Mary Jane's Grave

by Stacy Dittrich

  Exhausted, I smacked the phone down and started gathering my briefcase, purse and files together. I’m not usually a nap-taker, but I suddenly found myself entertaining visions of a cozy snuggle under the covers when I got home. My visions didn’t last too long, because Eric called to remind me of our meeting. I told him I’d be there in fifteen minutes and hung up, wondering if this was really a good idea.

  When I walked into the diner and saw Eric sitting in the booth, I knew I was in trouble. I felt an involuntary tug at my heart and couldn’t push away my feelings of regret. We’d been so happy once; invincible, we’d thought. And then it had all gotten screwed up.

  I pushed these thoughts aside. Eric had also broken my heart, and now Michael had come into my life to heal it. “Settle down, girl,” I told myself. “He’s history, remember?”

  As Eric stood and kissed my cheek, I turned away quickly and sat opposite him.

  “CeeCee, you look great as always,” he said with a grin.

  Smooth talker, I thought, moving my purse around and not meeting his eyes directly. We exchanged pleasantries for a while, talking about his new son and our girls. I could tell Eric was getting more and more curious as to why I’d asked to speak with him, so I finally got to it.

  “Eric, the reason I need to talk to you is that yesterday I went to the county courthouse. Well, lo and behold, I was informed that you and I are still legally married. For some unknown reason, the final paperwork was never filed.”

  His eyes opened wide, and he looked as stunned as Michael had. Now, for once in his life, Eric was actually at a loss for words. Then, to my amazement, he broke into a big smile. Maybe Michael was right, I thought. Maybe Eric did have something to do with it. If that were the case, I’d probably beat him right there with the ketchup bottle.

  “What’s so funny?” I asked, my eyes narrowing.

  “Nothing. I thought you had bad news. This isn’t bad news.” He reached across the table and grabbed my hand. “Still being married to you is not a bad thing. In fact, this is the best news I’ve had in a long time.”

  Stunned, I pulled my hand away as Eric leaned back in the booth, playing with the paper that had earlier wrapped his drinking straw.

  He sighed deeply. “CeeCee, every day, and I mean every single day, I think about us and what we used to have.” He looked out the window. “I messed up—I know that. You did, too, but not like I did. I realize that, CeeCee. God knows if I could take it all back, I would.”

  I felt another tug at my heart, but this time it was out of guilt. I certainly wouldn’t want Michael having a conversation like this with his ex- wife.

  “But you can’t take it back, Eric, and neither can I. What’s done is done, and we have separate lives now—lives that involve other people.”

  “No, I guess we can’t forget that Mr. FBI is in the picture, can we?” he shot back.

  “I’m also talking about your new son, Eric, a child you had with another woman while you were still married to me!” I was getting upset. This was not what I’d anticipated. Maybe I’d been fooling myself, but I’d thought Eric would say, “Okay, take care of it and let me know when it’s all done.”

  “You’re right,” he said quietly. “Things have changed in our lives. But you can’t look me in the eye and tell me you don’t still think about us, or don’t have feelings for me anymore.”

  Damn him! He’d hit a nerve, and I know it showed on my face. It wasn’t that he spoke the truth; it’s just that I was at a loss for words as this conversation took a direction I hadn’t anticipated.

  “That’s what I thought,” he said, looking pleased. “Look, Cee, why don’t we sit on this for a while? Just think about it, okay? I know I have a new life and a new son, and I love him very much. But my relationship with Jordan has changed. It’s just not the same as it was at the beginning. And it can’t touch what you and I had. I’m pretty sure she senses that. She certainly wouldn’t be surprised.” He sighed, deep in thought. “This could all just be my ego talking, but maybe there was a reason for this delay.” I had to admit, I’d already had that thought. “There’s no hurry, right?”

  I hadn’t told Eric yet that I was planning on marrying Michael, but I’d assumed he knew we would eventually. Now I had to make things crystal clear.

  “Actually, Eric, there is a hurry.” I looked at him, fighting back feelings of nostalgia. “I’m marrying Michael as soon as this mess is cleared up. And yes, I’m in love with him. My feelings for you don’t matter because they’re buried beneath so much anger I don’t think I’ll ever be able to work through it all.”

  I felt tears well up in my eyes. “I made mistakes with you, I admit it. I kissed Michael while we were married, and I had feelings for him. But I told you the truth. But you—you looked me right in the eye and lied to me!” I was sobbing now. “For over six fucking months you were sleeping with Jordan, and the whole time, you lied to me! I think about all those nights that you came home, acting like everything was normal, and it makes me sick to my stomach. It’s over, Eric!” I put my face in my hands and sobbed.

  I didn’t need or want this scene with Eric today. I was exhausted, with little sleep and awash with feelings I’d been suppressing for years. Dimly aware, l felt him sit down next to me and put his arm around my shoulders. With a big gulp, I pushed Eric away so I could slide out of the booth and stand up.

  “My attorney will be calling for you to sign the new papers. It shouldn’t take too long, Eric, and now I need to go.”

  “What if I refuse?” he asked, looking both defiant and broken.

  “Please, Eric. That would benefit no one. The girls are settled with the way things are, and you need to stop being selfish for once and think about Brandon and Jordan.”

  He bowed his head as I turned around and left, and I admit it, I cried all the way home. Dredging up the heartache from our treacherous past had taken me by surprise, and now it felt as if it would never end—and it had to. Things change, and so do people. My life was with Michael now.

  He was home when I arrived, riffling through a filing cabinet in his office.

  “Hi, honey. Where are the girls and Sean?” I asked, looking around.

  “They’re next door visiting the neighbors’ new puppy.” He shut the cabinet drawer and looked at me, quickly taking in my red, swollen eyes. “What’s wrong, Cee? Where’d you go?”

  “I told you, I had to meet Eric for dinner to talk about the divorce papers.”

  Michael’s face turned five different shades of red in a matter of seconds. Although he did his best to keep his cool, I saw a brief moment of adolescent jealousy under his stoic exterior. His color quickly returned to normal, and he made his best effort to show concern.

  “No, you forgot to tell me about the dinner.” He paused, letting his words sink in. “But I can clearly see it didn’t go well. You okay, Cee?”

  I thought back. Maybe I hadn’t told Michael about dinner, although I thought I had. My insides lurched, knotting up.

  “I’m sorry, Michael. I thought I told you. I didn’t think the divorce was something I should discuss with Eric over the phone, so I met him at the Corner Grill because he was going in to work early. I didn’t even eat! It didn’t go well and I left.”

  “Why didn’t it go well, and why were you crying?” His eyes stayed locked on mine, trying to read me.

  I proceeded to tell him exactly what had happened, and I even told him how Eric had threatened to refuse to sign the papers.

  Michael crossed his arms and leaned back against the cabinet, a wry smile on his face. “Well, isn’t that something! I’d expect nothing less from Eric. Do you really think he wants you back?”

  “Actually, Michael, it doesn’t really matter,” I said quietly. “I told him I was marrying you because I love you, and that’s the only thing that matters. He just caught me off guard, that’s all.”

  I went over to him and took both of his hands in mine. “Michael, this will end—and soon. These l
ast two years have been so up and down it’s got to level out somewhere. I’m going to be your wife, and nothing is going to stop that from happening. I love you.”

  I took his face in my hands and kissed him deeply.

  “I love you, too, Cee,” he whispered. “I just want you to be sure.”

  “Oh, there’s no doubt in my mind,” I said softly. I was even about to suggest we sneak upstairs when I heard the kids come in the back door.

  “CeeCee!” cried Sean, running to me and giving me a tight hug and a kiss. A miniature version of Michael, he would no doubt break many hearts when he grew up.

  Michael changed gears like the pro he was and told the kids to get cleaned up for dinner. I was so exhausted that, by the time dinner was over, I’d dragged myself onto the couch and put my head on Michael’s shoulder to watch a movie with him and the kids. I was asleep within fifteen minutes.

  CHAPTER NINE

  I woke up in bed the next morning and realized at once that Michael had apparently carried me there from the living room couch. He was gone when I awoke, and I stretched luxuriously, feeling alert and refreshed. I took the rare opportunity to make animal-shaped pancakes for the kids before putting Isabelle and Selina on the bus. Since Sean had arrived a day early for his visit, our neighbor, a stay- at- home mom named Maggie, agreed to watch him.

  I went to work earlier than usual and began combing every inch of the Kari Sutter murder case file. I could see that Bob was getting annoyed by my constant phone calls to the lab bugging them for the final test results. By afternoon, he had taken the phone off the hook.

  I managed to sneak in a call to my attorney to get moving on the divorce paperwork as soon as possible. We had learned the original paperwork had somehow gotten lost by a temporary clerk. Worried about losing her job, she had kept quiet and never disclosed the error.

  The errant clerk, whom I would gladly have strangled, had thankfully been terminated due to other errors on her part. As a result, there was technically no one we could hold accountable at this point.

  To take my mind off my personal problems, I sat down cross- legged on my office floor to look at the photographs I had taken by the edge of the woods, along with the photographs from the crime scene.

  Coop walked in, clearly feeling chatty. “And a good day to you, babe. Want to hear about how I keep busy?”

  Resenting his easy familiarity, I shot back, “Forget the babe bit. What’s up?”

  He flushed briefly, then decided to ignore my rebuke. “I drove all over the county yesterday and didn’t see Anything that resembled your description of that car,” he announced, sitting down in my one shabby chair. “I also listened to some of the messages the local kooks left on your phone.”

  I looked at him curiously. “I thought you had those two drug murders to work.”

  “Not much to work. We know who did it, and the warrants have been issued. I’m sure Detroit or Chicago PD will find them by the end of the month. The other detectives are working on the Harker Street shootings so I’m all yours, babe.” He smiled.

  I looked back at the photographs and began to check out the names on the tombstones. Coop had grabbed the case file off my desk and was flipping through it, but my attention stayed on the tombstones. Then I saw something I hadn’t seen before. I turned to Coop, who had put the file down and was stretching out his legs.

  “From the way it looks, we’re at a dead end. Doesn’t look like we have any more leads right now,” he said with a yawn, clearly bored and looking for more excitement.

  I held up one of the photographs. “Think again, Coop. I’ve got a lead right here. We’re going to look into the history of Mary Jane’s Grave.”

  “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Coop protested. “How is looking into the history a lead? Hasn’t every historian in the county researched Mary Jane’s Grave?”

  “Not like we’re going to do it.” I handed him the photograph. “Look at the new tombstone that the county put up. It lists the names of everyone buried in the cemetery.”

  “So?”

  “They’re all related, Coop.” I needed him to understand where I was going with this. “It’s mainly the Secrist and Berry families, and Mary Jane Hendrickson’s name is second to last. I know that Mary Jane’s real grave was the last one in the cemetery, but for some reason the county listed Ann Maria Baughman last.”

  “What does any of that have to do with the murder?” He still didn’t get it. I groaned inwardly; patience was never my strong suit.

  “Look, Coop,” I said, “this recent murder was a very personal one. It required a lot of forethought. All I’m saying is we should be able to rule everything out, and we can’t do that without a thorough investigation. I’m wondering how the Mary Jane legend got started in the first place.”

  “Don’t know,” Coop answered. “I know it was before my parents’ time—they went to see the grave when they were teenagers.”

  “Mine did, too.” I paused. “I heard she was actually an herbalist, and that was where the story came from. People back in the eighteen hundreds mistook herbalism for witchcraft.”

  “What the hell is an herbalist? I mean, I’ve heard the term and all, so I know it has to do with herbs…”

  “Yes, that’s exactly what it means, Coop.” I snorted. “It’s a person who uses plants, herbs and other homegrown stuff to treat ailments.”

  “Like that euthanasia stuff you take when you have a cold?”

  I laughed hard enough to bring tears to my eyes. “It’s echinacea, dummy, and yes.” Actually, it felt like a relief to laugh—at least Coop was good for something.

  I wiped my eyes. “Say, for example, you lived back in 1898 and got a sunburn. If you went to an herbalist, she’d give you part of an aloe plant to rub on the burn. Even today we use the plant’s sap to heal burns. It’s certainly not witchcraft.”

  “I think you’re wasting your time,” Coop said wearily, “but, hey, you’re the ace. Just tell me what you want me to do.”

  “Nothing right now,” I said, looking down at my watch. “I’m going to run over to the library to see what I can find out. Keep after the lab about those test results and call me if anything comes up.”

  Coop could be right, I thought. Maybe the history of the grave had nothing to do with the murder. But right now it was all I could come up with, and it felt better than twiddling my thumbs.

  When I arrived at the library, I asked the librarian to find me everything she had on Mary Jane Hendrickson. She gave me an odd look and led me to the media resource room.

  “Everybody comes here around the same time every year to read about her, and I’ll tell you what I tell all of them. You’ll be surprised at how unexciting she really was.”

  I sat down at the large wooden table in the center of the tiny room. Edna, the librarian, was a big woman with short, dark hair and glasses, and her bulk made it hard for her to maneuver between the table and the shelves.

  However, she managed to grab album after album of news stories and threw them on the table. Each one produced a loud whack! as it landed in front of me.

  “Everything you need should be in those,” she said finally, dusting herself off. She pointed at the albums. “If there’s something you can’t find, it might be on microfiche. Let me know so I can get it for you.” She eyed me over the rims of her glasses. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

  “No, thank you very much.” I smiled as she shuffled off to her post at the front desk.

  Suddenly, she turned back around and peered at me more closely. “Say, aren’t you that policewoman I read about in the papers and saw on TV?”

  “Yes, I probably am.” I waited.

  “Hmm, I thought so.” She raised her eyebrows and walked out the door.

  I shrugged and proceeded to attack the files. I ended up spending hours sorting through the news articles. The librarian was right about one thing—Mary Jane Hendrickson certainly seemed to have lived a boring life. Actually, there
wasn’t much written about her personal life, but there were stacks of articles about her legend. It was when I was reading her obituary that something caught my attention.

  Mary Jane Hendrickson had been born in 1825 and died in 1898. The obituary said she had left behind a sixteen-year-old daughter, Madeline. I’m not much of a mathematician, but I could clearly add and subtract.

  According to the dates, Mary Jane would have been fifty-seven years old when she gave birth to her daughter. I don’t know of any fifty-seven-year-old woman outside the Guinness Book of World Records who’d had a baby at that age now, let alone in the 1800s. There had been no mention of Madeline being adopted, but I’m sure that possibility existed. For some reason, though, I had my doubts that she was the product of an adoption.

  I checked again. No, it wasn’t a misprint. Mary Jane had died at age seventy- three. I set the obituary aside, deduced that Mary Jane was Superwoman and continued my research.

  I noticed it was dark outside, and I groaned when I looked at my watch. I had been there more than three hours. Michael probably wasn’t home yet, either. I knew he was out meeting with federal prosecutors in Cleveland to prepare for their upcoming trial.

  The kids were with our babysitter, so I called home to do a quick check on everybody. Selina said that Michael had called about forty- five minutes earlier and was on his way home. I told her I’d be there in about an hour.

  Once I had gotten through all the articles, I looked at my handwritten notes. Mary Jane Hendrickson had lived on the property where Mt. Olive Cemetery now stood. She had married Joseph Hendrickson, but he died of smallpox in 1897. For the most part, Mary Jane had cleaned houses for a living, mainly for her sister and brother- in- law, Sophia and Samuel Secrist. I remembered seeing their names on the tombstone.

  Several articles confirmed that Mary Jane had also been an herbalist. After Mary Jane’s death, Madeline went to live with her aunt Sophia and had died in 1948 at age seventy-six.