by Terri Reid
“Then I got a choice,” she continued. “I heard a voice – called me by name. He gave me a choice to go back, if I wanted. But told me if I chose to return, things wouldn’t quite be the same.”
She smiled and shook her head.
“I figured, you know, that I’d walk with a limp or something. Oh, no, nothing as simple as that. When I came back I was able to see people who had died. People who hadn’t gone to the light, who needed to resolve some issues in order to get there. So, here I am – doing investigations to help move people on.”
“So, do many people have ghosts that they need you to help move on?” Susan asked.
Mary laughed, thinking of her night-time visitor. “No, most of my customers are the ghosts themselves. It makes giving out references a bitch, but, hey, it’s a living.”
Mary leaned back in her chair, “So, now that you know my story, why don’t you tell me yours?”
Susan took a deep breath, leaned forward in her chair and whispered, “First, I need to be assured that everything I say is held in the strictest confidence.”
“Of course.”
Susan studied Mary’s eyes for a moment, then continued, “I believe my husband and I are being haunted. And I believe the ghost is a young woman who died at our home many years ago.”
Mary sipped her tea. After a moment she asked, “Why would someone, this young woman, haunt you?”
Susan’s eyes glanced away for a moment and then met Mary’s straight on.
“Because she might not have just died as we assumed. I think she might have been murdered.”
* * * * *
Chapter Four
That evening Mary found herself once again navigating the winding roads that twisted through the northwest landscape of Illinois. It was tricky driving on them during the day, but on a cold, drizzly fall evening, the roads could be considered close to treacherous. Not only did Mary have to worry about meeting white-tailed deer on the road, she also had to keep her temper when non-local drivers sped past her like they were on an interstate, rather than a two-lane highway.
“If you crash and end up a ghost, don’t come to me begging for help,” she muttered as a sporty Mercedes whizzed past her at a tricky overpass. Mary tightened her grip on the steering wheel and shook her head, “Idiots!”
She entered the Tapley Woods Conservation Area and slowed down. If there was any place on this road for a run-in with a white-tail, this would be it. A movement and a glimmer of white in the woods drew her attention, but disappeared before she could get a good look at it.
Exiting Tapley Woods, she turned right on a road leading to a ridge overlooking the town of Galena. The homes in this area were an eclectic combination of estates and week-end hunting retreats. She found the address Susan Ryerson had given her and pulled into the drive. This was no week-end hunting retreat. The stately mansion stood about a half mile back from the road and looked imposing sitting on the slight rise before her.
She put the car into first gear and continued slowly up the drive, glancing carefully at the tall trees that stood on either side. The vegetation made it nearly impossible for her to see the grounds beyond the drive. But the familiar chill running down her spine told her the house was indeed hiding a secret.
She parked in the circular drive and climbed the marble steps to the oversized oak door. She only waited a few moments after pressing the doorbell before she could hear the sharp clicking of high heels against ceramic tile. Susan opened the door and invited Mary inside.
“I’m grateful that you could come tonight,” Susan said, “Joseph, the senator, is in Chicago and I really didn’t want him to be here when you came.”
“Have you talked to him about the ghost?” Mary asked.
Susan shook her head. “No. But I’ve seen him looking at the same area I’ve seen her. Because he doesn’t speak about it, I thought perhaps it was too painful.”
“Have you considered that this is something he would rather not have investigated?” she asked.
Susan’s eyes widened for a moment, “Why wouldn’t he…,” she paused. “Are you saying that you think my husband might have been involved with her murder?”
Mary shrugged.
“I’m not drawing any assumptions yet – I haven’t even seen the ghost. But if I find out that there was a murder and he was involved, I can’t leave it there. I’ll have to investigate,” she replied firmly.
“Is that some kind of private investigator’s rule?” Susan asked.
Mary shook her head.
“No, it’s my rule. I’m all about getting these ghosts to the other side. And they won’t go until things are settled.
“So, do you want me to continue?” Mary asked.
Susan paused a moment and linked her hands together at her waist. “Well, I guess it comes down to trust,” she said, almost to herself. She looked up and nodded.
“Yes, I trust Joseph. I don’t think he had anything to do with her murder,” she said firmly. “Yes, I want you to continue.”
Mary hoped Susan’s trust was well placed.
“Great, then let’s get going,” she said, “Where do you see the ghost?”
Susan led Mary across the hall and opened a large door.
“This is the ballroom,” she said, as they entered the room, “The kids actually used it for roller skating when they were young. Now, it mostly sits empty.”
She walked over to a grouping of switches and flicked on a few, casting the room into dim light.
The room was about the size of the gymnasium at the local high school.
“Wow,” Mary said, “Nice.”
The room had soaring ceilings with crystal chandeliers, a parquet wood floor, a wall of leaded glass windows and French doors that led to a stone-covered terrace.
In one corner sat a gleaming black grand piano that looked like it was well used. There were chairs pushed back against the wall and a rolled up rug against another.
“The first time I saw her, I was searching for some sheet music,” Susan said, walking across the room to the grand piano. “I keep music in the bench.”
They reached the piano and Susan pointed across the room near the terrace doors.
“She appeared there,” she said, “Then she walked out through the French doors.”
Mary nodded and reached into her pocket for her penlight.
“Are you prepared to follow her tonight?” she asked.
Susan looked startled for a moment. “Do you need me?” she asked.
Mary hid a smile. She had almost forgotten that the general population would rather not have to know that ghosts exist, much less follow them around.
“If you want to come, I’d welcome your input,” Mary said, “But you have to decide what makes you feel comfortable.”
Susan bit her lower lip nervously.
“Why don’t we wait and see what happens,” she suggested.
Mary nodded, slipped her penlight back into her pocket and pulled a notebook out of her purse. “Why don’t I ask you a couple of questions to help me in my research,” she said.
Susan sat on the bench and Mary leaned against the piano, her pen posed on the paper.
“About what time of day did you see her?” she asked.
“It was about 8:30 at night,” Susan replied.
Mary watched Susan’s eyes flick nervously across the room.
“And the other times, when you came back at the same time, did she reappear?”
Susan’s startled eyes flew back to Mary. “How do, how did…” she stammered.
“You’re a curious and intelligent woman,” Mary shrugged, “Of course you’d come back here to make sure it wasn’t your imagination or a passing car light reflected in the windows. So, how many times?”
Susan shrugged. “I’ve seen her four additional times since the first night,” she admitted, “always at the same time, always in the same place.”
Mary nodded and noted it. She watched Susan fidget and wondered what else
the woman was not telling her. She only had a few minutes before the ghost was scheduled to appear, so she’d have to trust her gut.
“Can I have a copy of the information you’ve found on the woman who died?” she asked in a matter-of-fact voice.
Once again, Susan looked flustered, and then shook her head.
“You are very good at this, aren’t you?”
Mary smiled. “I’m the best.”
Susan looked up and her eyes caught across the room. Mary followed her gaze. In the far corner, a soft haze appeared close to the French doors. The haze began to take shape and in a moment they were staring at a dark-haired young woman, dressed in a short dress.
“I’ll have the files waiting for you, when you get back,” Susan whispered, her voice shaky.
Mary nodded, her attention on the movements of the ghost across the room. She watched as the ghost looked around the room and smiled, motioning with her eyes and with subtle movements to someone unseen. Then, with a last secretive smile, she slid out of the room through the French doors.
Mary called back to Susan as she jogged across the room, “I’ll try to find out what she wants.”
Mary pushed open the French doors, scanning the terrace with her flashlight. At the far corner, she saw the ghost slowly gliding down the stairs towards the garden. Mary followed.
The evening sky was dark – clouds covered the nearly full moon and the stars – but thankfully the rain had stopped. Mary pulled her jacket tighter and followed the translucent glow across the lawn, trying to avoid slipping on the wet leaves that carpeted the grass. Beyond the manicured lawn, the informal garden was overgrown with trees and vegetation. Mary pushed through the wet, dead limbs to find the path that the ghost slid through effortlessly.
“Someone needs to fire the gardener,” Mary muttered, when a particularly lethal-looking branch just missed her face. “Or shoot him.”
Once through the barrier of the garden, Mary felt the landscape begin to slope downward. The grass was knee-high, but she had a clearer view of the ghost.
She stumbled forward, her foot catching on a hidden root, and ended up on her hands and knees on the muddy path. “Crap!” Looking up quickly to be sure she didn’t lose the direction of the ghost, she was rewarded with a splash of cold water that dripped onto her head, down her forehead and into her eyes. Wiping her eyes with her sleeve, she scurried to her feet and half jogged down the trail to catch up. She saw her about fifteen feet further up the path when the ghost drifted behind a tall dense wall of privet hedges and disappeared from view.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Mary panted and broke into a run. She pushed through the hedge and found herself in an old maze. The walls reached above her head and a narrow aisle of about three feet separated them. Her flashlight beam bounced off the ragged edges of the brush and created eerie shadow figures that seemed to be reaching out skeletal hands, ready to pull her into their grasp. She paused and took a deep breath.
“Get a grip, O’Reilly. You chase ghosts for a living for heaven’s sakes,” she muttered and continued her jog up the aisle.
She flashed her light ahead and was greeted with three path choices. None looked particularly welcoming.
“Choose the right,” she sang softly, repeating the words from a childhood Sunday school song. But just as she moved towards the right, the glimpse of a white, translucent leg disappearing at the end of the one on the left had Mary jogging down that narrow passageway. “Sure hope it’s the same ghost.”
She turned at the end of the row and was greeted by a dead end. “I know I saw her come this way.”
Mary turned and flashed her light around the small enclosure, carefully studying the growth in front of her. A shape incongruent with nature caught her attention and she reached forward through the hedge and clasped cold metal. She pushed the brush aside and found a wrought iron fence. Jiggling the latch several times to loosen the rusted mechanism, she forced it open and strained against the plant covered gate. Finally it started to move and Mary put her weight against it. The gate inched slowly forward and Mary squeezed through.
“Crap, this rust is going to stain,” she muttered as the gate caught at her clothing.
But her concern about the damage to her wardrobe was instantly erased when she slipped past the gate and stepped into a different world.
“Whoa.”
The temperature was suddenly warm. Downright balmy, like summer, she thought. I have now entered the Twilight Zone.
The garden was manicured and little lights were placed strategically along the paved walkway. She could hear water flowing ahead, beyond a privacy wall. She followed the path and skirted the wall.
The water was turquoise blue, reflecting the color of the swimming pool. Patio furniture surrounded the pool, waiting for a party. Moving forward she saw the ghost sitting on the edge of the pool, her feet slapping against the surface of the water. She heard her laugh – an echo of a laugh from a long time ago.
Mary moved forward to see if the ghost would speak with her, but before she could move, the story started to unfold before her eyes. The ghost laughed and leaned back, her voice was too low for Mary to hear. But she could see her whispering, an intimate conversation like she was talking to a lover. The ghost slid into the water, floating for a moment.
That’s strange, Mary thought, she’s not dressed for swimming.
Slowly the translucent woman drifted under the water, her eyes open, her smile dreamy. Mary watched, transfixed, as she drifted in the pool of blue. Then her eyes widened and her smile turned to fear. Bubbles rushed to the surface of the pool as the ghost struggled against the unseen force that held her under.
Mary moved to help, but stopped, remembering she was seeing a vision of the past. Finally, after a few of the longest minutes in Mary’s life, the bubbles stopped and the body drifted to the bottom of the pool.
Instantly, the scene changed. Mary was staring at an abandoned pool, cracks in the sides, weeds growing up from the dirt collected on the bottom.
Gone was the furniture, patio lights and neatly manicured gardens. In their place was darkness, neglect and the frigid sensation of death. A cold spot. Mary shivered before the cold wind reminded her she was back in the present.
She flashed her light beam around the area and then down into the pool where the body had drifted moments before. Only cracked concrete was visible.
Mary took a deep shuddering breath. This had not been an accidental drowning. Someone had indeed murdered this woman.
She turned and found herself face to face with the phantom. Wet hair was plastered against her ice-blue face. Her clothing dripped with water, her eyes intense. Mary gasped and stepped back, her heart thudding against her chest.
She took a quick calming breath, “How, how can I help you?”
Mary could feel the grief emanating from the ghost in front of her. Tears filled the ghost’s eyes. Instinctively, Mary reached out – only to find her hand moving through the ethereal body.
“Let me help you,” she repeated.
The ghost shook her head slowly. “Why did he kill me? Why did he kill my baby?” she whispered and faded into the dark night.
A formal tea was laid out in the parlor when Mary returned. Susan Ryerson sat stiffly on the edge of a small loveseat, her hands clasped in her lap. Although her body language screamed that she was tense, her smile was welcoming and warm.
A perfect political wife, Mary thought as she walked across the room and sat directly across from Susan. But would she kill for her husband?
“Were you able to follow her?” Susan asked, biting her lower lip.
Mary nodded, helped herself to a cup of tea and sipped slowly. She watched Susan over the rim of her cup. Her granddad had taught her that sometimes you learn more by keeping quiet than by questioning a suspect. As far as she was concerned, Susan Ryerson was still on the list.
Susan twisted her hands in her lap.
“Did she say anything?” she asked.
> Mary took her time replacing her cup in the saucer and then met Susan’s eyes. She needed to do some investigation before she mentioned everything she had learned from the ghost – especially the part about the baby.
“She was murdered,” she stated baldly. “Someone held her under the water until she drowned.”
Susan tried to cover her gasp and schooled her features into calm. But when she reached for her own cup of tea, her hand was shaking too much to lift the cup. Mary reached across the small table and placed her hand over Susan’s. Susan lifted her head and looked into Mary’s eyes.
“Do you, does she know…” Susan stumbled.
“She doesn’t know who killed her and neither do I,” Mary answered. “And I’m not going to draw any conclusions until I get more information.”
Susan reached for a large manila envelope and handed it to Mary.
“I pulled the local newspaper archives about her death. At the time everyone thought it was an accidental drowning,” she said, “I never questioned it, until…”
“Until you saw the ghost for yourself?” Mary added.
Susan nodded.
“I also pulled her old personnel record from my husband’s campaign files,” she said, “She was his assistant.”
Mary nodded, opened the file and glanced through the information.
“Renee Peterson,” she said, reading from the employment application. “She was born in 1960 – so she would have been about 24 years old when she died.”
Susan nodded.