gretel? She lived in a fairy tale cottage, too.”
Mary turned to him and shook her head. “I could so take her,” she said with a grin and started up the path to the house.
Ian put the suitcases down on the porch and handed Mary the key. She inserted it into the lock, opened the door and gasped in delight. The inside looked like a fairytale with a large fireplace against one wall inside a cozy little parlor that had pictures of dark forests and shining castles. The walls were stenciled with fairy tales, and the windows were all mullioned. The floors were polished wood with faded, pastel, Oriental rugs, and the kitchen had a sturdy, wooden table of polished oak that sat in a nook overlooking the backyard. The kitchen stove was a replica of an old-fashioned wood burner, with a red, shiny enamel coating, and the cabinets were oak with glass panes.
“This is just magical,” Mary said. “I wonder which of Bradley’s friends owns it.”
Ian put the suitcases down in the hallway and looked around. “This is definitely not what I think of when I think of a hunting cabin.”
“Unless, of course, you’re hunting fairies,” Mary teased.
The stark look in Ian’s face shocked her. “Ian, are you okay?” she asked immediately.
He shook his head quickly, and the look disappeared. “Sorry. Yes. I’m fine,” he said.
He looked around again. “So do you think your bedroom has a bed with twenty mattresses and twenty eiderdown feather beds?” he asked, referring to the Princess and the Pea story.
Mary chuckled and laid her hands on her belly. “I hope not. Unless you consider Mikey a pea in a pod,” she replied.
“Well, let’s find out,” he said, picking up her suitcase and going down the hallway to the first bedroom.
The bedroom was as magical as the rest of the house, with a four poster, brass bed in the middle of the room with a high-topped, feather mattress and a quilt depicting the Swan Princess. The room was decorated in ivory and golds from the curtains to the vanity and dresser. The rug next to the bed was thick, shearling wool, and the lamp on the nightstand was in the shape of a swan.
“Wow,” Mary said. “Just wow.” She turned to Ian, who had laid her suitcase on a bench behind her bed. “I’m almost afraid to climb onto the bed for fear I’ll never want to get off.”
“Doesn’t this seem a little odd to you?” he asked. “This is not a man’s cabin.”
She nodded. “It does seem a little too good to be true,” she agreed. “But maybe that’s just a coincidence. Maybe this is my reward for not slapping the librarian.”
Ian chuckled and shook his head. “No, because your intent was to slap her,” he said. “I was the one who saved the day.”
“Okay. I can admit that,” Mary agreed. “Maybe this is your reward and I just get to be here too.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him out of her room. “Come on, let’s see what your room looks like.”
She was halfway down the hall when she stopped, and Ian nearly ran into her back.
“Oh my,” Mary whispered.
The ghost, a graceful, older woman with soft white curls, sparkling blue eyes and a gentle smile, looked just as surprised as Mary. “Oh my, indeed.”
Chapter Twenty-four
“Is this your home?” Mary asked the ghost. “It’s just beautiful.”
The ghost studied Mary calmly and then nodded. “Yes, it is,” she said. “And thank you. I spent years getting it just the way I wanted. May I ask why you’re here?”
“A friend of my husband lent us the house for the week,” Mary explained.
The ghost looked at Mary and then b
eyond her to Ian. “Isn’t it a little unusual for a husband to allow his wife to stay in a house with another man?”
Ian coughed lightly and stepped forward. “Aye, it is,” he agreed. “But Mary and I have a unique skill, and as it turns out, we’re working together.”
She smiled at Ian. “Edinburgh, correct?” she asked. “With a little time in the outer Hebrides?”
He nodded. “You’ve got a keen ear,” he replied. “Aye, I grew up near Edinburgh, but we summered in the Hebrides.”
“I love accents of the world,” she explained. “I loved studying them.” She grinned, her nose crinkling in the process. “I just loved studying everything. Now, what are you working on? Perhaps I could help.”
Mary couldn’t imagine how this petite, older woman, now a ghost, could aid in their investigation, and she wondered if the woman even realized that she was dead. “Before we go any further,” Mary said, “can you remember the last thing you did?”
The woman turned to Mary and smiled. “Oh, my dear, are you trying to determine if I know I’m dead?” she asked, a twinkle in her eyes. “Why how very thoughtful. But, yes, I am quite aware of my other-worldly status. Although, I must admit that I’m quite surprised to have an intelligent conversation with the two of you.”
Ian grinned. “Because we’re mortals?” he asked.
She chuckled. “Well, in my past life I have to admit that intelligent conversations were few and far between,” she agreed. “But, no, I’m surprised that you can see me and that you aren’t falling over yourselves to get away. The new fellow who lays claim to my house tends to be frightened quite easily.”
“He does?” Mary asked.
“Well, really, I spent years creating this lovely fairytale cottage, and he comes in with paint to cover up the stencils on the walls,” she said. “What would you expect me to do but move those paint cans back outside the house.”
“In front of him?” Mary asked, trying to hide a smile.
The woman giggled, a soft, joyous sound. “I do admit that had I been him, floating paint cans might have frightened me, too,” she said, and then she added with a smile. “He hasn’t been around too much lately.”
