by Terri Reid
Treasured Legacies
A MARY O’REILLY PARANORMAL MYSTERY
(Book Twelve)
by
Terri Reid
“…You have crossed the chasm, deep and wide—
Why build you the bridge at the eventide?”
The builder lifted his old gray head:
“Good friend, in the path I have come,” he said,
“There followeth after me today
A youth whose feet must pass this way.
This chasm that has been naught to me
To that fair-haired youth may a pitfall be.
He, too, must cross in the twilight dim;
Good friend, I am building the bridge for him.”
The Bridge Builder - Will Allen Dromgoole
This book is dedicated to my parents, Richard and Virginia Onines, whose legacy of hard-work, compassion, love and encouragement has touched countless lives. And whose patient and tireless bridge-building has saved many weary travelers. I love you!
TREASURED LEGACIES – A MARY O’REILLY PARANORMAL MYSTERY
by
Terri Reid
Copyright © 2014 by Terri Reid
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/ use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
The author would like to thank all those who have contributed to the creation of this book: Richard Reid, Sarah Powers, Richard Onines, Virginia Onines, Denise Carpenter, Juliette Wilson and Cyndy Ranzau.
She would also like to thank all of the wonderful readers who walk with her through Mary and Bradley’s adventures and encourage her along the way. I hope we continue on this wonderful journey for a long time.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-one
Chapter Forty-two
Chapter Forty-three
Chapter Forty-four
Chapter Forty-five
Chapter Forty-six
Chapter Forty-seven
Prologue
The wind rushed through the tops of the trees, sending a shower of gold and red leaves down onto the driveway between the back porch and the barnyard. Dale Johnson mentally added raking the back yard to his ever growing list of things to do as he lifted the collar of his barn coat against the cold wind and made his way to the calf pen.
His children, two sons and a daughter, had taken over most of the running of the farm now that he was nearing retirement, but there were a few things he still enjoyed doing and taking care of the calves was one of them. He turned on the spigot that filled the trough with cold water and then walked over to the barn to scoop grain into buckets. He filled two five-gallon pails and carried them back to the pen, letting himself into the fenced-in area. He dumped the grain into the smaller buckets and then turned to greet the curious animals. The calves came over to him, pushing their soft velvet noses into his hand for the small pieces of apple he carried in his coat pocket. “Hey there, Buster,” he laughed at a particularly aggressive bull calf. “How about sharing with the others?”
The little calf just nosed in further, trying to investigate Dale’s pocket, and left a smear of saliva across the front of the canvas coat. “There you go, making a mess,” Dale laughed. “What in the world is the missus going to say when she sees this?”
He patted the calf on the head, gently pushed it on its way, picked up the empty buckets and moved to turn off the spigot. As he shut off the water, he paused and looked carefully at the grain bin across the yard from him. The small door at the bottom of one of the grain silos was open. Shaking his head, he let himself out of the pen, put the buckets on the ground and walked over to the 80-foot-tall concrete silo.
The field corn harvest was just beginning; the combines were out in the fields, harvesting the grain and dumping it into the backs of the waiting trucks. Most of the silos on the farm were already filled with oats or silage, but the few remaining silos closest to the barn were used for corn storage.
Dale grabbed hold of the iron hatch and pulled the door open the rest of the way. He peered inside, not wanting to risk trapping someone inside the huge cylinder. Stepping through the hatchway, about two feet above the ground, he let his eyes adjust to the dimness of the interior and then looked around. The silo had been recently cleaned and now awaited the new harvest’s bounty. The silo was made up of layers of cement tiles and steel hoops stacked one above the other, to the height needed for storage. He looked up and could only see a pinpoint of light where the top of the silo opened for the grain to be poured in through a series of augers on the outside of the building.
“I’ll have to have a talk with the kids,” he muttered. “Be a damn shame if part of the harvest came spilling out all over the ground because someone was careless. They should know better.”
He grabbed hold of the silo wall and bent over to exit the hatchway. Hearing a noise just outside, he started to turn, but a solid blow to the back of his head had him reeling and falling back into the interior of the silo. He looked up and once again could see the pinpoint of light, but then everything went black.
Was it raining outside? Dale wondered as he woke up. It was dark and he could hear the sound of rain hitting the roof. Suddenly, he was pelted with something small and hard. He opened his eyes and sat up, nearly fa
inting in the process. His head was pounding. What the hell happened?
He was pelted again and realized he was being hit with small pieces of corn. His stomach twisted and his heart pounded. He wasn’t in his house; he was in the grain silo!
Struggling to his feet, he lurched to the wall and found the hatch. He found the latch and pushed, but it was stuck fast. Pounding on it, bloodying his hands, he tried again and again to unlatch the door.
The grain was now being emptied into the silo at a rapid rate. Dust from the corn was filling the interior and Dale coughed as he continued to fight with the door. “Help me,” he yelled, “I’m caught in here!”
The roar of the auger and the dump truck drowned out his voice, but he kept calling out and pounding on the metal door. “I’m in here,” he screamed, as the grain filled the bottom of the silo, first covering his feet, then his knees, his hips and finally, it was waist high.
He thought about his family, especially his wife, who would be waiting supper for him. He thought about his grandkids, who he’d never see grow up. He thought about his kids and prayed they wouldn’t blame themselves for the accident. Finally, as the grain moved up past his chin, he took a final deep breath and thought about dying.
Chapter One
Mary’s cell phone rang as Bradley left their bedroom to help Clarissa. Mary was in bed, by order of her doctor, after her encounter with a serial killer. She reached over and picked up the phone. “Hello?”
“May I speak with Mary Alden please?”
“This is Mary Alden,” Mary replied with a little smile as she repeated her fairly new last name.
“Hello, Mary, this is Freeport Hospital with your lab results,” the woman on the other end said. “There is no internal bleeding, but you did have a minor concussion. You can take acetaminophen, but nothing stronger, and no ibuprofen because of your condition.”
“My condition?” Mary asked, worried.
“Oh, you did know you are pregnant, didn’t you?” the nurse said.
Mary sat up straight. “I’m sorry, could you please repeat that?”
“You did know you are pregnant?” she repeated.
Shaking her head, Mary took a deep shuddering breath. “No. No, I didn’t know that,” she said. “And how do you know? I didn’t ask to be tested… I never even considered…”
“When we do blood work in the Emergency Room, we routinely screen for pregnancy in case any procedures that might be dangerous for the baby are suggested. You don’t have to ask for it.”
“But, are you sure?” Mary asked. “That I’m still…you know…”
For some reason she couldn’t bring herself to say the word.
“Pregnant,” the nurse stated. “Well, a positive indicator on a pregnancy test means that you have a hormone called human chorionic gonadotropin or hCG in your bloodstream. That hormone is released by your placenta soon after fertilization. The hormone levels increase as the pregnancy increases. However, considering what happened to you during the assault, I can’t guarantee that you are still pregnant. I can only tell you that there are appropriate hormone levels in your system to indicate a positive test result.”
“So, what do I do?” Mary asked.
“I can’t give you medical advice,” she said. “But I would suggest you go see your OB/GYN before you do anything else.”
“Thanks, that’s a good idea,” Mary replied with a sigh.
“And be positive and happy,” the nurse added. “Endorphins are good for the baby.”
“I will,” Mary said, a smile on her face. “Thank you.”
She hung up the phone, lay back against the pillows and tentatively placed her hands on her abdomen. “Oh, please be okay,” she whispered, running her hands slowly up and down her sides.
“Hey, who was on the phone?” Bradley asked, carrying in a plate of cookies and a glass of milk.
Mary dropped her hands to the bed, took a deep breath and pasted a smile on her face. “The hospital,” she said.
“Is everything okay?” he asked, placing the food down on the nightstand and sitting next to her.
“I’m …” she began, then stopped. He really doesn’t need any more stress, she decided. Besides, until I know for sure, there isn’t really anything to tell.
“I have a minor concussion, but there is no internal bleeding,” she said. “And I can have acetaminophen for pain.”
“That’s it?” he asked.
Mary shrugged. “She told me to have a follow-up with my doctor.”
“And when are you going to set that up?” he asked, raising one eyebrow.
Smiling at him, she rolled her eyes. “I’ll call her first thing Monday morning, okay?”
“Okay,” he replied, meeting her eyes. “Now, tell me what happened today.”
Confused, she shook her head and quickly winced in pain. “Ouch,” she said, pausing for a moment. “When today?”
“Today between when you came home from shopping and when you went to the hospital in an ambulance.”
“Oh, that today,” she replied meekly, biting her lower lip and looking down at the blankets on the bed. Finally, she looked up at him, met his eyes and tried as best she could to lie. “I slipped on some paper and cracked my head on the butcher block counter,” she said. “Clumsy me.”
He placed a hand on either side of her and leaned close, kissing her nose. “Good try,” he said. “But I’ve learned that lying is not one of your strengths. So, why don’t you fill me in on the details?”
“It’s really not that important,” she said, slipping her arms around his neck.
He scooted closer to her and placed his forehead lightly against hers. “Mary, we are going to be doing this parenting thing together, right?” he asked. “And if we withhold information from each other, I can’t see it helping anyone.”
“I don’t want to be a snitch,” she said softly. “I don’t want her to think I’m running to you with every little thing she’s done wrong.”
“But you haven’t, have you?” he asked. “She’s been testing you since we got back from our honeymoon and you’ve tried to deal with it, on your own.”
“You were busy with work,” she explained, shrugging slightly. “I didn’t want to bother you.”
He sighed deeply and shook his head. “Yeah, I was busy. But I need to remember I’m a husband and a dad now,” he said. “We are all going to have to adjust to being a family.”
She placed her head on his shoulder and exhaled softly. “Maybe she’s just adjusting too,” she said.
“And maybe she’s angry and scared,” he replied. “Maybe she needs more help than we can give her. Maybe her acting out is really a cry for help.”
A tear slipped down Mary’s cheek. “I’m so sorry, Bradley,” she whispered. “I really tried to do what I thought was right, what was best. I tried to show her I love her…”
He leaned back and put a hand under her chin, gently lifting her face so he could see her. Tracks of tears marked her cheeks and more overflowed from her eyes. “Darling, this is not your fault,” he said.
“But I’m her mother,” Mary replied with a stammer. “I should be able to reach her, help her.”
“No,” he said, placing a kiss on her cheek and then, leaning across her to the nightstand, pulled some tissues from the box and handed them to her. “Now, wipe your eyes and listen to me.”
Blowing into the tissues, she nodded.
“If Clarissa were running a high fever or had fallen down and broken her arm, we wouldn’t think twice about bringing her to a doctor, right?” he asked.
She nodded.
“And you wouldn’t think you had failed her if you couldn’t put a cast on her arm or write her a prescription for antibiotics, right?”
She nodded again.
“Well, Clarissa has gone through emotional trauma that no child should ever have to live through,” he said. “But she did, she survived. However, as she struggled to survive things got broken; trust, self-esteem�
�� I don’t know, her whole view of the world is a place that rips everything she loves away from her. She needs help to fix the broken parts.”
“Professional help,” Mary said. “A counselor?”
“Why don’t you call your friend in Chicago, Gracie Williams, the psychologist,” Bradley suggested. “And see what she thinks.”
Mary nodded. “Okay, I can do that,” she said thoughtfully. “Gracie is great.”
“Maybe there are some group meetings for kids dealing with issues,” he suggested.
“That’s a great idea,” she said, with a relieved smile. “I just want her to be happy.”
He pulled her into his arms and held her. “Rosie found all of the items that Clarissa pulled out of your box and stored them safely away,” he whispered into her hair.
She tried to pull back, but he held her. “My box?” she asked.
“Yeah, Clarissa told me what she did,” he said. “But nothing was destroyed. It’s still safe.”
A tear ran down her cheek and she brushed it away. “Thank you,” she said. “It’s just stuff, but…”
“It’s important stuff,” he said, kissing her head. “I love you, Mary.”
Yawning widely, her day catching up with her, she burrowed against him, content and drowsy. “I love you too,” she said.
Chapter Two
The room was dark and Mary was trying to understand why she was there. She moved forward tentatively, trying to find an exit door or a light. She didn’t feel afraid, but she knew she didn’t really belong there. A low sound, like the thrum of a bass note, was pulsing in the background, over some hidden speaker system. Everywhere she went, the sound was present. She continued forward and heard another sound, soft and whispered, in the distance. The sound of a child’s cry. Dismissing caution, she hurried forward toward the source of the sound. Running down dark corridors that turned and twisted, she became even more frustrated. Finding herself at a dead end, she turned back and found a staircase that hadn’t been there before. She jogged up stairs and down stairs, still following the elusive cry. Finally, she arrived at a door at the far end of a narrow hall. Light flooded out from beneath the door and around the sides into the dark hallway. The door was small and she had to kneel down to grasp the doorknob. The crying became louder, the baby was in distress. Mary yanked on the door, but it wouldn’t open. She braced her feet on either side of the door and pulled on the knob, but it was stuck fast. “Help me,” she cried out. “Help me save the baby.”