by Terri Reid
“Yes, you were,” Ian said. “But…”
He put up his hand to stop Bradley’s next comment. “You also left Mike watching over the two of them. And Mike alerted all of us and by the time you arrived here,” he continued. “The police had already taken care of things, Clarissa and Margaret were both safe and the bad guy had run away. And if the bloke had been stupid enough to continue down into the basement and break down the workroom door, he would have been a whole lot of dead. The way Margaret was wielding that ax; it would have made Robert the Bruce proud.”
Bradley shoved against the steering wheel and turned to Ian. “But she shouldn’t have had to have an ax in her hand,” he said. “She shouldn’t have had to deal with danger when she was visiting her daughter.”
Leaning back against the door, Ian closed his eyes for a moment. “She’s the wife of a police officer and the mother of four more,” he said. “Aye, Mary’s not officially an officer anymore, but really, do you think Margaret hasn’t dealt with danger everyday of her life? At least, in this case, she was the one in control. She wasn’t at home worrying about someone else; she was doing something about it.”
“But it shouldn’t have been allowed to happen,” Bradley insisted.
“Dinna pour water on a drowned moose,” Ian said.
“I beg your pardon?” Bradley asked.
Ian grinned. “It’s over, it’s done, and there is nothing you can do at this point to change anything. Just remember, you’re not the bad guy, Copper is. Don’t get distracted with guilt and self-recrimination. It isn’t going to help anyone right now.”
Bradley nodded. “Yeah, I know you’re right…”
“Hey, no problem,” he replied. “Oh, and one more thing.”
Bradley turned to him. “What?”
“Never, ever, make your mother-in-law angry,” he said with a grin and then handed him another cookie.
Chapter Twenty-four
All the lights in the house were out and Copper sat in the dining room, one tapering candle illuminating the table top. He was perched on the edge of a wooden chair, the sleeves of his button-down shirt rolled up to his elbows, his face unshaven, his hair in disarray and his eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot. Lifting the bottle once again, the edge clinked against the shot glass, causing the dark amber liquid to slosh up against the side of the glass. He ran his finger against the outside of the glass, catching the escaped whiskey and licked away the errant alcohol.
He stared at the brimming glass for a moment, then lifted it to his lips and tossed it down his throat. The whiskey burned and his eyes watered, but the heat was welcoming and the ensuing numbness a respite from the voices that continued to taunt him about his failure the night before.
His hand shaking, he reached out for the bottle again, lifted it and poured. A few drops of liquid dripped from the bottle into the cup. He shook it, but no more whiskey came out. Enraged, he whipped the bottle across the room and felt a rush of satisfaction when it exploded against the wall. He grabbed the glass, drank the remnants of alcohol in it and then threw the glass in the same direction as the bottle, laughing slowly at the sound of the impact.
Pushing himself up from his chair, he stumbled across the room in the near darkness, and headed towards his bedroom. A nightlight cast a dim glow on one wall. He staggered toward it, his eyes glistening with eagerness and his tongue moistening his lips feverishly. Photos, hundreds of them, lined the wall, producing a twisted collage of images of Mary interspersed with magazine cutouts of scantily clad and naked women in various seductive poses. He ran his fingers across the images, as if he were touching flesh, and felt his body respond. “Soon,” he whispered, as spittle dripped from the side of his mouth. “Soon I’ll have you just where I want you, Mary O’Reilly.”
He reached up, grabbed the edge of a centerfold and ripped it violently from the wall. Holding it out, hands fisted on either side of the paper, he studied the provocative image for a moment. Dropping one side, he reached up to the wall again and pulled down a photo of Mary he had taken of her in front of her office. Frantically, he hurried over to the dresser in the corner of the room and laid the centerfold down. Grabbing scissors, he crudely cut the head off of Mary’s photo and laid it over the head on the centerfold. Hands shaking, he applied several strips of tape over and around the head to keep it in place. Finally satisfied, he gripped the centerfold again and stared at it, a satisfied smile spreading over his face.
“Yes,” he slurred, rubbing the photo against his body. “It’s time to go to bed, Mary. Time for me to give you what you want.”
Stumbling across the room, he fell into the bed, the magazine page crushed beneath him. “What I want.”
Chapter Twenty-five
Mary knew she was going to be late but every door she tried was a dead-end. She lifted the hem of her wedding dress up so she could climb yet another set of stairs, hoping to find the entrance to the chapel. She heard music playing. The Bridal March. It was coming from the other side of the wall. She was supposed to be in the chapel now! She was supposed to be walking up the aisle! Running down another long corridor, she searched for a door. There had to be a door here somewhere. There had to be another way into the chapel.
She heard the low buzzing from behind, slowly growing louder. Turning, she watched in amazement as her mother came forward, a chain saw in her hands, and headed toward the wall. “Don’t worry darling,” her mother said. “If there’s no way in, we’ll make one of our own.”
The buzzing got louder as her mother set the edge of the saw against the wall and plaster and lathe started flying around the hall. “Are you sure this is the right way?” Mary yelled over the noise of the saw.
“It may not be the right way, but it’s surely the most direct one,” her mother replied, moving forward and cutting a hole in the wall.
Mary sat up in bed, disoriented. It took her a few moments to realize the buzzing sound from her dream was actually her alarm clock going off. She struggled out of the covers, stumbled across the room to turn it off and pulled some clothes out of her drawer before heading to the shower.
A short time later, she was dressed in jeans and a casual shirt, walking down the stairs to get breakfast ready for Clarissa.
“Hey, sunshine, how did you sleep?” Mike asked, from next to the front window.
Mary stopped at the bottom of the stairs and stared at Mike and Peter, both standing in the front window, the curtains wide open, watching for movement. “Wouldn’t it be better to close the curtains, so no one sees you watching,” she asked, thinking back to her undercover days.
Peter turned and smiled at her. “Well, that’s the beauty of being dead,” he replied. “No one can see us.”
“Oh, duh,” Mary replied. “Sorry, I guess I’m not as awake as I thought.”
“Hey, that’s okay,” Mike replied. “We’ll close them now that you’re awake and you need some lights on. Besides, it was a quiet night. No sign of Copper.”
After pulling the curtains closed, they both followed her into the kitchen. “You might want to grab a second Diet Pepsi and put the kettle on,” Mike suggested. “Now that we closed the curtains, I’m sure Bradley and Ian are going to be coming in to see what’s going on.”
Halfway through opening the can, she stopped. “Bradley’s here?”
“He never left,” Mike said. “He and Ian were outside all night, keeping an eye on things.”
“He didn’t tell me,” she replied.
“Of course he didn’t,” Mike said. “He didn’t want you to worry.”
Smiling, she nodded. “Yeah, I would have worried,” she said, with a soft sigh. “Isn’t he just amazing?”
“Oh, sure, I stay up all night and all I get is ‘Shouldn’t you close the curtains,’” Mike grumbled. “And he sits in his car all night, eating cookies with Ian and he’s amazing.”
“You’re amazing too, Mike,” she added. “And so are you Peter. Thanks for watching over things last night.”
“All in a
day’s work,” Peter replied. “All in a day’s work.”
A knock on the door halted their conversation and Mary hurried across the room. “That’s weird, they don’t generally knock,” she said.
“Yeah, well, maybe he’s worried Margaret still has the ax,” Mike said.
“Or her chainsaw,” Mary added quietly.
She grasped the door handle and pulled open the door. “You two are the most amazing…”
Her words died in her mouth when she saw Tracey Bresnahan standing on the porch instead of Bradley and Ian. “Tracey,” she stammered. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
Smiling apologetically, Tracey shrugged. “Well, I wanted to come over first thing in the morning after I heard what happened last night.”
Peter glided across the room and stood next to Mary. “Tracey?” he said, astonished. “What in the world is she doing here?”
“Last night?” Mary asked.
Tracey nodded. “I have some relatives, actually distant relatives, who know people who work for the police department,” she explained. “I heard about the incident last night and wanted to offer my help.”
“She’s a damn mystery writer, how is she going to help?” Peter scoffed. “It’s not like she’s had any real training, like me.”
“She’s a mystery writer?” Mike asked. “She looks like someone’s mom.”
“I’m sorry,” Mary said, realizing she’d been standing in the doorway, blocking Tracey’s entrance. “Please, come in.”
Mary led Tracey into the kitchen. “What can I get you?” she asked. “I’m just putting a kettle on for tea. But I also have juice or soft drinks.”
“Tea would be great,” Tracey said. “But, don’t go to any trouble.”
Picking up the kettle and filling it in the sink, Mary shook her head. “Oh, no trouble,” she said. “So, I’m a little confused. How can you help?”
“Actually, I’ve been called in to consult on a couple of cases,” she explained. “Because of the research I’ve done, I often have a different perspective than the police.”
“And that perspective would be from the killer’s point of view,” Peter added. “And, really, from what I heard, she was very good at it. Although I never bothered to read her books.”
“How does she get a killer’s perspective?” Mike asked suspiciously, “Unless she was one.”
Mary reached up and pulled two cups from the cabinet. “How did you come by your perspective?” Mary asked.
“I’ve studied assassins,” she said, “in depth. It’s amazing to read their autobiographies, as well as the case studies about them. I’ve actually become quite an expert on them.”
“Creepy,” Mike said.
“But Copper isn’t an assassin,” Mary said. “He’s just a psychotic killer.”
Tracey nodded. “Yes, but the same basic criterion is true,” she explained. “He’s a hunter, looking to exploit his prey. If you understand hunting techniques and the mindset, it can help you predict what his next steps will be.”
The front door opened and Bradley and Ian, both unshaven and slightly rumpled, walked in. Bradley glanced at Tracey and then looked Mary. “Are you okay?” he asked Mary.
Pulling the extra can of Diet Pepsi from the countertop, she walked over to him and nodded. “Yeah, I’m great,” she said, handing him the can. “You remember Tracey Bresnahan. She’s one of the writers I’m working with on the hotel case; she’s offered to help us catch Copper.”
Bradley popped open the can and took a sip before responding. “Copper is a dangerous man,” he said. “I don’t know if you realize the risk you might be taking.”
Tracey nodded. “I’ve consulted before,” she said. “And I understand the risks. And, since Mary is helping us solve one crime, I thought it was only fair that we help her solve another.”
“I dinnae know writers were so keen on getting in on the action,” Ian said, “I’m sure you understand that your help could quite possibly put Mary in danger.”
Tracey turned to Ian, her smile not quite meeting her eyes. “How so?” she asked.
“Well, if Mary is worried about protecting you, she can’t concentrate on protecting herself,” he replied calmly. “You’d be naught but a rookie, slowing things down.”
Tracey turned back to Mary, her smile stiff. “I understand you don’t know me,” she said. “And it’s reasonable that your friends are concerned. So, why don’t I just conduct my own investigation and feed you anything I discover.”
For an instant, Mary was relieved. She really didn’t want Tracey “helping” with the investigation. She didn’t need any extra worries. Then she thought about the dangers of Tracey working the case on her own. What if she actually stumbled into a lead? What if she accidentally came across Copper? The result could be the death of her, literally. “Tracey, I would really like your help,” Mary said. “Maybe your perspective will give us the edge we need. And we can work on the cases simultaneously.”
Pausing for a moment, Tracey studied Mary and then nodded. “Great,” she finally said. “I’m ready when you are.”
They all heard the clomping of little feet coming down the staircase. “I’m starving,” Clarissa called. “I hope we’re having pancakes.”
Ian grabbed the pancake mix from the cabinet and pulled out a mixing bowl. “I like how the wee bairn thinks,” he said, as he measured the flour mixture into the bowl.
Mary turned to Tracey and smiled. “First breakfast and then we get down to work.”
Chapter Twenty-six
“When they catch the bad man will you still take me to school every day?” Clarissa asked Officer Ashley Deutsch as they walked up the path to the school.
Ashley smiled down on her. “Well, I might be able to do it sometimes,” she said. “Because we’re friends now. But I probably won’t be able to do it every day.”
Clarissa grinned up at her. “Okay. And then, someday, will you teach me how to use your gun?”
“Well, that might be something your dad will want to do,” Ashley replied. “And why do you want to learn to use a gun?”
They entered the school, Ashley waved to the security guard, and they continued down the locker-edged hall towards Clarissa’s classroom.
“Me and Maggie have been talking about what we want to do when we grow up,” Clarissa confided. “And we’re going to be like my daddy, Bradley, and Mary.”
They walked past a collage of finger-painted works of art by the kindergarten class and turned down another hall, passing the glass walls of the library. “Do you mean you’re going to be a police officer?” Ashley asked.
“Nope, I’m going to be the shooting person and Maggie’s going to be the seeing person,” she explained.
“The seeing person?” Ashley asked.
Clarissa smiled up at Ashley again. “Yes, cause Maggie can see, just like Mary does,” she explained.
Nodding slowly, clearly baffled, Ashley smiled back at Clarissa. “Well, that’s a great idea,” she encouraged. “And I’m sure you and Maggie will be great at it.”
“Yes, we’re already working on our first case,” Clarissa said.
Ashley stopped walking and looked sternly at Clarissa. “You aren’t doing anything that could be dangerous, are you?” she asked.
Shaking her head, Clarissa looked up at Ashley, wide-eyed. “Oh, no, we would never do anything that was dangerous,” she said, slipping her hand discreetly behind her back and crossing her fingers. “I promise.”
“Officer Deutsch and Clarissa, good morning,” Katie Brennan called from down the hall. “We were hoping we’d find you.”
“Clarissa,” Maggie called, running down the hall to meet her friend. “Guess what? We’re going to get our dresses fitted today after school.”
Katie rolled her eyes and turned to Ashley. “I’m sorry, I told her we needed to ask your permission first,” she said. “I’d like to take both of the girls into Rockford for a fitting this afternoon. Will that work?”
Maggie and Clarissa moved away from the adults and slipped into the empty classroom. “Did he talk to you again?” Clarissa asked Maggie.
“Uh-huh,” she replied. “He said he’s locked up somewhere, but it’s too dark for him to see.”
“That’s so sad,” Clarissa said. “He’s such a nice man. Remember when he used to give us candy at church?”
“Yes. Mr. Rupp was so nice, we have to find his body, Clarissa,” Maggie said. “We just have to!”
Chapter Twenty-seven
Mary sat at the kitchen table and nearly groaned aloud. How did she get into this situation? She should have been sterner, she should have just said no!
“So, Margaret, how do you feel about having a daughter in such a dangerous profession?” Sally Hubley asked, brushing her black hair away from her face. “I don’t think I’d allow my daughter to do something like that.”
Margaret clenched her teacup a little bit tighter and smiled at the woman. “Well, now, we can’t all have wimps for daughters can we?” she replied politely.
Mary swallowed her laughter and took a quick sip of soda.
“Mary, I feel a presence here,” Honora said, as she walked slowly around the front room. “It’s a heavenly presence, I’m sure of it.”
“Mary, tell her to stop following me,” Mike pleaded, trying to keep several feet in front of the woman. “This is getting creepy.”
“Honora, I’d like to bring you all up to date on the coroner’s report,” Mary said. “Why don’t you come back over here, so we can discuss it?”
Honora scuttled over to the table, nearly walking through Mike on the way.
“She’s more sensitive than she realizes,” he said. “She actually doesn’t believe in herself, not the way she should. It’s too bad; she’s kind of a sweet kook.”
“I don’t see why we need her in on the discussion,” Sally snapped. “It’s not like she’s going to be of any help at all.”