by Terri Reid
“Sorry,” Henry said. “I just wanted to be sure she was safe.”
“Mary,” Clarissa called from the bathroom.
“Yes, sweetheart,” Mary called over her shoulder.
“Is my mom with my dad now?” she asked.
Mary looked at Henry and raised an eyebrow. “What would you like me to say to her?” she asked.
“Tell her…,” he paused for a moment. “Tell her that her mother and I are together in heaven.”
“But I can let her know…,” Mary began.
He shook his head.
“Yes, your mom is with your dad now,” she said.
Clarissa walked out of the bathroom, dressed in her new flannel nightgown, with a toothbrush in her mouth. “Good,” she said, around the scrubbing. “Cause he always took care of her. Now he can take care of her again.”
“Who took care of her when you were in Chicago?” Mary asked.
“Well, I think Mom thought she was taking care of me,” she said. “But I took care of her. And now she can just rest.”
Henry moved over to Clarissa’s side and smiled down at her. “She was always a brave little soldier,” he said. “She always did more than she should.”
Clarissa hurried back into the bathroom to spit out the toothpaste and rinse her mouth, then she climbed up into her bed. Mary sat down next to her and tucked her in. “How did you take care of your mommy?” she asked.
Shrugging, Clarissa leaned back into the pillows and yawned. “I just took some of the worry away from her,” she said, “just like Daddy Henry used to do. We both took the worry away from Mommy.”
Mary leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “That was a wonderful thing to do,” she said. “And I’m sure your Daddy Henry appreciated it.”
Yawning, Clarissa nodded. “We’re a team, Daddy Henry and me,” she explained, her voice getting softer. “That’s what he always said. We were a team.”
“Come on, let’s get you under the covers,” Mary suggested.
Snuggling into the pillow, her eyes heavy, she looked up at Mary. “Can you tell me a story?” she asked. “One about angels?”
Henry moved over to stand next to the bed. “When God created the world he had a plan,” he began.
“When God created the world, he had a plan,” Mary repeated.
Clarissa’s eyes widened. “That’s the story Daddy Henry would tell me,” she said.
Henry sat down on the other side of the bed. “That all of us would come down to earth and be born.”
“That all of us would come down to earth,” Mary repeated.
“And be borned,” Clarissa added.
“Exactly,” Mary said, sharing a smile with Henry.
“And the jobs of the mommies and the daddies were to take care of the children so they would learn how to be good, right?” Clarissa said.
“That’s right,” Mary agreed and then after listening to Henry added, “but God knew that sometimes people would need extra help.”
“So he made angels,” she yawned, her voice soft with awe. “Just like Mike.”
Mike appeared in the corner of the room and nodded at Henry. He moved over to the bottom of the bed. “Yeah, just like me, sweetheart. And just like your Daddy Henry.”
“Daddy Henry said angels are all around us,” she whispered. “And they are closer than you think.”
“Yes, darling,” Mary said, stroking Clarissa’s hair. “They are often closer than you think.”
Her eyes were closing and her breathing was becoming more rhythmic. “I miss my Daddy Henry,” she said softly, her voice coming out like a breath.
“He misses you too darling,” Henry said, lowering his head to kiss her brow. “He misses you, too.”
Chapter Fourteen
Mary sighed as she sat at the kitchen table with her laptop in front of her. She let Bradley talk her into working from home while Gary was still on the loose, but sitting in her house all morning was driving her crazy. Ian was upstairs doing some research and Clarissa was with Bradley at the station for the day.
She got up, put the kettle on for another cup of tea and heard footsteps on the staircase. Ian appeared in the kitchen a moment later. “You wouldna have enough water in that pot for another cuppa would you?” he asked.
“Sure, there’s plenty,” she replied, and then she reached up to the cabinet. “And if you stay downstairs and actually carry on an adult conversation with me, I’ll share my Oreos with you.”
He immediately pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down. “And what would we be talking about this fine morning?” he asked with a grin.
She put a number of cookies on a plate and set it before him. “See, I like a man who’s easily bribed,” she said. “Now why can’t I trade Bradley some cookies for my freedom?”
Ian picked up a cookie and bit into it.
“Wait, you don’t eat those like that,” she objected. “You’re supposed to twist the top off and eat the center first.”
Ian held the partially consumed cookie in his hand and looked at her inquisitively. “You have rules for how you eat a cookie?” he asked.
Mary shrugged, a little embarrassed. “Well, not all cookies,” she explained, “just some cookies.”
“Aye, and where would a fellow be finding a handbook that gives you instructions on the whys and wherefores on cookie eating in the States, then?” he asked.
She sighed. “Never mind, just bite it,” she said, turning away from him. “I just can’t watch.”
He grinned at her, then twisted the top off the cookie and held a part in each hand. “And now, what’s the next step, oh wise instructor?”
“You scrape the frosting off both sides,” she said.
“You don’t eat the frosting with the cookie?”
“No, you scrape it off with your teeth and then you eat the two chocolate cookies by themselves.”
“Well, then, why don’t you just buy unfrosted chocolate cookies?” he asked.
“Because…,” she paused, trying to come up with a rational explanation.
“Aye, because…” he prompted.
“Because it’s a custom and the frosting prepares your palate for the chocolate cookies,” she finished quickly.
Ian tilted his head and studied her for a moment. “A custom is it?” he asked.
Nodding, she grabbed a cookie from the plate, twisted it open and scraped the frosting from the middle. “A custom,” she reiterated, her mouth filled with frosting.
Ian scraped the frosting from the cookie and then took a bite. He chewed carefully, analyzing the flavor sensation of the bare cookie. Finally, he nodded and smiled at Mary. “It does make a difference,” he admitted.
She slipped into her chair and shook her head. “Ian, I think I’ve lost it,” she whispered.
He patted her back. “No, darling, you just need a little excitement.”
At that moment the phone rang. The two just stared at each other for a moment.
“Well, let’s just see if this is an answer to my prayers,” she said, picking up the phone. “Mary O’Reilly.”
“Hey, Mary, this is Jerry Wiley, at the paper,” said the voice on the other end.
Mary smiled. “Yes, Jerry, I remember you.”
“Yeah, well, remember when I said there was something that I couldn’t remember about the Foley suicide.”
“Yes, I remember, you were going to email me something.”
“Yeah, well, maybe you ought to come down here,” he said. “Cause this is something that I want to tell you in person.”
“Okay, I’ll be down there in fifteen minutes,” she replied eagerly.
Then she looked at Ian whose eyebrows were raised and he was shaking his head. “Yeah, and I’ll be bringing a friend,” Mary said, rolling her eyes at Ian. “He’s really good at research, so he’ll be helpful. Thanks Jerry.”
She hung up the phone and turned to him. “What?” she said, before he had a chance to say anything.
He smiled and leaned back
in his chair. “I didna say a word,” he said. “But when he gets back tonight, you get to explain this to him.”
Mary walked over and turned off the kettle. “Well, as it happens, I have a meeting tonight,” she said. “I have to see a person about a ghost.”
Ian stood up and grabbed his jacket. “Well, then, you’ll be taking your researcher along with you,” he said. “Because I’d rather not be the person at home who gets to explain to Bradley where you’ve gone.”
Smiling, Mary offered him her hand. “Deal,” she said.
He grinned at her. “Aye, deal.”
Chapter Fifteen
Mary had often marveled at the effect beautiful women had on men. Not that she considered herself in that category, but she had seen other, more obviously beautiful women walk into a room and have half of the men nearly fall upon themselves to help her. She hadn’t realized, until she and Ian walked into the paper’s office that morning that the effect held true when a gorgeous man walked into a room too.
Ian held the door for Mary, and then followed her into the office. Mary watched as the heads of the women in the ad and classified sections lifted from their monitors and watched as he strolled across the room to the reception desk. The receptionist, who earlier that week had been disinterested and sullen, was friendly and, Mary hated to say it, perky, when she saw Ian approach. And Mary heard at least a dozen muffled sighs when he spoke.
“Good morning, darling, we’re here to see Jerry Wiley,” he said with a smile. “Is he available?”
She sighed. “Are you available?” she wondered aloud, and then realizing what she said, her face turned a dark shade of red.
Ian leaned forward, over the tall reception desk, and took her hand. “Ah, darling, I know you’d just break my heart,” he said softly.
Smiling up at him, she stood and just stared at him for a few more moments. Then she shook her head, as if waking from a trance, and took a deep shuddering breath. “I’ll just go get him,” she said eagerly. “I won’t be a minute.”
Smiling at her, he nodded. “Thank you.”
She half-stumbled, half-jogged across the large room to the entrance of the newsroom, and then disappeared behind the door.
“If you could bottle that, you’d be dangerous,” Mary whispered to Ian.
He shrugged, causing all of the muscles under his knit shirt to expand and then contract and all of the women’s heart rates to accelerate. “I canna explain it,” he said. “It must be the accent.”
She grinned at him. He was really clueless, which was probably part of the charm. “Yeah, that and the shirt,” she teased.
“My shirt?” he asked looking down. “What’s wrong with my…”
“Um, Mr. Wiley can see you now,” the receptionist announced, as she hurried back across the room.
“Thank you, darling,” he said with a smile and then allowed Mary to enter through the security gate first, following her across the room.
“Why the hell did you bring him with you?” Jerry asked as they slipped through the doorway to the newsroom. “Now I’m not going to get any work out of them for a couple of hours.”
“What? What did I do?” Ian asked.
“Jerry Wiley, this is Professor Ian MacDougal from the University of Edinburgh,” she said.
Jerry’s eyebrows raised and he studied Ian again. “He’s the guy who wrote that thesis on paranormal phenomenon and electromagnetic residue?”
“Aye, that’s me,” Ian said.
“Don’t you know that you’re supposed to be seventy years old, with no hair, a pot belly and a pair of glasses?” Jerry asked.
Ian grinned. “Oh, well, I am,” he said. “This is naught but my disguise.”
Jerry smiled. “Okay, I like this guy,” he said to Mary. “Come on back to my office. I think you’re going to find this interesting.”
They entered his office to find half a dozen newspapers lying on top of his already disorganized desk. Mary picked up the first one and saw it was open to the Obituary page. She scanned it and found the listing for Hope Foley. “This is Hope’s obituary,” she said. “They don’t say suicide.”
“Yeah, well, we never say that,” he said. “We say ‘passed on’ or ‘left this earth,’ things that are less hurtful to the family and friends.”
“That makes sense,” she replied, picking up the next paper.
She saw that it dated four years later than the first and it too was open to the Obituary page. In the middle of the page was the photo of another young woman, her birthdate was the same year as Hope’s and she too had ‘passed away.’
“What’s with this?” Ian asked, reading over Mary’s shoulder.
“Another suicide,” Jerry said. “From the same class as Hope. And look at the date.”
“Isn’t that the same date as Hope’s death?” Mary asked, astonished.
“Yeah, same day, four years later,” Jerry said. “Her name was Mandy, like I told you. Now look at these.”
Ian and Mary looked at the other three papers and found obituaries of three other girls from the same class, all who committed suicide.
“Did they make a pact or something?” Ian asked. “They’ve spaced them exactly four years apart.”
“Yeah, and the next one is due this week,” Jerry replied. “It will be number five in the series.”
“Has anyone linked these deaths together before this?” Mary asked.
Jerry shook his head. “No, four years is a long time to remember dates,” he said. “People remember that other girls died, but they don’t remember the details.”
“So, where can we get a copy of the Yearbook from their class?” Ian asked.
Smiling, Jerry nodded with approval. “Yeah, I do like this guy,” he repeated as he pulled a Yearbook from under the paperwork on his desk. “I pulled one from our research library; just get it back to me when you’re done.”
“Thank you,” Ian said. “I’ll bring it back myself.”
Pausing for a moment, Jerry shook his head. “No, send O’Reilly. She doesn’t make the staff swoon when she walks in the door.”
Laughing, Mary extended her hand to Jerry. “Thanks, you’ve been a great help.”
“Oh, no,” Jerry said, not shaking her hand. “You’re not off that easy. I want first dibs on the story when you solve this case.”
“But my client…”
“Yeah, I met your client, and she hired you to be a ghostbuster and get rid of her household problem,” he said. “Not solve a mystery like this.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “I want the story.”
Mary nodded. “Fair enough,” she said. “I’ll feed you whatever information I can.”
Jerry extended his hand. “Agreed?”
Mary shook it. “Agreed.”
Chapter Sixteen
Mary and Ian didn’t bother moving the car for their next appointment. The Foley Law Offices were only two blocks away from the newspaper. Mary had called before she left the house and had secured an appointment with both the father and daughter.
“And what are you hoping to find?” Ian asked. “Seeing you can’t really tell them you’re trying to get rid of a ghost.”
Mary stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and looked at him. “Don’t worry,” she said, “I have something brilliant planned.”
Ian nodded, and they continued walking up the street. “So, you have absolutely no idea what you’re going to say,” he stated casually.
“Exactly,” Mary replied.
The law offices reflected the status and success of the two lawyers. The ultra-professional administrative assistant politely brought them into the wood paneled conference room, offered them bottles of sparkling water in crystal glasses with ice while they waited for the Foleys to arrive. Mary sipped delicately and gazed around the room. “I always wanted a room like this,” she said. “But I’d have a fireplace and overstuffed leather chairs.”
Ian grinned. “And shelves filled with leather books
on each wall, with a loft above filled with even more shelves.”
Nodding, she leaned toward him. “And one of those really cool library ladders that slide from section to section.”
“Aye, it sounds like my library back home,” he said.
“Really?” she asked. “Do you really live in a place like that?”
“Well, it’s monstrous huge, a bit drafty and a wee bit pretentious, but we like to call it home,” he said with a smile.
“How could you ever leave such a place?” she asked.
“Ah, well, that’s easy,” he said. “To be in your company and be part of your adventures. I can’t tell you the fun I’ve had these past few months.”
“Oh, yes, it’s been loads of fun,” she said, rolling her eyes.
He met her eyes and she was surprised to see how serious he was. “Aye, I’ve made friends who are like family to me now,” he said. “I’ve been accepted for what I do and who I am. I wouldna have missed this adventure for the world.”
She reached over and placed her hand on top of his. “Well, I’m glad you’ve been part of it too,” she said earnestly. “You’re family now, Ian.”
The turning of the doorknob had Mary pulling her hand away and sitting up in her chair. Mr. Foley was an attractive older man with a full head of salt and pepper hair. His skin was tanned and he looked like he spent a fair amount of time at the gym. His daughter was perfectly coiffed and seemed too sophisticated in her dress and make-up for downtown Freeport. Her suit was tasteful and expensive and her high heels were probably worth more than Mary’s entire closet full of clothes.
“Ms. O’Reilly,” Mr. Foley said, coming forward to greet her. “I’m Jackson Foley and this is my daughter, Faith. How can we help you?”
“Mr. Foley, Faith, this is Professor Ian MacDougal, my colleague from the University of Edinburgh,” she said. “He is here on a fellowship through the University of Chicago.”
“Edinburgh?” Mr. Foley repeated, pursing his lips in consideration. “That’s an impressive institution, Professor.”
“Ian, please,” Ian replied. “It’s a pleasure to meet both of you.”
“No, it’s actually our pleasure,” Faith said, eyeing Ian directly.