The paramedic took a deep breath and then continued.
“Then she gets up and motions to me, like to follow her. I can’t believe that I had the balls to do it—but, you know, you’re kinda in the moment. So I follow her and she leads me to the edge of the old woods. Then three other little girls come out of the woods—you know, just like her. She runs and joins them and then they all just fade away.
“Damn,” he swore, rubbing his arms up and down, “still gives me goose bumps.”
“Do you remember what they looked like?” Mary asked. “Any of them?”
“Yeah, I’ll never forget,” he said. “They were all about the same age—like eight—the age of my sister. Because it was getting dark, I couldn’t tell the exact color of their hair—but it was dark, you know, like brown or black.”
“None of them were blondes?” she asked.
He shook his head. “No, none of them,” he replied. “Why?”
“Nothing, just seemed strange that none of them were blondes,” she answered.
He shrugged. “Yeah, I guess so,”
“What you saw,” she said, “it was real. It was their way of asking for help. Now that you’ve told their story, someone can help them. Thank you.”
TWELVE
Once behind the wheel of her car, she made a quick call to the Ryersons explaining that she would have to meet with them the next day. She had been tempted to go back to the fort and see if she could find the girls herself, but since her head was pounding, the sun was setting and she wasn’t too sure she could walk in a straight line, she opted for home.
When Mary finally pulled the Roadster into her driveway, she was not pleased to see Bradley’s car parked in front of her house. ”Great. Just what I need—another show down,” she muttered.
She grabbed her purse and her notebook and exited the car. The world tilted when she tried to stand up and she had to grab on to the car to keep from falling. Her head was pounding and her legs felt like rubber.
“Crap,” she whispered, sweat beading on her forehead.
Seconds later she heard a car door close behind her.
“Mary, I need to talk to you,” Bradley called.
She didn’t even try to turn around. Putting all of the strength she had in sounding normal, she answered, “Not tonight, Bradley, I have a headache.”
Unfortunately, he was not deterred. “Mary, this is important,” he persisted.
She turned quickly, stumbled and fell against the hood of the car. “Damn it, Bradley, either arrest me or just leave me the hell alone.”
“Mary! Look at your face! What happened to you? Were you mugged?”
Before she could react, Bradley was next to her, his arm around her waist, half-carrying her to his vehicle. “I’m taking you to the Emergency Room.”
“Bradley, leave me alone,” she said, pushing against his shoulders and his chest.
Suddenly the vision of little Jessica Whittaker pounding against the unknown attacker’s chest came to mind and Mary felt sick to her stomach. ”Bradley,” she groaned, “stop. Right now!”
Bradley looked down at Mary. The request this time was more of a plea. Her face was ashen and she looked like she was going to… Bradley quickly helped her down to the grass, next to the curb. She leaned over and emptied her stomach all over his white-walled tires.
He held her shoulders and, when she was done, helped her sit up. ”Stay right there.”
I couldn’t move if I wanted to, Mary thought.
Bradley reached into his car and pulled out a bottle of water and a couple of wet wipes. Her hands were shaking as she swallowed a little water, but they were steadier as she wiped her face and the back of her neck. She took a shuddering deep breath and laid her head in her hands.
“You okay?” Bradley asked, kneeling by her side.
“Yeah, I think so,” she said softly.
“You barfed on official police department property,” he teased gently.
She chuckled weakly. “Probably better than barfing on the official police chief.”
“You have a point. So, you want to tell the official police chief what happened?”
“I ran into a fort,” she replied with a half-groan.
He looked over at the Roadster. “You were in a car accident?”
“No, the car was parked. I ran into a fort.”
“Was it hiding?”
“No, I just didn’t see it because I was in the past.”
Bradley was silent for a moment.
“Oh, okay, I understand,” he said, his voice clearly insinuating that he didn’t understand.
Mary shook her head and was immediately sorry. “No, you don’t understand,” she said, “and damn it, I’m too tired to explain, okay?”
Once again she found herself supported by a pair of strong arms and half-carried toward her house. But this time she was too tired and sore to argue. She just laid her head against his shoulder and enjoyed breathing in his very male scent.
Bradley helped her climb the porch stairs, which seemed much higher than ever before, and stood at the front door. “Mary, what’s your code?” he asked, looking at her keyless entry.
She looked like she was going to argue. “Damn it, Mary, I’m the police chief. And you can change it later if you’d like.”
She told him the code and he punched it in, while he held her against him.
“If I wasn’t so tired, I’d be really impressed with this show of manly strength.”
Bradley chuckled.
“Oh, crap, did I say that out loud?” she asked, mortified.
Bradley laughed.
“Yes, I suppose I did.”
He opened the door and carried her into her living room, setting her gently on the couch. “Stay,” he ordered.
She could hear him rummaging around in her kitchen. In a few moments he was back, carrying a plastic bag filled with ice cubes and a dish towel to wrap it in.
“If I could find a steak, I would have brought it. But this will do for now,” he said.
“I have a black eye?” Mary squealed, trying to sit up and look into a mirror.
Bradley held her down. ”Trust me; you don’t look bad, really.”
“You don’t lie often, do you, Chief?” Mary sniffed.
“Come on, after my display of manly strength, you can certainly call me Bradley.”
She laughed, but it hurt and she winced. He handed her some pain pills from her cabinet and a glass of water. She willingly swallowed them. “Thanks.”
“You need to see a doctor,” Bradley said.
“The nice paramedic said that I didn’t have a concussion and that I just needed to rest,” she replied.
The lack of sleep from the prior night and the long day was catching up with her. Mary could barely keep her eyes open.
“A paramedic had to look you over?”
“Well, he was there when I woke up,” she yawned.
“You fainted?” Bradley’s voice was getting more and more agitated.
“No, I think I knocked myself out,” Mary said wearily. “I don’t remember much after running into the fort.”
“You’re telling me that you actually ran, like running ran, into a fort?”
“Well, it was a meadow at the time,” she replied, her eyes slowly closing.
“Is it me or are you not making any sense?” he asked, looking down at Mary sleeping soundly on the couch. “Well, damn.”
***
The wind ruffled the sheer curtains that swept over the polished wood floor. Bradley slept in the recliner next to the couch, keeping vigil over Mary. In the hall, the antique grandfather clock struck midnight. Clear tones echoed the twelve chimes throughout the quiet house. Bradley woke, instinctively knowing something was different.
Silence shrouded the room for a moment. Then a muffled noise came from behind the basement door. Thump. Thump. Thump.
It moved closer. The doorknob rattled. Bradley pulled his service revolver from his holster and
slowly, carefully walked toward the basement door. Thump. Thump. Thump.
The door shook from the force of the blows, the damaged brass lock couldn’t hold and the door crashed open.
“Freeze, Police,” Bradley yelled, his revolver stretched out in front of him, his stanch lethal.
“Bradley, what’s going on?” Mary called.
“Stay put,” Bradley commanded, as he dove over the counter, bringing a large cookie jar with him, and rolled to face the basement stairs.
The doorway was empty. He plastered himself against the wall and investigated all of the corners of the kitchen.
“Bradley, what in the world have you done to my cookie jar?” Mary asked, her drowsy expression filled with confusion, as she entered the kitchen.
Bradley dashed through the kitchen, pulled Mary into his arms and pushed her behind him. “I told you to stay put,” he growled.
“While you destroy my kitchen? I don’t think so,” she replied.
“Mary, there is an intruder in your house,” he whispered ferociously. “An intruder.”
Mary tried to look past him to the clock on the stove, but couldn’t. “What time is it?” she finally asked.
Bradley was stunned. “Didn’t you hear me? There is an intruder in your home.”
“Yes, I heard you,” she replied and then repeated slowly, “What time is it?”
“It’s about five after twelve,” he said.
“Oh, okay, it’s Lieutenant Earl Belvidere,” she said, yawning and leaning against the counter. “Once he realizes that I’m not upstairs, he’ll come on back down.”
“What the hell?” Bradley asked.
“Shhhh, you’ll scare him.”
Bradley stood still and could hear footsteps above them.
“How the hell?”
“Shhhhh,” Mary insisted, moving toward the stairs.
Bradley moved so he was shielding Mary, his gun still drawn. He heard the footsteps on the staircase, but he couldn’t see anything. The sounds moved directly past him, but no one was there. He thought he caught a whiff of the sickly sweet smell of rotting flesh, but it was gone as quickly as it had come.
The basement door across the kitchen closed by itself, the broken lock tumbled to the floor and echoed in the now silent kitchen. Only then did he hear the retreating thumping sounds on the stairs. Then everything was quiet once again.
“But…there was no one there,” he said slowly, his wide eyes never leaving the door.
“Yeah, ghosts are pretty particular about who they show themselves to,” Mary said.
Bradley dropped back against the counter. “But there are no such things as ghosts,” he said.
“Oh, that’s right, I keep forgetting,” Mary said, walking across the kitchen. “You can clean up the cookie jar; I’m going to lie back down.”
THIRTEEN
Mary woke up slowly. Every bone in her body ached and her head felt like someone had hit it with a two-by-four. “Or a log fort,” she remembered.
She opened her eyes and gazed around the room. Definitely not her bedroom. Her gaze rested on Bradley sound asleep in the recliner. Most definitely not her bedroom.
She sat up slowly and eased out from under the comforter that someone, most likely Bradley, had tucked around her. She noticed the same someone had also slipped off her socks and shoes. Okay, that was sweet. Points for him.
She padded into the kitchen and stepped on a shard of broken cookie jar glass. “Ouch, damn, he just lost all his points.”
She remembered the midnight visitor and smiled. Men were so cute when their whole belief system was whipped out from underneath them.
She opened the broom closet and swept up the small shards Bradley had missed. Then she went upstairs to examine the damage her run-in with a fort had caused.
The slightly purple and brown mark covered half of her forehead and surrounded her left eye. “I look like the Phantom of the Opera, in graphic color,” she groaned. “The chief definitely gets his points back for not running away screaming.”
She examined herself closer. “Obviously a man who’s seen his share of hideous scenes,” she muttered.
She smiled into the mirror, remembering Bradley’s late night encounter with Earl. “He was so cute last night, protecting me from Earl. All Rambo and X-Files mixed together.”
A knock sounded on the door.
“Mary, are you okay?” Bradley asked. “Is there someone in there with you?”
“No,” Mary said, opening the door a crack and peering out. “Just talking to myself. I do that sometimes.”
He looked uncomfortable, then said, “Well, you know, after last night…I didn’t know if… I mean…I just wondered if some kind of, um, presence…”
He stopped and just stared.
“Bradley, did you need something?”
He closed his eyes for a moment and then sighed. “I just wanted to be sure that you were okay before I left,” he said.
She stepped out and closed the bathroom door behind her.
“Ouch,” Bradley grimaced. “That still looks like it hurts.”
Just what a girl wants to hear, she thought.
“Oh, it looks worse than it is,” she replied. “Can I make you breakfast before you leave?”
“No, I received a call and I’ve got to go,” he said, shaking his head. “How about a rain check?”
Mary smiled. “Sure, you’ve got it. Thanks again for helping me last night. I really appreciate it.”
“Hey, no problem,” he smiled. “But before I go, I have a question.”
“Sure, shoot,” Mary said.
“Last night, did I dream…?”
Mary shook her head. She was not going to make this easy for him. “No, you really did break my cookie jar—but considering the circumstances, don’t worry about it.”
He leaned against the hallway wall, ran his hand through his hair and sighed. “Mary, did I see a ghost in your house last night?”
Mary shook her head. “No, you didn’t.”
He looked relieved for a moment.
“You couldn’t see him. He was invisible.”
“Mary, this isn’t funny,” he said, standing up. “I think I saw a ghost.”
She leaned forward and patted his arm. “Do you want me to call your deputies and have them escort you to your office?” she asked solicitously.
“Damn it, don’t be patronizing,” he growled. “I don’t believe in ghosts.”
Mary shrugged and walked back to the bathroom. “Well, Chief, maybe they don’t believe in you either,” she said over her shoulder just before she closed the door. She was sure she heard a few choice words from the police chief as he stormed down her stairs.
FOURTEEN
A freaking ghost! He had seen a freaking ghost. Well, okay, he hadn’t seen it, but he had heard it and watched it open doors. What the hell was going on in this world?
Maybe it was a trick. Maybe Mary had lured him into her house and had the whole thing set up. He rolled his eyes and shook his head. Yeah, because that was a believable scenario.
He tried to read the reports on his desk, but his eyes would blur and he would be back in her kitchen again. Watching the door open and close. Hearing the sounds of footsteps on the stairs.
Something happened in that house that he had no logical explanation for and it left him feeling unsettled.
Mayor Hank Montague, Bradley’s boss, poked his head into the office. “Hey, Alden, can I talk to you?” he asked.
Bradley sat up in his chair and motioned to the seat on the other side of the desk. “Sure, Hank, what can I do for you?”
The mayor was a slight, dapper man with thick dark hair, a well-manicured moustache and piercing blue eyes. He took pride in his appearance and, Bradley thought, he considered himself quite a ladies’ man.
He also had a keen intelligence and plenty of political savvy. He was able to size up a person and a situation quickly and use that knowledge to his advantage.
&
nbsp; Bradley also noticed the mayor must have had a soft spot, because he surrounded himself with people who weren’t always at the top of their game. Bradley often thought of the folks at City Hall as the island of misfit toys—people who had no other place to go. Of course, Bradley mused, it also gives the mayor a great deal of loyalty from his staff.
“So, how’s the search for your wife coming along?” the mayor asked, sliding comfortably into the chair.
Bradley did a little mental head shake. Had the mayor really asked him about his wife? What the hell? That was no one’s business but his, and he certainly didn’t want it nosed around City Hall.
“Well, I’m not actively pursuing it right now,” Bradley answered coolly.
The mayor shook his head. “Nonsense, young man,” he argued. “You got the resources of the City of Freeport behind you. You go ahead and keep up with that search. You don’t know if a new lead might pop out of nowhere.”
Does he really think that’s new advice? Bradley wondered, or is he just trying to be helpful?
Bradley nodded. “Thank you, sir, I’ll certainly consider it.”
“So your little girl, she’d be about eight now, right?” he asked. “What a tragedy, you never even saw her.”
His stomach clenched. He really didn’t need to be reminded that he’d never set eyes on his daughter. He didn’t need to be reminded that she was almost eight years old.
“I’d really rather not discuss it, sir,” Bradley said firmly.
“And your wife, she just disappeared,” he continued, ignoring Bradley’s wishes. “Your house broken into, your possessions taken and your wife gone. I think something like that might drive a man a little crazy.”
Bradley sat up straighter. Had the mayor been doing a little digging on his own? Was this more of a threat than misguided concern? Bradley narrowed his eyes. “Is there something you need, sir?”
The mayor smiled. “Ah, yes, I almost forgot,” he said. “The O’Reilly gal—the witchy one—I’ve been getting some calls about her. Some of the neighbors don’t like the way she carries on.”
Crimes of Passion Page 92