Secret Hollows - A Mary O'Reilly Paranormal Mystery (Book 7)

by Terri Reid

  Heat spiraled inside her and she felt all of the urges from just moments before rekindle. Before things got out of control, Bradley broke off the kiss and stepped away from her.

  “Good night, Mary,” he breathed heavily.

  She held on to the collar of his jacket, so he couldn’t leave. “Yes?” he asked.

  “Early. Very early June,” she exhaled.

  Chapter Five

  The next morning Mary inserted the key into the lock of the front door of her office and hesitated. The last time she stepped foot in her office she had been nearly blown up by a bomb planted on her toilet. The damage had been extensive enough to require her to work from home for several weeks while her space was renovated.

  She took a deep breath, pushed the door open and relaxed when the little bell above the door rang its familiar welcome. She looked around. “Wow, this place looks better than it ever has,” she said. “It should have been blown up years ago.”

  The walls were painted in a soft sage green and the new woodwork was a complimentary crisp white. The carpeting had a botanical print with varying shades of sage green on dark wheat-colored background. Her new desk was oak and it matched the bookcases that lined one wall. She could feel the tension slip away in the peaceful surroundings.

  Dropping her briefcase and purse on the desk, she walked over to the bathroom. It too had incurred a major renovation, which was, Mary decided, a good idea since pieces of the toilet had been on the other side of the office last time she saw it.

  The bath now held a small shower stall, a sink and a toilet. The color scheme from the office was carried through in the bath, except for a flash of black next to the toilet seat. Mary cautiously moved forward to examine it. She peered over the toilet and laughed when she saw the phone installed on the wall. A sticky note posted on the phone, with Stanley’s distinctive handwriting, read, “Just in case of emergencies, Missy.”

  She grinned, pulled the note off and sat down on the closed toilet seat.

  “Testing it out, sister?”

  Her heart jumped as she turned and looked through the man standing outside her bathroom. He had probably been in his sixties when he died. His greying hair was styled in a crew cut and the face below was wide, with a strong and stubborn jaw. His nose looked like it had been broken a number of times and his broad grin advertised the wide gap between his upper teeth.

  “Excuse me?” she asked.

  He nodded toward the toilet. “Normally when you test one of those, you open the lid.”

  She looked down at the toilet and quickly stood up. “I wasn’t testing it,” she said. “I was just sitting down for a moment.”

  “Yeah, you’ll do,” he said, nodding with satisfaction.

  “I’ll do what?” she asked.

  “You’re a fighter, kid,” he said. “You don’t back down. You don’t even sweat when you see a ghost.”

  The ghost slid out of the way, as Mary walked into her office area. “So, you know you’re a ghost?”

  “Yeah,” he replied. “So does that make me a spiritual genius?”

  Chuckling, she nodded. “You want a certificate?”

  He laughed loudly. “Yeah, you’re pretty feisty.”

  She sat in her chair and turned to him, her pen ready to take notes. “What’s your story?”

  He glided over next to her and placed his beefy hands on his hips. “I need you to come with me,” he said. “I need to show you something.”

  “Okay, but you tell me your story first,” she said, folding her arms over her chest.

  Shaking his head slowly, he sighed. “I can’t,” he said. “It ain’t like I don’t want to, but I can’t tell you the whole story. You just gotta trust me and know that I’m doing this for someone I love.”

  She looked into his translucent eyes. “Someone you love, huh?” she asked.

  “With all my heart,” he replied.

  She stared at him for a moment, then, making up her mind, she picked up her purse. “Are we walking or driving?”

  A slow grin spread across his face. “I think maybe this is actually gonna work,” he said, with a quick nod. “We’re walking, sister. It ain’t too far from here.”

  They left her office and Mary followed him north on Main Street. It was a strange sensation to see the facades of the historic buildings through his translucent form. The retail stores and the banks were still closed because it wasn’t yet eight o’clock, but she could smell the bakery goods from Cole’s Confectionary on the wind. The weather was typical February; piles of snow were surrounded by small puddles of water and the smell of spring was just behind the icy frost in the air.

  Turning onto Chicago Avenue, Mary looked up to the marquee of the multiplex theater to see if any of the new offerings for the week interested her. There were a few actors she would be willing to watch if they just stood in the middle of the screen and did nothing. She sighed. They were that good looking. And, of course, any cop or detective movie was a must see.

  She quickened her pace when the ghost turned south on Spring Street. She made it to the corner in time to see him walk into one of the empty buildings across from an abandoned manufacturing plant.

  Stopping in front of the building, she tried to determine what it used to be. There were no picture windows or anything that looked like a retail store. The old brownstone had a heavy front door made of glass that was covered with white paint on the backside. She moved closer and could see the faded outline of painted letters. Ernie’s Gymnasium and Pugilism Training

  Reaching inside her purse, she pulled out a small flashlight. She heard the click on the other side of the door and it slowly began to open for her.

  I’ve seen this in movies, she thought, and usually going inside is a bad thing.

  “You ain’t a chicken are you?” the ghost’s voice taunted from inside.

  Someday I’m not going to let that kind of challenge get to me, she thought, as she moved toward the entrance. Walking through the open door, she immediately inhaled the scent of dried wood, aging leather and dust. Dust motes floated all around her, highlighted in the beams of morning light that slipped through the planking on the tall side windows. Pointing her flashlight beam in front of her, she slowly scanned the room. In the middle of the large room was an elevated boxing ring. In a corner a large brown leather punching bag hung from a beam. Next to it, a series of smaller bags were suspended at head level.

  She turned and immediately tensed when another beam of light shot towards her. It took her a moment to realize she was shining her flashlight into a wall-sized mirror. She walked toward the mirror and noted the wooden shelving that ran along the floor. Reaching down, she picked up an antique 10 pound weight.

  “This is so cool,” she whispered.

  “Yeah, I thought you might like it,” the ghost said, appearing next to her. “Why don’t you turn on the lights?”

  “The electricity works?” she asked.

  “Would I suggest you turn on the lights if it didn’t?”

  Mary raised one delicately groomed eyebrow. “I don’t know. Would you?”

  His gruff laugh echoed in the large room. “No, sister, I wouldn’t.”

  He pointed to a large gray box in another corner of the room. Mary walked over, wiped the spider webs off the front and pulled the metal switch down. The fluorescent bulbs in the hanging ceiling fixtures slowly fluttered to life. They started at the far end of the room and slowly each area of the gym was filled with light.

  “This is like a scene from a movie,” Mary said, placing her purse down and hurrying over to the platform.

  She climbed up and slipped through the ropes, standing inside the boxing ring. Fisting her hands and positioning her arms in a boxer’s stance, she rose to the balls of her feet and danced around the ring.

  Loud clapping had her dropping her hands and turning back to the ghost who was slowly gliding toward her.

  “You got good instincts, sister. I can say that much for you. But you sti
ll need a lot more work before you can get into that ring.”

  “Work? What kind of work?”

  “That’s the thing,” he said. “That’s what I need. I need to train you. I need you to be the champ I missed out on.”

  “But, I can’t...”

  “What, you telling me you ain’t a fighter?”

  “Well, no, I’m a fighter.”

  “You scared?”

  Mary stiffened and stared at him. “I am not afraid.”

  “Well, there you go,” he said, his face breaking into a wide grin. “We got ourselves a deal.”

  “But, wait...”

  “Be here tomorrow morning, seven a.m., and don’t be late,” he said, just before he disappeared.

  “Well, crap,” Mary said, climbing out of the ring. “I really don’t need this right now.”

  She started to head towards the electric box, but the leather punching bag caught her eye. She slipped off her coat, placed it over the ropes and walked over to the bag.

  Clenching her fists and bending her arms, once again she raised herself to the balls of her feet and danced a circle around the bag. “I’m the champ,” she muttered, as she moved around. “I float like a butterfly and sting like a bee.”

  She turned away from the bag and then turned back quickly. “What did you say?” she asked the inert bag. “What did you call me?”

  She lifted her hands into a boxing position. “Well, you are going to be sorry you ever met Mary Margaret O’Reilly.”

  She punched the bag with her right fist. It felt like she just hit a brick wall.

  “Oh, crap,” she yelled, shaking her hand. “I think I broke it.”

  She looked at the bag, still hanging serenely, not even swayed by her punch.

  “This isn’t over between us,” she growled, rubbing her wrist. “I’ll be back.”

  Chapter Six

  The bell rang and Mary looked up from her desk to see Bradley walking in.

  “Hi,” she said, standing up and walking over to greet him.

  He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her. “I could get used to starting the morning this way,” he said. “You got any plans for the rest of your life?”

  Smiling she shrugged her shoulders. “Well, I am getting married in June,” she said and then she smiled broadly, “early June. But after that, I’m pretty free.”

  “I don’t think so,” he said. “After that I’m planning on keeping you very busy.”

  She reached up and kissed him lightly. “I like that plan. So, what do you think of the remodel?”

  Looking over her shoulder at the office, he nodded. “Nice,” he said, releasing her and stepping around the room. “Really nice.”

  He slipped his coat off and tossed it on a chair next to the desk. As he moved towards the bathroom, she called to him. “Stanley has already checked out the toilet and installed a land-line in there, in case of emergency,” she said.

  Continuing to the bathroom, as if he hadn’t heard her, he said, “Well, that’s a good idea. You never know when an emergency can arise.”

  “Yeah, like running out of toilet paper,” she muttered.

  “What did you say?” he called from inside the small room.

  She hurried over to find him dismantling her toilet. “What are you doing?”

  He had the decency to look slightly embarrassed. “Well, I’m just checking,” he said, and then he sighed. “Okay I know the odds of having someone plant another bomb on your toilet is probably a million to one.”

  “A bazillion to one,” she replied, leaning against the door frame and when he looked doubtful, she added, “I looked it up.”

  “Nevertheless,” he continued, as he turned off the water and lifted the top. “Until I’d checked it out myself, I would always worry. So, you’re just going to have to put up with my paranoia.”

  She nodded. “Did you know I have Dorothy call me if any packages containing food, especially tea, come to your office?” she asked.

  Lifting his head quickly and bumping it against the toilet, he turned to her. “What?”

  “If someone sends you tea or any kind of food, I asked Dorothy to let me know,” she said. “I know the odds are a million to one.”

  “A bazillion,” he interrupted, a grin spreading across his face. “I looked it up.”

  Chuckling, she nodded. “Nevertheless,” she replied with a mocking smile. “I understand.”

  He stood and walked over to her, but she stepped back. “You’re not going to touch me until you’ve washed those hands,” she stated emphatically, “I know where they’ve been.”

  The ringing phone interrupted their conversation and Mary hurried back to her desk to answer it. The caller i.d. showed it was a call from the Brennan household. “Hello? Oh, hi, Katie. No, it’s not a bad time at all.”

  Bradley walked out of the bathroom, wiping his hands on a towel and Mary motioned him over. “No, I haven’t seen the weather forecast,” she said into the phone and then paused, a smile spreading over her face. “Snow day tomorrow? When is the storm supposed to hit? Okay, so snow ends late enough for school to be cancelled, but early enough to have the roads cleared by early afternoon.”

  She pulled a notepad across the desk and scribbled on it, “Can you go sledding tomorrow?”

  “No, I think it would be great,” she said into the phone. “I’m just checking my schedule.”

  Bradley pulled the pad, picked up the pencil and wrote, “Is this some kinky proposition?”

  She choked and slapped his arm, blushing as she recalled their previous misunderstanding about sledding. He grinned and nodded.

  “Yes, I’m open for tomorrow. Oh, no, I don’t mind. You just made my day,” Mary said with a smile spreading across her face. “Oh, well then, that’s perfect. Okay, let’s talk tomorrow, but I think we could plan on one o’clock. Great! Thanks.”

  Bradley sat on the edge of the desk and waited until Mary hung up the phone. “So, what’s perfect?” he asked.

  “The older boys have science fair projects they have to work on,” she said. “And Katie said it would be extremely helpful if we could take Andy and Maggie out for the afternoon. Doesn’t sledding sound like fun?”

  Bradley stood up, picked up his jacket and walked to the door. Just before he left he turned, smiled and winked at her. “Why don’t I just save my answer for our wedding night? Okay?”

  Chapter Seven

  The alarm went off at 5:30 and Mary groaned as she reached around blindly trying to shut it off. The loud buzzing continued while Mary desperately searched all the corners of her bed for the clock.

  “If that bloody noise doesn’t shut off soon, I’m going to shoot something!” Ian called from the other room.

  “I can’t find it!” Mary yelled back, trying to untangle her legs from the blanket, as the alarm seemed to get even louder and more insistent. “Besides, you don’t…”

  Ian stormed into the bedroom, dressed only in a pair of sweat pants that hung low on his hips, his blonde hair tousled and a scowl on his face.

  “… have a gun,” she finished weakly. Even in her sleep-fogged state, she could acknowledge that Gillian, Ian’s fiancée, was a lucky woman.

  He turned on the light, looked around the room for a moment and then marched to her dresser and turned off the clock. Turning to her, the clock clenched in his fist, he waved it towards her. “Can you just explain to me why a grown woman has an alarm clock set for the ungodly hour of 5:30 and then hides the bloody thing all the way across the room?”

  “Well, I do it so I’m totally awake by the time I turn it off,” she explained drowsily, as she rubbed the back of her neck absently. “It works most of the time.”

  Eyes narrowing as he looked at her, he asked, “Does it now?”

  She yawned. “Well since it’s snowy, I really don’t have to get up that early,” she added. “So, if you just want to put it back on the dresser, we can both go back to bed.”

  “Oh, and you think
you’ll just be going back to sleep?”

  Smiling sleepily, she nodded, nestling back down into her blankets. “If you could just switch the light off on your way out the door…”

  “Really?” he asked. “You’re going to wake a man from a sound slumber in the wee hours of the morning and just go back to sleep without so much as a thank you kindly.”

  “Mmmmm-hmmmm,” she murmured, already nearly back asleep.

  He looked around the room and a slow smile spread across his face. “Have you ever seen Braveheart, darling?” he asked, as he walked toward her bedroom window.

  “Ian, really, can’t we have this conversation later?” she complained. “I’m trying to sleep here.”

  He slipped the window open and reached out to the sill and window box filled with snow. “Ach, sorry, but I think it’s only fair we have the discussion now,” he replied, packing a large snowball between his hands.

  She sighed and snuggled further into her pillow. “Fine,” she grumbled. “No, I never saw the whole movie, only the part where Mel Gibson… well, you know.”

  “Aye, that was a good part,” he agreed, walking back over to her bed, snowball in hand. “But I’m afraid you missed the most important part of the movie. The part that might have saved you a bit of grief today.”

  He stood over her, his hands inches over her head.

  “What?” she asked impatiently, turning towards him.

  “Don’t mess with a Scotsman,” he said, dropping the snow on her upturned face.

  “Ian!” she screamed, sitting upright in the bed and wiping melting snow from her face. “I can’t believe you did that!”

  Grinning, he wiped his cold hands on his sweat pants. “Oh, you cannae? Well, perhaps I’m not quite myself being awakened in the middle of the night.”

  Mary turned and scooped the remaining pile of snow into her hands. “It wasn’t the middle of the night!” she yelled, whipping the small snowball at him and hitting him in his bare stomach.