"Also," Derek continued after cleaning his throat, "as a detective, I am trained to follow up on leads to verify or to discount. I visited with Bill Jeffries at his liquor store. He seems to be quite fond of you, but he did confirm that you purchase a bottle of Jack Daniel's every Thursday."
"And did he tell you why I buy a bottle of Jack every Thursday?" Maggie asked, her eyes softer than the tone of voice she used.
"He did not."
"Of course he didn't because he doesn't know. No one knows."
"I think it's important for me to know if you do have a drinking problem," Derek said.
"When I was 17, my oldest brother, Allen, killed himself. He was 22 years old. My parents tried to hide it, but I knew that he had a serious drinking problem. He'd come home almost every night, banging into things, stumbling up the stairs. He'd puke most nights, right on himself or, if Mom was lucky, onto his bedroom floor. Then he'd pass out and sleep until noon the next day.
"I remember hearing Allen and my parents talking in the kitchen. They'd say how concerned and worried they were about him, and he'd tell them there was nothing to worry about and that he had his drinking under control. But, every day, after he got himself cleaned up, he'd head out to one of his friends' apartments, and every day, my brother and his friends would drink.
"Shortly after Allen turned 22, my parents persuaded Allen to check himself into a rehab facility. He stayed there for two or three months. My parents let me visit him one time while he was there. He seemed wonderful. He apologized to me for not being a good brother, promised that he would stop drinking, and told me that he even had a job lined up for him when he got out. But the day he got out of rehab was the last day I ever saw him alive. My parents drove him home, and within an hour he told them that he had to run out and buy some interview clothes. He ended up back at his friend's house. Must have really felt the need to make up for lost time. When the paramedics found him passed out in the park, he was probably already dead. Blood alcohol was well over 2.0, and he had asphyxiated on his own vomit.
"I never got to talk to him again. He was pronounced dead an hour after the ambulance brought him to the hospital. He died on a Thursday, Derek. And his friend told the police that he had drunk two, maybe three full bottles of Jack Daniels that day. I know it's stupid, but every Thursday since Robby was born, I've purchased a bottle of Jack Daniels and then poured it out onto the ground. I figure that if I make sure that there's at least one less bottle of Jack in the world, that maybe I can save someone else's brother, son, or husband. Derek, I don't have a drinking problem. I have a dead brother problem."
Derek sat in silence, unsure of what to say. After several seconds of quiet, Maggie stood and walked closer to Derek. She sat in the chair next to Derek and placed her hands over his.
"Derek," she said, "I'm not hiding anything from you about Robby and this whole thing he is going through. I promise you. Whatever you heard or whatever else you feel you need to ask me but aren't sure how to ask, just say it."
To Derek, it seemed that Maggie wanted him to ask about her husband. As if she had her own unique and possibly shared set of suspicions but was too nervous to discuss them with anyone.
"Where's your husband?" he asked.
Maggie smiled, pulled her hands back and placed them on her lap. "He left last night. He had some business to take care of up in Portland. He should be back tomorrow to meet with you. Tomorrow is when the two days you gave us runs out, right?"
"It may take me a little longer than two days."
"I was hoping you'd say that."
"I'll get back to Melissa Humphrey in a few minutes," Derek continued without pause, "but I want to go over my chat with Ron White."
"My husband insisted that you speak with him," Maggie said. "He is such a nice person. I can't imagine him doing anything to harm Robby."
"Why does your husband feel that Ron may have some involvement with your son's challenge?"
"I don't know for sure. Maybe he's jealous that Robby talks about Ron a lot. Robby's always going on about what Mr. White said or what Mr. White did." Maggie paused. "Jack is not the best father in the world, Derek. I know he loves Robby, but his work takes him away from home an awful lot. He's missed all but one or two of Robby's soccer games and most of the parent-teacher meetings at school. Jack's gone at least two or three nights every week."
"Think he may feel that Robby sees Ron as a father figure?"
"If he does, it's his own damn fault." Maggie's face blushed. She glanced quickly into the living room to see if Robby heard what she had said. Robby sat, transfixed with his video game. "Sorry," she said to Derek. "My marital problems aren't your problem to worry about."
"No worries," Derek said.
"Are you married, Derek?" Maggie asked, her eyes flipping from Derek's to the dining room table.
"My wife, Lucy, was killed in a bank robbery a little over three years ago. I was a cop in the city back then and watched the whole thing happen."
"I'm so sorry," Maggie said, returning her hands onto Derek's. "I should have remembered that you told Robby that your wife had passed. I guess I was just too worried to pay attention. I'm very sorry."
"It's okay. You had a lot of things on your mind."
"You told Robby that you saw your wife, or your wife's spirit recently? Did I hear that correctly?"
"In my last case," Derek said, "I was shot in the stomach and started to bleed out. Right before the paramedics brought me back, I believe I saw my wife's face. Not sure if was her spirit or what it was, but I know that I saw her."
"And I know what I saw in Robby's room less than an hour ago," Maggie said, her hands again pulling away from Derek's. "I walked into his room after hearing someone or something talking with Robby, and I saw a man's shadow cover its face and then disappear into his wardrobe. I know what I saw just a certainly as you know you saw your wife."
"I don't doubt you nor do I doubt Robby," Derek said. "There's just a lot of things I don't fully understand yet, but I promise you that I will figure this whole thing out."
Maggie smiled at Derek. Her brilliant green eyes, moist with tears, charged Derek's soul with feelings that seemed both foreign and familiar to him. Familiar, as these were the same as those he felt when he was first falling in love with his wife. Foreign because for the first time since the day his wife died, his feeling's target was not his wife, but someone else, someone new.
"About Ron White" he said, pushing back the unsettled feelings welling up in his body, "he said that Robby told him about 'Phillip' before he said anything to Robby about ghosts. Not sure if I believe him, but he also suggested that the name 'Phillip' was an interesting name for a ghost. He made no bones about his belief that I should investigate the name 'Phillip.'"
"And?" Maggie said, leaning closer to the table. "Did you find anything out about the name?"
"I did. Father Flannigan told me about a bunch of psychologists in Toronto that conducted an experiment. They called it the 'Phillip Experiment,' and the results were very interesting. I was still talking with Father about it when you called. While I'm very interested in learning more about the 'Phillip Experiment' and how it all fits into with your son, I'm more interested in how Ron White seems to know about it."
"He's had a lot of time to read since his stroke, "Maggie suggested. "Maybe he read about it?"
"I don't think so, but maybe. I have to find out more about Mr. White before I can make any assumptions."
"He really is a sweetheart, Derek."
"I also found out something else that I need to tell you. It's about your husband and his father. This may be upsetting but know that I don't have all the facts yet."
"If you're going to tell me that Jack murdered his father, I already know."
Derek's mouth fell open.
"I've heard things about the night Jack's father died," Maggie said. "Jack's mother, who is quite a prize, I must say, gets all religious whenever she talks about the past. She's said on multiple
occasions that her husband was killed by a demon. Like I said, she's quite a prize."
"Murderous demons and ghostly visits. You have quite an interesting family. Glad you contacted me for this case."
The laugh that poured from Maggie was so genuine and so needed, that Derek couldn't help but join in. The two, sitting at the dining room table, laughed so hard that neither could manage to talk. When Robby, who had fallen asleep on the living room floor, appeared next to his mother, his eyes still swollen from sleep, Maggie could only manage to caress his head. Robby stood, emotionless, either wondering about the cause of the laughter or still half asleep and angry about being woken.
"I'm sorry that mommy woke you up," Maggie managed. "Mr. Cole said something very funny and I couldn't help but laugh."
It was how Robby was standing, arms hanging loosely to his side, face blank of expression that snapped Maggie out of her fit of laughter.
"What's wrong, sweetheart?" she asked. "Are you angry that we woke you up?"
Derek too lost his reason for laughter as he noticed the blank expression that had settled across Robby's face. He noticed the sudden change in Maggie as well. A few seconds before Robby had walked up and stood next to her, Maggie seemed like she hadn't a care in the world. For a brief moment, the possible horrific past events of her husband's life, the palpable distress her marriage was in, her intense concern for her son, and the recent memory of seeing and hearing something beyond comprehension, all seemed to vanish as a result of a simple remark.
Derek wondered if that Maggie, the one without all the concerns masking her true self, would ever be seen again. Though he saw her for only that moment, as soon as she was gone, he longed to see her again.
Robby stood silently, staring at his mother. Maggie's face revealed her growing concern as she caressed Robby's face.
"Robby," she said, "please tell me what's wrong? Did you see Phillip again?"
Robby shook his head, inched closer to his mother and leaned in within inches from her face.
"Phillip told me about being killed."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It was after six pm before Derek decided he should leave Maggie and Robby. Derk got into his car, still thinking about the last few minutes. After Robby had told Maggie about what Phillip had told him, he seemed to return to his normal self. Derek wondered if Robby was still asleep when he approached Maggie.
"I wonder if he was sleep walking," he said to Maggie after Robby had left the room to wash up, put his homework away, and get ready for dinner.
"Do you think he heard what I said about his dad?" Maggie asked. "He couldn't have," she answered her own question. "He was asleep, and I made damn sure I was talking softly. How could he have known about the suspicions about his father?"
"I don't know, Maggie," was all Derek could offer.
Derek pulled his car over to the side of the road and used his iPhone's Google Search app to find the phone number for the St. Mark's rectory. The phone rang only one time before Father John Flannigan answered.
"Father, it's Derek Cole."
"Are Maggie and Robby okay?"
"Yes, and no," Derek said. "I really don't know. Father, I'd like to continue our conversation and am wondering if you aren't too busy..."
"We have several wonderfully quiet restaurants in town," John Flannigan interjected. "Can we meet at a place called Fitz's at seven? It's on Main Street in Ogunquit."
"See you there."
#####
Derek walked into Fitz's Restaurant and was immediately struck by two things: the absence of smells that one would expect to be greeted with when walking into a restaurant and how quiet the restaurant was. Fitz's was on the main street in the small town of Ogunquit, wedged in between a small cinema and an ice-cream parlor – both closed for the season. As he walked in, Derek saw that the bartender and two servers were having a conversation at the bar and seemed a bit surprised that a customer had entered the restaurant.
"How can I help you?" a middle-aged woman, with traces of dyed purple hair streaked across her scalp, said to Derek.
"I'm meeting a friend for dinner. Table for two, if you have enough room," he joked in response.
"Do you have a reservation?" she asked, her face sternly serious.
"Uh, actually I don't, but..."
"I'm only kidding. Table or booth?"
"Booth, please. Is the bar open?"
"Of course. It's still happy hour, can't you tell?" the server said through a sarcastic grin.
Derek sat in a booth and faced the door. He ordered a Dewar's White Label on the rocks with a splash of water and was about to take his first sip when he saw Father John Flannigan enter the restaurant.
"Father John," the middle-aged server said. "Wonderful to see you."
"Thank you, Janet," John said. "I'm meeting a friend here for dinner."
Father John Flannigan made his way over to the booth where Derek was sitting, ordering a gin martini with four olives from the bartender as he passed the bar. Fitz's was much longer than it was wide, with its bar running thirty feet on the left-hand side and seven booths and a few tables filling the right-hand side of the restaurant.
During the busy summer months, dining at Fitz's would command a 60-minute wait, a reservation made at least a week in advance, or a strategically delivered tip to the maître d'. But in the cold months, Fitz's, like almost every restaurant on the coast of Maine, usually had twice the number of empty chairs than customers.
"How are Maggie and Robby?" John said.
"I don't know where to begin," Derek said. He raised his glass of scotch to his lips, then quickly placed the glass back on the table.
"Problem with your drink?" John asked.
"Like I said before, I was raised Catholic, and it just dawned on me that I've never drunk alcohol in front of a priest. Kind of freaking me out."
"Derek," John said, "I am a Catholic Priest, but I'm not Jesus. And in case you didn't hear my order, I not only ordered a martini but plan to have more than one this evening. I want you to think of me just as a friend who shares your concern for Maggie and Robby. Can you do that for me?"
"Probably not, Father," Derek said as he lifted his glass to his lips and took a long draw of scotch. "But I've also learned that it's not polite to make someone drink alone. So out of respect and friendship," he paused for another swallow of scotch "I'll drink to your health, my health, and for Maggie and Robby."
"Here, here," John said just as his martini was delivered to the table. "So tell me, the suspense is killing me."
"Father," Derek started, "is it possible that some of the people in the Phillip Experiment were influenced to believe that Phillip was real and that they convinced themselves that whatever spiritual contact they made was done so out of a desire to be liked or to not disappoint the psychologists?"
"It's a form of cognitive dissonance mixed with social proof and a dash of desire to be part of a group thrown in for good measure. One influential person who displays a high level of certainty about a specific subject can cause others to believe the same thing, despite others not having the same experiences, belief set, or thoughts. In the experiment, one or two of the psychologists remarked that some of the test subjects only began reporting contact with Phillip after some of the more vocal and outgoing participants suggested that those who weren't contacting him must either be blocking or lacked some intellectual or spiritual skill."
"So," Derek continued, "some in the group said they had a paranormal experience only to be part of the group?"
"Perhaps, but that doesn't mean that those people didn't actually come to believe that what they were experiencing was real. Where are you going with these questions?"
"Maggie heard and saw Robby's Phillip."
John stared blankly at Derek, absorbing what he had just heard.
"Tell me what happened," he said.
"She told me," Derek said after signaling to the bartender that his first scotch was gone and a second was in order,
"that she was standing outside of Robby's bedroom door when she heard a voice responding to Robby. She rushed into the room and saw a shadow of a man. Her details were so precise. She said the shadow raised his arm to cover his face as he disappeared into Robby's clothes closet. What really got to me was what Robby kept asking her."
"And that was?"
"He kept asking Maggie if she had seen his face. She told me that Robby seemed relieved that she had heard and seen Phillip but was disappointed that she hadn't seen his face."
"Why would he be so interested in Maggie seeing Phillip's face?"
"I don't know. I don't know a lot about this case, and I honestly have no idea what to do next."
Derek's second scotch was placed in front of him by the server who then took his and John's dinner order, then left the two alone to continue their conversation.
"I was wondering," Derek said, "if Maggie only imagined that she saw Phillip in order to make Robby feel better or to help her deal with the possibility that her only son has some serious psychological challenges."
"Very astute observation," John said, tipping his glass towards Derek. "But you said that you were wondering about that. Are you still wondering, or did something else happen?"
"Now who's being astute?" Derek said, clinking his glass against John's.
"What else happened?"
"Have to rely on either that penitent privilege or your good manners again before I tell you the rest."
"Both granted and assured."
"A friend of mine who saved my life during my last case is a police chief in a small town in New York. Melissa Humphrey suggested that if I were to dig into the Bryant's past that I would find some skeletons. Well, I asked that police chief friend to do a little digging. He told me that Jack Bryant's dad was murdered and that Jack was suspected in the case."
"That is concerning," John said.
"Agreed, but he wasn't convicted of anything. Just suspected. I'm still finding out more about Jack's father's demise so I will withhold judgment."
"Very Catholic of you."
Those of the Margin: a Paranormal Suspense Thriller (Derek Cole Suspense Thriller Book 2) Page 7