by Terri Reid
“When she recovered, she soon discovered what changed in her life,” he continued. “She knew there would be a difference. But she had no idea that she would now be able to see and talk to ghosts.”
“But there’s no such thing…” Alex automatically began and then he stopped. “Okay, that was dumb.”
Bradley smiled. “Yeah, well, she gets that a lot,” he said. “But the truth is, whether we want to believe or not, there are ghosts. They are real. Most are just regular people who have died and are stuck here on earth until someone can help them get their unfinished business taken care of. Then they get to go to the light. That’s what she does, helps them move on.”
“So, she sees them…” Alex began.
“In the state in which they died,” Bradley said. “Which can be pretty damn gross at times.”
“Wait. You’ve seen them, too?”
“Only with Mary’s help,” Bradley said. “And let me tell you. The first time I thought I was losing my mind.” He smiled sheepishly. “Sometimes I still think I’m living in the Twilight Zone.”
“So, Ruth, talked to Mary?” Alex asked.
Nodding, Bradley began walking towards the car with Alex at his side. “Yeah, most ghosts don’t even realize their dead,” he said. “They’re confused, and they are kind of tethered to the site of their death. Now that Ruth knows she’s dead, she can leave her physical body.”
Alex looked startled. “But what if she never comes back?” he said. “What if she doesn’t reappear to Mary?”
“Most of the time they just need a little time to reconcile themselves to what happened,” Bradley replied. “Then they appear to Mary, and she’s able to help them. Ruth just needs a little time to come to terms with what happened. Then she’ll be back.”
“How do they…the ghosts…feel about moving on?” Alex asked.
“That’s the best part,” Bradley said. “Once they see the light, they want to go. Mary once told me she felt like she was going home when she was going towards it.”
Alex stopped and slowly looked around the area. “Why was Mary out here?” he finally asked.
“There’s a mass grave in the cemetery with a number of ghosts that still haven’t moved on,” Bradley replied easily.
Straightening, Alex stared at the cemetery. “There are ghosts over there?” he asked.
Bradley grinned. “Lots of them,” he said, lowering his voice. “And there may be some standing next to us, right now.”
The wind blew, rustling some of the dead vegetation around them, and Alex jumped. “Okay, Alden, I’m officially creeped out,” he said, hurrying toward the cruiser. “Let’s get out of here.”
Once they were inside the vehicle, Alex turned to Bradley. “So, how’s your budget for consultants?” he asked.
“What budget?” Bradley replied. “What consultants?”
Alex chuckled. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Listen, I have a line item in my budget for consultants. I don’t usually use it; we just roll it over year to year. But I’d like to hire Mary as a consultant on this case.”
Bradley shook his head. “Alex, Mary’s on the case,” he said. “You don’t have to pay her.”
“I know she’s on the case,” Alex said. “Because that’s the kind of person she is. But I want to pay her. And I believe she’s worth every penny.”
Bradley put the key in the ignition and turned on the cruiser. “Well, I don’t know if she’ll accept it.”
Alex slipped his seatbelt into place and leaned back in the seat. “Why don’t you just let me handle that,” he said. “I’ll have a contract waiting at her office first thing in the morning.”
Putting the cruiser in gear, Bradley made a U-turn towards Highway 20. “Well, good luck with that.”
“I don’t need luck,” Alex teased. “I’ve got skill.”
Chapter Nine
“Hello, my name is Bradley Alden and I’m the chief of police in Freeport,” Bradley said to the slight woman who answered the door on the farm in rural Winslow. “This is Alex Boettcher, Stephenson County District Attorney. May we speak with you for a few minutes?”
The woman’s hands visibly shook as she unlatched the screen door and stepped back, inviting them into her home. “Is this about Ruth?” she asked, her eyes wide with fear.
“Is your husband home?” Alex asked.
“He’s…” her voice broke, and she took a deep breath. “He’s out back in the barn. I can get him.”
Bradley gently placed his hand on the woman’s arm to stop her. “I can get him,” he said. “But, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d love a hot cup of coffee.”
“Oh, yes, I can make coffee,” she replied, eager to be busy.
“Thank you,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”
Bradley left the house, and the woman hurried into her kitchen. Alex looked around the room, feeling his anger toward the unknown assailant grow. The room was nearly a shrine to a beloved daughter. Photographs, ribbons and trophies lined the walls and shelves. Ruth with her arms around a prize-winning calf, Ruth standing with her parents next to their tractor, and Ruth sitting in the backseat of a convertible waving to the crowds with a sash that proclaimed her the Winslow River Days Queen.
He walked across the room and picked up the framed photo of her at the parade. “She’s beautiful, my little girl.”
Alex turned to see Ruth’s father just inside the door, his overalls covered with mechanical grease, his rubber boots covered with mud. Bradley stood behind him, closing the door softly.
“Yes, she is,” Alex replied, placing the photo back on the shelf. Then he glanced around the room. “And talented, too.”
The man’s sad eyes sparkled for a moment, and Alex couldn’t tell if it was from tears or pride. “Yes, she’s quick as a whip.”
The man sighed deeply. “You needed to talk to us?” he asked.
Alex nodded.
“I’ll get Gloria,” Ruth’s father said. “Why don’t you two sit down.”
Bradley and Alex remained standing and waited for Ruth’s parents to come back into the room. “I’ve got the water boiling,” she said to Bradley. “It won’t take a moment more for me to make your coffee.”
“Why don’t you sit down, Mrs. McCredie,” Bradley suggested softly. “The coffee can wait.”
He guided them both to the couch, and then he and Alex sat across from them on stiff-backed wooden chairs.
Tears slipped slowly down the mother’s face as she faced the men. “You’ve found our Ruth?” It was more a statement than a question.
Alex nodded. “Yes, we did,” he replied. “This morning.” He searched for words that might comfort, that might heal. But he found nothing. “I’m so sorry,” was all he could say.
Mrs. McCredie collapsed against her husband, her sobs echoing in the small room. Mr. McCredie patted her gently on her back as he wiped ineffectually at the tears flowing down his wind-worn face. “She was always a good girl,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. “We knew she weren’t no runaway. We always knew if she could, she woulda come back home.”
Alex nodded. “You’re right,” he said. “She would have come back home.”
Mr. McCredie took a deep catching breath. “How did she…” he began, and then sobbed softly, unable to continue.
“She was shot,” Alex said. “In a field just outside of Freeport.”
“Shot?” Mr. McCredie asked, incredulous. “Who in the world would want to shoot my little girl?”
“That’s what we’re going to find out,” Bradley said, reaching over and placing his hand over Mrs. McCredie’s hand. “I promise you, we will find whoever did this to your daughter.”
Mrs. McCredie looked up, her face blotched and tear-swollen. “Can we see her?” she stammered. “Can I see my baby?”
Bradley nodded. “Yes, of course you can,” he said. “I’ll have Dorothy, my assistant, set things up for you. And if there is anything you need, any questions, please don’t hesitate
to call my office.”
Mrs. McCredie nodded. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you so much.”
“Is there someone we can call for you?” Alex asked. “A family member or a pastor?”
Mr. McCredie shook his head. “No, I think we’ve been kind of expecting your visit,” he replied. “But it’s harder than I thought.”
“Yes, nothing can ever prepare us to lose a loved one,” Bradley said.
“She was such a good girl,” Mrs. McCredie whispered and then turned once again into her husband’s arms, her sobs racking her small frame.
Alex met Mr. McCredie’s eyes. “It will probably be reported on the news this evening,” he said. “I haven’t released her name, but now that we’ve spoken…”
Nodding slowly, Mr. McCredie patted his face with his wet handkerchief. “Well, there’s been lots of folks praying for our Ruthie, so it’s fitting they know she’s been found,” he said softly.
Alex placed his card on the coffee table. “Please let me know if there is anything we can do for you,” he said, echoing Bradley’s words.
“Thank you,” Mr. McCredie said, his voice unsteady. “I think, right now, we just need to be alone.”
“I understand,” Bradley said, standing up. He excused himself for a moment and hurried into the kitchen to turn off the water on the stove. Then he pulled a paper towel off the roll and wiped his eyes, erasing any sign of tears.
When Bradley reentered the room, Alex was already standing next to the door ready to go. Bradley looked down at the couple, wanting to say something, anything that would give comfort. But he knew there was nothing he could say. “I’m so sorry,” he finally whispered, his voice catching. “I’m just so sorry.”
Chapter Ten
“Hi, Ma,” Mary said when her mother answered the phone.
“Mary, what’s wrong?” her mother replied immediately.
Tears welled up in Mary’s eyes as emotions she didn’t realize she’d been holding in began to overflow. “I’ve had a kind of challenging day,” she said, trying to keep the emotion out of her voice. “And I just wanted to talk to you.”
“Well, why don’t you just tell me about it?” Margaret O’Reilly said softly.
“I found a young woman’s body today,” she said, and then her voice cracked and the tears began in earnest. “She was so young. She was in college. Someone just shot her, Ma. They just shot her and left her body in the middle of a cornfield.”
“But you found her,” Margaret said.
Wiping the tears from her cheeks with her hands, Mary nodded. “Yes, I found her,” she said.
“And you spoke with her?” Margaret asked.
Mary took a deep, shuddering breath. “Yes, I spoke with her,” she replied.
“And you calmed her fears?”
“I had to tell her she was dead,” Mary replied. “And she cried. She didn’t understand. I don’t understand.”
“No, there’s no understanding hate and cruelty,” Margaret agreed. “There’s no understanding a heart that can kill so easily.”
“It frightened me,” Mary admitted. “Standing in the open field. Thinking about her murderer, I was frightened.”
“There’s no shame in being afraid,” Margaret said. “It’s what you do about it that shows who you are. What did you do when you found her body?”
“I called Bradley,” Mary said.
“And did you leave her body in the field and run away?”
“No, of course not. I stayed with her,” Mary said.
“And when Bradley came, did you leave then?” Margaret asked.
“No, I stayed and answered questions so they could find out who did this to her.”
“And when were you afraid?” Margaret asked.
“When I got home,” Mary said. “Once I locked the doors.”
Margaret chuckled wryly. “You are so much like me, Mary,” she said. “Brave when we need to be, and then we collapse when no one can see.”
Mary was astonished. Her mother had been her solid rock all throughout her life. No one was braver than Margaret O’Reilly. “You’ve never been afraid, Ma,” she said.
“I’ve never let you see me be afraid,” she said. “I couldn’t let my children see my fear. I couldn’t cause them to be fearful.”
Mary shook her head, and then she realized the truth. “Your bathroom,” Mary said. “You used to say you needed a moment, and then you’d go into your bathroom.”
“And there’s the truth of it,” Margaret said. “I’d turn on the sink full power and sink to my knees and cry my fears away. I’d say a prayer for strength and protection, slap cold water on my face, and come out and deal with the world.”
“I have never been as frightened as I was today,” Mary confessed.
“Well, you’ve a wee babe you’re frightened for,” Margaret said. “It’s only natural. You just can’t let the fear overwhelm you.”
“That’s what Gracie said,” Mary replied.
“Aye, Gracie Williams is a very smart woman,” Margaret said. “And I’m sure she told you to concentrate on something normal. So, tell me, how are the plans for Clarissa’s party?”
Mary smiled. “They’re going great,” she said. “Although I might need your help.”
“Tell me.”
“When she was pregnant with Clarissa, Jeannine started making a quilt,” Mary explained. “She never got to finish it. Before she moved on, she asked me to complete it and give it to Clarissa as a gift from her mother. I just remembered about the quilt this morning. Can you help me?”
There was silence for a moment on the other end of the line.
“And have you considered asking Jeannine’s mother if she’d like to help finish the quilt her daughter started?” Margaret asked.
“No, actually, I hadn’t considered it,” Mary confessed. “But, Ma, every time I’ve tried to call her, she doesn’t answer the phone, and she doesn’t return my messages. I don’t know what else I can do.”
There was silence on the line as Margaret thought of the right way to answer her daughter and not feel anger towards a woman who was obviously shutting out her daughter’s efforts at reconciliation.
“Well, grief is a harder journey for some,” Margaret finally said. “And we need to respect her wishes. Is she coming to the party?”
Mary shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said. “They haven’t responded yet.”
“Well, don’t worry about that,” Margaret said brightly. “It will all work out. Tell me, do you have a quilting frame?”
“They have frames?” Mary asked. “I thought it was supposed to be a blanket.”
Margaret laughed. “Why don’t you call your neighbor, Katie Brennan, and ask her if she has a quilt frame. If not, I’ll bring mine. I’m sure it’s still up in the attic.”
“Ma, do you consider me a complete failure?” Mary asked. “I can’t sew, quilt or do crafts.”
“Mary you are a miracle, and I thank the good Lord for you every day,” her mother replied sincerely.
“I love you, Ma,” Mary said softly.
“And I love you, too, Mary-Mary,” her mother replied. “Now, go and call Katie Brennan so we can finish that quilt.”
Chapter Eleven
“Hi Katie. It’s Mary,” Mary said.
“Hi, Mary,” Katie said pleasantly and then her voice changed. “Oh, no! Is it time? Do you need me to take you to the hospital?”
Mary felt some of her tension dissolve, and she smiled into the phone. “No, I’m good,” she replied. “I just have to ask you a potentially odd question.”
“Yes?” Katie replied.
“Do you have a quilt frame?” Mary asked hesitantly.
“Yes, do you need it?” Katie asked.
“Well of course you do,” Mary chuckled. “You are my official hero.”
“Because I have a quilting frame?”
“Something like that,” Mary said. “And, yes, I would love to borrow it. Thank you so much!”
Katie chuckled softly. “Well, how can I say no to the woman who is offering me a Thanksgiving dinner where I don’t have to cook everything and I only have to help clean up?”
“Really? You don’t mind sharing Thanksgiving with us?” Mary asked.
“I love the idea,” Katie replied. “Thanksgiving is all about family and friends. Besides, we wouldn’t miss the surprise birthday party for Clarissa for the world.”
Mary breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” she said. “This has been quite a year for her…”
“Quite a year for all of you,” Katie inserted.
“That’s true,” Mary agreed. “But I wanted this birthday, the first one she’s having with Bradley, to be extra special.”
“Well, if it isn’t enough to be born on Thanksgiving,” Katie said, “having all of your friends and family share it with you will be very special.” She paused for just a moment. “So, what else can I do for you, because I know your plate is always too full. Why do you need a quilting frame?”
Mary sighed. “Okay, you asked for it. There’s a baby quilt that I’ve had in my closet for several months,” Mary explained. “It was the quilt Jeannine began when she was pregnant. It was her last gift to Clarissa. It’s about half done. She never got to finish it. I thought…”
“That would be a beautiful gift,” Katie said softly.
“I called my mom, and she’s going to help. I just don’t even know where to begin,” Mary admitted. “I don’t even know if there’s enough time between now and Thanksgiving to complete it.”
“I’ll bring it right over. But where can we set it up and keep it secret?”
It took Mary only a moment to decide. “The new nursery,” she said. “We’ve been slowly getting it ready for Mikey. We can put it in there.”
“Okay, I can bring it over now before the kids are all home,” Katie said. “It will only take me a few minutes to set it up.”
“Are you sure?” Mary asked.
“Then I’ll come over later tonight and help you pin the quilt to the frame,” she replied.
“Thank you, Katie.”