by Terri Reid
She nodded. “But, when the emotions weren’t there, we had a good working relationship,” Mary added. “So, that’s where we need to be.”
He nodded. “Okay, I can be there,” he said. “Because I agree we need to work together. And, I am not upset you are going to be working Jeannine’s case with me, I’m grateful.”
She nodded. “I’m happy to help. If you’d like, we can talk over the case tonight.”
“Should I come to your place?” he asked.
Not in a million years, she thought.
“Let’s meet downtown at Nine East,” she said, naming an upscale café and coffee shop. “I’m sure Brenda will let us use a table in the back.”
Bradley tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice. He had been so comfortable in their old relationship; this moving back was going to be hard. “That’ll be great. I’ll bring my files.”
“Speaking of files,” she said, pulling out a manila folder. “This is your copy of the information I’ve gathered about Faye.”
She pushed the folder across the desk and Bradley opened it, scanning the contents. He let out a slow whistle. “Wow, she was loaded,” he said.
“Yep, she was pretty comfortable,” Mary agreed. “I don’t know if it’s the reason for her murder, but it’s an awfully big motivator.”
“Have you spoken with her lately?” he asked.
“No, not since she realized her life was like a bad rendition of A Christmas Carol.”
When she saw the question in his eyes, she smiled. “She wants redemption and is trying to use these last days on earth to do good deeds.”
“Ah,” he nodded. “I get it now. So, other than the phone call this morning, any other threats?”
She shrugged.
“What?”
“I got creeped out on my way home from Winneshiek the other night,” she admitted. “But I think it was mostly overactive imagination.”
“Why would someone be threatening you in regards to Faye’s death?”
“According to Dan Stevens, people in town are beginning to realize that I’m not a charlatan and can actually use my abilities to help solve crimes,” she said. “I have no idea why I’m suddenly legit.”
“Well, damn,” Bradley said, dropping his head into his hands. “I hadn’t even thought of this angle.”
“What angle?” she asked. “What did you do?”
“I asked the City Council for a line item in my budget to hire you as a consultant,” he said. “I told them that I’d worked with you and the Chicago Police Department also called you in on special cases, and we should pay you for the time you spend helping the city.”
“Why in the world did you do that?” she asked.
“I figured with the extra money you could buy a car that actually runs in the winter,” he said. “And...”
He looked uncomfortable.
“And...” Mary prompted.
“And I was damn tired of the people in town who looked at you like you were a kook, when you were risking your life to save their butts.”
Crap. He could be so sweet when he wasn’t such a big jerk.
She sighed. “First, thank you, that was very nice,” she said. “And if I get killed because of it, well, it was worth it.”
He looked up sharply and she laughed. “Sorry, couldn’t resist.”
“Not funny, O’Reilly.”
“Second, I really don’t need the money,” she said. “I have this fairly large bank account with my pension and disability. Unfortunately, even though Gracie Williams, the top psychologist for the City of Chicago and I agree that I’m not crazy, the official stance of the city is that anyone who thinks they see ghosts is nuts and needs to be on disability. I mailed the checks back to them for the first year, but they kept returning them. Then, they went to automatic deposit, so I just accept them.”
“You have money?”
“Well, not as much as Faye,” she admitted. “But I could retire tomorrow and be pretty comfortable.”
“Then why do you drive that British soup can?”
“Hey, it’s a classic. And I like it,” she said. “And I decided after I died that I wouldn’t worry about practicalities all the time. That I would take time, smell the roses and drive a Roadster.”
“You really are crazy,” he said.
“Yeah, well that leads me to my third point,” she said. “No matter what you say, some people are going to think I’m crazy, because they just can’t bring themselves to believe in ghosts. That’s too scary. So, rather than believe in something unknown, it’s easier to decide I’m a kook.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
“Doesn’t matter if I’m okay or not,” she said. “It just is. I can spend hours worrying about it, but it won’t change a thing.”
“For a kook, you’re pretty smart,” he admitted.
“Yeah, well just don’t let anyone know,” she said. “Who knows what will happen.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
Mrs. Phoebe Baker parked her car in the driveway of the pastor’s home, made her way up the neatly shoveled walk and rang the doorbell. The door was answered nearly immediately by one of the Johnson girls. Was that Vivian or Rachael? She could never keep them straight.
“Hello, Mrs. Baker, would you like to come in?” the little girl asked.
Such well-mannered children, she thought, Lucinda had done a wonderful job with her family too.
“Yes, I would like to come in,” she said. “And I need to speak with your mother.”
Rachael led her to the front room. “Please sit down,” she said. “I’ll get my mother. Daddy’s already here, if you need to speak to him. But he’s a ghost, so people can’t see him.”
Phoebe was a little startled with the comment, but really, so soon after her father’s death a little imagination was understandable.
Hezekiah was just as surprised at Rachael’s announcement and a little disconcerted when the child passed by and waved a shy hello to him. But, he couldn’t let that distract him. He had to find out what Mrs. Baker was going to say to Lucinda, and, more importantly, what Lucinda would think of their outrageous plan.
He watched Lucinda as she entered the room. She was dressed in a black suit and pillbox hat. Why was she so dressed up? Who was she trying to impress? Then he remembered today was his funeral.
Lucinda came forward and took Phoebe’s hands. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting, I’m just trying to get the children ready...”
“Yes, of course, the funeral,” Phoebe said. “And I know this is a bad time, but I had hoped to bring you some news that would ease your mind a little.”
“Yes?” Lucinda asked.
“Can you sit with me on the couch for just a few minutes?”
“Of course,” Lucinda agreed, perching next to Phoebe. “What can I do for you?”
“Well, my dear, I’m sincerely hoping this is something I am able to do for you...and your family.”
Lucinda shook her head, “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“The board met last night about the future of the congregation.”
“Oh, Phoebe, Mrs. Baker, I assure you that we are packing and trying to get the house ready for the next minister,” she said quickly. “I don’t want to be a burden on the church.”
Phoebe smiled at her. “Honey, don’t you worry about that,” she said. “I came here with good news. We voted last night that we want you to stay and continue as the minister for our congregation.”
Lucinda was speechless.
“Yeah, what do you think of that?” Hezekiah said. “Going behind my back. Getting the board to vote for you. Getting what you always wanted I’d say.”
“You can’t mean this,” Lucinda said, pulling her hands away from Phoebe. “I am not worthy to take my husband’s place.”
“You said it, woman,” Hezekiah added. “Takes more than baking pies and visiting nursing homes to be a real minister.”
Phoebe reached forward and
patted Lucinda’s arm. “Now, I know this is not the best day to talk about it,” she said. “But think about how much this would help your children. You wouldn’t have to move. You wouldn’t have to worry about how to support them. You would have employment with people who love you.”
“Okay, she does have a point there,” Hezekiah agreed.
Lucinda stood up and paced across the room. “But I can’t allow the church to offer my family charity of this magnitude,” she argued. “You need a true minister of God to guide the congregation.”
“That’s true,” Hezekiah agreed. “Not just anyone can take my place.”
“This is not charity, I can assure you, Lucinda,” she said. “This is what is best for our congregation. You are who and what we need. We will be happy to pay for you to complete your degree and we spoke with your dean, he is willing to have you finish your degree while you are on the job.”
“You spoke to my dean?”
“Yes, he said wonderful things about you, Lucinda,” she said. “He said that he knew you would make a wonderful minister.”
“That man couldn’t preach his way out of a paper sack,” Hezekiah muttered. “And he never liked me.”
Lucinda shook her head. “I appreciate your offer, but I can’t, I just can’t,” she cried, shaking her head and wiping away the tears.
“Yeah, she can’t,” he said, and then he turned to Lucinda. “Why can’t you?”
Phoebe stood and went to her. She put her arms around her and gave her a hug. “Listen, I know this is a shock,” she said. “And with this being Hezekiah’s funeral, it’s probably too much for you to deal with. I’m going to give you a few days to think about it. Then I’ll come back for an answer.”
“Thank you, Phoebe, but I don’t think I’ll change my mind.”
Phoebe stepped back and smiled. “You take a couple days and consider it; perhaps you’ll have a different point of view.”
Lucinda nodded. “Alright, I will. Thank you.”
Hezekiah watched Phoebe let herself out of the house. Lucinda walked unseeing to the couch and sat down. Tears filled her eyes; she buried her head in her hands and wept.
Hezekiah floated over to her. “Oh, now, there, Lucinda,” he said. “I know you miss me and I know you realize you can’t take my place. But, there’s no need to carry on so. So, just take a deep breath and pull yourself together. Woman, you got a funeral to attend.”
As if she’d heard him, Lucinda lifted her head, dried her tears and took a deep breath. She stood and walked to the hall.
“Vivian, Rachael, Alvin, Rudy,” she called, “It’s time to go over to the church.”
Vivian came down the stairs, dressed in a somber skirt and blouse. She walked over and placed her hand in her mother’s. “Momma,” she said. “Are we saying good-bye to Father today?”
Lucinda nodded and quickly wiped away a few more tears. “Yes, dear, we are.”
“Is Father going to miss us?” she asked.
“What do you mean, dear?”
“Well, Father never seemed to want to be with us when he was alive, so I wonder if he’s going to miss us now that he’s dead.”
Lucinda knelt down and gathered the little girl in her arms. “Yes, my dear, I’m sure your father misses you very much,” she said. “I’m sure the only thing he’s thinking of right now is his wonderful children.”
Hezekiah felt an odd burning in his chest. He hadn’t thought of his children at all. He hadn’t worried about their well-being. He hadn’t thought about missing them. All he had thought about was himself.
The rest of his children joined their mother in the foyer. They put their coats, hats and gloves on over their church clothes and prepared to leave the house.
“Mama,” Rachael said as they were leaving the house. “Is Daddy coming too?”
Lucinda nodded. “I’m sure he will be there with us,” she said. “Just to be sure we are all fine.”
Rachael glanced back at her father. “Well, then he better hurry or he’ll be late.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
Mary let herself into Winneshiek Theater. She flipped on the lights and walked backstage.
“Faye,” she called. “Faye, I need to speak with you.”
“I’m not here.”
The voice echoed throughout the theater.
“Well, that’s too bad,” she said, “Because I’m thinking of offering you the part of a lifetime. Excuse the pun.”
Faye appeared next to her. “Really, the part of a lifetime?”
Mary nodded. “I’m still working on the script, but I need some input from you.”
“Will I get a writing credit?” she asked.
“Yes, as matter of fact, you can be a co-writer.”
She seemed to consider it. “Are you any good?” she asked. “I really can’t have my name associated with dribble.”
Mary took a deep breath. Count to ten, Mary.
“I’m award-winning,” Mary said, neglecting to add that it was a Distinguished Service award.
Faye smiled. “Well then, I’d be happy to collaborate with you.”
Mary sat down at the edge of the stage and pulled out a notebook and a recorder. “I want to be sure my notes are correct,” she explained to Faye, “Because I want the Faye McMullen story to be perfect.”
“The Faye McMullen story,” Faye repeated, clasping her hands to her chest. “It’s bound to be an Oscar winner.”
“At the very least,” Mary agreed. “So how do you see the main character?”
Faye floated across the stage, “As a lonely misunderstood woman, unlucky in love, despised for her wealth and beauty, and only wanting to do what’s right for all the little people.”
Mary jotted down some notes. “Okay, let’s focus on the unlucky in love portion,” she said, “because people really love romance.”
Faye nodded, “You’re right, romance and tragedy,” she said. “A single woman pregnant with a married man’s child. She knows he’ll never leave his wife and...”
She turned to Mary and shrugged.
“Quite frankly, she really didn’t want to marry him; she was just looking for a distraction.”
Mary couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Faye had been pregnant? Faye had an affair with a married man?
“So, what does she do?” Mary asked.
“Well, she went to Europe of course,” she said. “That’s what all the wealthy girls in her situation did. They went overseas and took care of their problem.”
She glided over to Mary and placed a hand on her abdomen. “Except, for some reason, when she got there, she couldn’t quite bring herself to take care of the problem the way most of the other girls did,” she said. “She felt the baby move and something odd happened. She actually found something she could love.”
“What did she do?”
“She stayed in Europe, in Tuscany, and pretended she was a widow,” she said sadly. “She was all by herself. Her parents were not only disappointed that she had been foolish enough to get pregnant, they were beside themselves that she hadn’t seen reason and ended the pregnancy.”
“The baby was born,” she said, her voice grew soft. “He was beautiful. He was tiny and pink and perfect.”
She sighed and Mary shivered at the intense sadness of the sound.
“But, even though she was foolish enough to give birth to the baby, she knew her parents would never allow her to keep him,” she explained. “So, she contacted the faithful family retainer and gave him the charge to discreetly contact the father and let him know he had a son.”
“She didn’t put him up for adoption?”
“No. She wasn’t unselfish enough to never see the baby again,” she explained. “She made the father promise to adopt the child, or she would tell his wife about the affair. And because his wife had the purse strings, he felt it was an equitable trade. Besides, he and his wife had never been able to have children of their own, so it was perfect solution for everyone.”
Mary thought about it for a moment. “Perfect for everyone except the sad young woman who had to give up her baby.”
Faye smiled sadly. “Well, she grew up to be a cold, demanding bitch; so it turned out well for everyone.”
She turned to Mary. “How’s that for drama and tragedy?” she asked, and then faded away.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Hezekiah entered the back of the chapel. He was pleased; the turnout for his funeral was quite large. The casket sat at the front of the room, a lovely flower arrangement on top of it. The choir entered from a side door and made their way up to the altar. The organist began playing and the choir and congregation sang a moving rendition of “Amazing Grace.”
Hezekiah sang along, enjoying the timbre of his deep bass voice. He had always felt he had the best voice in the congregation and it was a pity he couldn’t both preach the sermon and sing a solo for the choir. But, he reasoned, he had to let others have a chance to serve.
The eulogy was given by one of the senior members of the congregation. He slowly walked down the aisle of the church and pulled himself up the rail to the speaker’s stand. He was wearing a slightly worn suit, but it had been cleaned and pressed for the occasion. Hezekiah glanced around, looking at the younger men with their expensive suits and their positions of prestige and power in the community. He would have chosen one of them, because they were better suited to speak about him. But, well, there was nothing he could do about it now.
“Hezekiah Aloysius Johnson,” the elderly man began.
Hezekiah shook his head with distaste, he hated his middle name. What was his mother thinking?
“Hezekiah Aloysius Johnson,” the man repeated. “Was born on a beautiful September morning forty-two years ago. His parents were Hezekiah Joshua Johnson and Rachael Francine Miller Johnson. He was their only child. He was named after his father, Hezekiah, and his grandfather, Aloysius. Both of these men were great ministers of God.”
Hezekiah shrugged. They were good, but they weren’t great. They didn’t get out of the their small towns. In a couple of years I would have been out of this town and moving to greater places. I would have had a television show. I would have had national exposure. I would have been great.