by Terri Reid
She grinned at him. “It was so fun,” she said, her eyes widening. “My mom would never let us do something like that.”
“Your mom is very smart,” Bradley replied.
Andy came up next to him, a worried line furrowing his forehead. “Stanley said it was okay. Honest.”
Bradley reached over and ruffled the boy’s hair, a puff of flour escaping into the air. “Well, then, it must have been okay, because Stanley knows what he’s doing,” he said. “But we might want to clean it up before Mary and Ian get home.”
Bradley shrugged off his coat and hung it in the closet. He rolled up the sleeves to his uniform shirt, exposing muscular forearms with a light dusting of dark hair. He smiled to the children. “Come on; let’s clean the kitchen so Rosie can keep cooking.”
“Oh, no, Bradley,” Rosie fluttered. “I can’t let you clean up this mess. You’ve worked all day. You probably haven’t eaten dinner. You need too…”
Bradley looked over his shoulder at her, while he walked into the kitchen. “I’m fine, Rosie, real…ahhhhhh!”
Slipping on the slick floury kitchen floor, Bradley windmilled his arms as his feet flew out from under him and he landed on his back in a huge puff of white powder. He groaned softly.
“Bradley, are you okay?” Rosie gasped.
He nodded, raising his head and looking over at her. “Yeah. But you stay where you are, I don’t want you to slip.”
She giggled softly. “Oh, no, I don’t want to end up on my backside either.”
Bradley turned the other way to see both Maggie and Andy staring at him, their eyes wide and their faces worried. “If either of you laughs at me, you’re in trouble,” he said with a grin.
Andy slapped both hands over his mouth, but it was too late. A chortle escaped. Bradley rolled over and grabbed Andy around the waist, carefully wrestling him to the floor. “Now, you’re in for it,” he threatened, scooping up a handful of flour and stuffing it down Andy’s shirt.
“This is war,” Andy yelled, tossing fistfuls of flour into the air in the general direction of Bradley’s head.
“Yeah, war,” Maggie shouted, jumping on top of both of them.
Mary hurried up the front porch stairs. “I can’t believe it’s so late,” she said, punching the security code into the lock. “I hope Bradley hasn’t been here for long.”
“Don’t worry,” Ian said. “Rosie’s probably got the kids in bed, the cinnamon rolls made and the kitchen in perfect order.”
“Yeah,” Mary agreed, her hand on the door knob. “And Bradley’s probably relaxing with his feet up.”
Mary stepped into the house and stared at the confusion in the kitchen. “Well,” she said to Ian. “I was right about one thing; Bradley does have his feet up.”
Bradley was lying on his back in the middle of the kitchen floor, his legs wrapped around Andy who was liberally sprinkling him with a dust pan filled with flour. Maggie appeared from the other side of the kitchen, poured a wooden spoon filled with flour on both of them, and danced back, keeping a step or two away from Bradley’s outstretched arms.
“Get back here, you traitor,” Bradley called. “You promised you would be on my side.”
“I’m on my own side,” Maggie giggled.
Mary closed the door with a slight thump and the room was immediately quiet.
“Uh, oh,” Maggie whispered, hiding the spoon behind her back.
Bradley turned towards the door and Andy dumped the remaining flour onto the side of his face, covering him completely. He coughed and a cloud of flour surrounded his head.
“Ian, you’re home,” Maggie yelled, running across the room and throwing her flour covered body against him.
He caught her up in his arms and looked down at her. “So, who do I have in me arms?” he asked. “It looks like a sugar cookie, not quite cooked.”
She giggled. “It’s me, Maggie,” she explained. “Me and Andy are helping Chief Alden clean up the flour.”
“And doing a remarkable job at it,” Ian said, glancing over at Bradley. “Remind me never to hire you as a cleaning lady.”
Bradley coughed again and blinked away the flour covering his eyes. “We seem to have had a little accident here,” he explained.
Mary strolled across the room and looked at them. Both were covered with flour, their dark hair barely visible beneath the coating of white. Andy’s face was a patchwork of freckles and flour. Bradley’s an interesting combination of five o’clock shadow and white.
“So, um, what happened?” Mary asked.
“We was cleaning up the mess Stanley made,” Andy explained, “And then Chief Alden slipped and fell on the floor. I was laughing so hard I spilled some flour on him.”
Bradley coughed again, but this time it was directed at Andy.
Andy sighed. “Okay, I threw some flour at him,” he admitted. “But he threw it back at me.”
“He started it,” Bradley said.
Mary bit the inside of her lip to keep from laughing and just shook her head. “I want you both to go out to the back porch and shake off as much flour as you can,” she ordered.
“Yes, Mary,” Andy said, trying to hid a grin.
Bradley stood up, showering the area with more flour. “Yes, Mary,” Bradley repeated, but when she tried to turn away he caught her and gave her a big floury hug. “He did start it.”
“You are such an idiot,” she laughed, pushing him away and dusting herself off. “Go outside, now!”
“Do I have to go outside too, Mary?” Maggie asked.
Ian carried her over to the sink and stood her up on the counter. “Ach, no, I’ll have you cleaned up in a trice,” he said.
He pulled a feather duster out of the cabinet below the sink and held it in front of the little girl. “Are you ticklish by any chance?” he asked.
She giggled. “No,” she lied.
He ran the duster across the top of her head and she laughed uncontrollably.
“I think you fibbed.”
Mary grabbed a large bath towel and joined them at the sink. “I think this might do a better job,” she said, wiping most of the flour off the little girl. “And now, my dear, I think it’s time for a bath.”
An hour later, the children were finally calm and in their beds. The kitchen was clean and cinnamon rolls were rising on the countertop.
Rosie and Stanley stood at the doorway ready to leave. Stanley’s hair was still covered in flour and Rosie was trying hard to stifle her laughter. “Just put those rolls in the refrigerator once they’re done rising,” she said. “Then you can bake them in the morning.”
“Thank you for making them and watching the children,” Mary said.
“Oh, well, it was much more fun than I had imagined,” Rosie giggled. “Stanley and I will come back tomorrow morning.”
She leaned forward and whispered. “And you can tell me about you-know-what.”
Nodding, Mary glanced over her shoulder to where Bradley was standing next to the sink, dressed only in his t-shirt, uniform pants and socks, shaking the flour out of his shirt and shoes. “Perfect, see you then.”
She closed the door after them, leaned against the wall and sighed. “Well, that was fun,” she said.
Bradley, his hair still peppered with flour, looked up from the shirt and sighed. “I really am sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean for it to get so out of hand.”
“Yeah, I watched the whole thing,” Mike added. “He’s the victim here all right. There were two of them and they took him by surprise. He didn’t have a chance.”
Ian chuckled. “Aye, they’re a crafty team, alright,” he said. “Posing as innocent children, and yet, they’re probably wee bakers with an ax to grind or at the very least, some wheat to grind.”
“Very funny,” Bradley grumbled.
He rolled his shirt up in a ball and picked up his shoes. “Are you sure you don’t need my help with the bathroom clean-up?” he asked. “I’m sure it’s pretty bad.”
> “Mike and I are going up there just now,” Ian said. “So, you two say your good-byes and don’t worry about us.”
“I’m just supervising,” Mike said, as he floated up the stairs behind Ian. “There’s no way I want flour stuck to me. I’d look like a ghost.”
Bradley chuckled and walked over to Mary. He put his hands against the wall behind her and slowly leaned towards her. “Is this okay?” he asked, “Any flashbacks?”
She lowered her head and then shook it.
He bent his head, trying to make eye contact, but she dropped her face even further.
“Mary, are you okay?” he asked. “Am I frightening you?”
A chortle escaped her lips and he watched her shoulders shake in silent laughter. She finally lifted her head; tears were streaming down her face which was red from trying to hold back her amusement. She lifted her hand to her mouth, “I’m so sorry,” she giggled. “I was really trying…”
He lifted her chin with his finger. “Trying to do what? Resist my half-baked personality?”
She giggled, “I am trying to watch my carb intake.”
He placed a lingering kiss on her jawline. “So, the Pillsbury Dough Boy doesn’t turn you on?” he asked.
She shuddered with delight. “Well,” she exclaimed, clearing her throat. “He never did in the past.”
He grinned and kissed her again. “Let’s see if I can’t just help you change your mind about baked goods.”
She slipped her arms around his neck and threaded her fingers into his hair, releasing a small cascade of flour onto both of them. “I just decided that I really love carbs.”
He smiled down at her, his eyelids half closed, his smile lazy. “Well, that’s a bonus for both of us,” he whispered, before he leaned down and crushed his mouth against hers.
Chapter Twenty-one
The scent of freshly baked cinnamon rolls greeted Ian as he strolled down the stairs the next morning. He looked into the kitchen and found Mary scooping the rolls onto a platter and humming softly to herself, her face aglow.
“So, up early this morning, I see,” he said, sauntering over to the counter and helping himself to a roll.
“I had a great night’s sleep,” she replied. “Can’t recall when I’ve slept as well.”
“Aye, there’s naught like a bit of smooching and hugging to chase the goblins away, I always say,” he said, winking at her.
Mary blushed. “Shut up and eat your roll,” she ordered.
Grinning, he took a big bite and closed his eyes in ecstasy. “Ah, the woman is a saint,” he moaned, “that’s all I have to say.”
Mary grinned. “Yes, she is and she’s a pretty good cook too.”
Ian chuckled. “Aye, that she is,” he said, placing his elbows on the counter and smiling up at Mary. “And so, darling, aside from the humming and the beaming, how are you really feeling this morning?”
Pulling a couple of saucers and some cups from the cabinet and placing them on the counter, she took a few moments before answering him. “Last night…when Bradley kissed me…I felt like things had returned to normal,” she said slowly. “In the back of my mind I was a little worried I’d start getting flashbacks. But, once we got…going.” She blushed. “I kind of…I didn’t…”
“You were a little too preoccupied to think about the back of your mind?” Ian suggested.
She nodded and rolled her eyes. “Yes, exactly,” she said, “And please stop grinning at me.”
He pushed himself off the counter and walked around it to stand next to her. “I’m grinning because your happiness is contagious,” he said. “There’s naught like a lass in love. But, you need to realize it doesn’t mean everything’s fine about you.”
She nodded. “I know,” she said. “Small steps.”
“Aye,” he agreed. “Small steps.”
Just then they heard a noise from upstairs. “Speaking of small steps,” Ian said. “I do believe we are going to be invaded.”
Maggie and Andy hurtled down the stairs. “I smell cinnamon rolls,” Andy announced, “And I’m hungry as a bear.”
“Me too,” Maggie added, “A polar bear.”
“A polar bear?” Ian asked.
“Cause it’s snowy outside,” Maggie explained.
“Duh,” Mary whispered to Ian, and then in a normal voice, she added, “So, who’s ready for cinnamon rolls and milk?”
“Did you see the ghost at the high school?” Andy asked between bites.
“Aye, we did,” Ian said, “Although I have to say Mary was a wee bit frightened. Of course, I protected her.”
Maggie smiled at Ian. “I wouldn’t be afraid of ghosts,” she said, wiping some frosting from her mouth. “I like ghosts.”
Andy rolled his eyes. “I bet you’d scream your head off if you saw one,” he said.
“Would not,” she replied.
“Would too.”
“Would not.”
Mary looked over at Ian and grinned. “See what you started.”
“Did not,” he replied.
“Did so.”
“Did not.”
“Everyone just shut up!” Mike roared, appearing next to the counter in the kitchen. “You’re making enough noise to wake the dead and I should know!”
“Would too,” Andy said with a triumphant smile, and then he looked around the room. “What?”
Mary and Ian stood in stunned silence and watch Maggie shyly smile at Mike.
“Andy, why don’t you go up and brush your teeth,” Mary said. “I’ll help Maggie with hers down here.”
Andy stuffed the last bit of roll into his mouth and darted up the stairs.
Ian slid into Andy’s chair and turned to Maggie. “So, darling, is there a special reason you’re not afraid of ghosts?” he asked.
She giggled softly and quickly glanced at Mike and then away again. “No.”
“The jigs up sweetheart,” Mike said in his best Bogart impression. “They can see me too.”
Maggie’s eyes went wide with wonder. “Really, you can see Fireman Mike?” she asked.
Kneeling down in front of her chair, Mary faced the little girl. “Yes, we can,” she said. “But how did you know his name was Mike?”
“He’s my guardian angel,” she said with a radiant smile. “He protects me while I sleep so I don’t have to be afraid when Mommy and Daddy aren’t here.”
Mike shrugged. “She needed a drink of water the other night and it was dark in her room,” he explained. “I figured since I was up…”
Mary smiled at him. “That was very sweet of you,” she said. “You make a good guardian angel.”
Turning back to Maggie, she asked, “So, sweetheart, about Fireman Mike, I think it’s probably smart to keep him our secret.”
Maggie sighed and nodded. “I know. Some people just don’t know how to handle ghosts,” she said.
Ian leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Aye, darling, most people don’t know how to handle ghosts, but I can see you do. Perhaps when you’ve grown a bit you can come and work for me.”
“After we’re married?” she asked.
He chuckled, “Aye, after we’re married.”
Mary stood up and offered her hand to Maggie. “Come on; let’s go get your teeth brushed before the bus comes.”
Ten minutes later, the house was finally quiet again. Maggie and Andy had been successfully placed on the bus with their backpacks and lunches. Maggie’s secreted wave at Mike convinced Mary and Ian that she would not be sent to the school psychologist for mentioning she could see dead people.
“Was that crazy or what?” Ian asked, closing the door as the bus pulled away from the curb.
“Well, I can tell you one thing,” Mike said. “I’m not the first ghost she’s seen.”
“What?” Mary exclaimed, quickly turning towards him, her hands filled with plates and cups. “Why would you say that?”
“Because when she saw me hovering next to the bed she merely said, ‘Oh,
hello,’ rather than ‘AHHHHHHHHHHH.’”
“Aye, that would be a dead giveaway,” Ian said. “No offense intended.”
Mike chuckled. “None taken.”
Shaking her head, Mary slipped the dishes into the sink and started loading the dishwasher. “I’m not sure this is healthy for her,” she said. “In the real world most little girls her age play with Barbies, not dead people.”
“Of course it’s healthy,” Ian said, popping another piece of cinnamon roll into his mouth. “And it’s bloody fortuitous. She won’t live her life thinking she’s nuts. She’ll understand that other people have her special gift and she’ll have, in a way, a support group.”
Shrugging, Mike floated towards Mary. “He has a point. I think it’s great she’s not afraid of me,” he said. “But she also needs to learn that not all spirits are friendly Fireman Mike. So, I agree, it’s a good thing.”
Mary closed the dishwasher and pressed the button to get it started. “Okay, maybe you’re right,” she said. “But I’m going to speak with her mother about it, just so she knows.”
“That’s a good idea,” Ian said. “Research shows that this kind of gift is passed down through bloodlines. Perhaps Katie is able to see ghosts too.”
“Well, she’s always seemed open to what I do,” Mary agreed. “Perhaps she does.”
“In the meantime,” Ian said. “We’ve got a mystery to solve. How do we go about getting access to the high school after hours?”
“I’ll call Bradley at the office,” Mary said, walking over to the table and reaching for her cell. “I’m sure he’ll be able to…”
“Bradley’s not in the office today,” Mike said, hesitating for a moment.
“Where is he?” Mary asked. “Mike, is something wrong?”
“They’re exhuming Jeannine’s body today,” he replied. “He’s gone into Chicago to be there.”
Mary sat down on a chair and shook her head. “Oh, poor Bradley,” she whispered. “He shouldn’t have to do this by himself.”
“He won’t be by himself,” Mike said. “He went to see Jeannine’s parents yesterday. They’re going to meet him there.”
“I’m so glad,” she said. “They all need closure.”