by Terri Reid
“What are you doing?” Mary cried, half-heartedly pushing at his shoulders.
“Grab your coat and your purse, Mary, I’m taking you to Vegas today,” he said. “I could barely wait until June to marry you when you were just the love of my life, but now that I know how well you can bake. Well, I know your parents will be disappointed, but there is no putting this off.”
She giggled. “You big goof, we are not going to Vegas today.”
Rosie laughed. “You just have to be back before Friday for our wedding,” she called.
“And you probably won’t be finding a bridal suite that includes a kitchen,” Ian said. “You’re better off staying here.”
“Please Mary,” Bradley grinned down at her, placed a kiss on her lips and whispered. “That was even better than the muffins. And the muffins were amazing.”
She shook her head and smiled at him. “You’re forgiven for thinking Rosie made the muffins,” she said, bringing his face down to hers for another kiss.
He deepened the kiss for a moment and then placed his forehead against hers. “I love you, Mary O’Reilly,” he whispered.
“I love you back,” she said.
Mary’s cell phone rang and Ian handed it to her. Her eyes still brimming with laughter and love, she answered it. “Good morning,” she called into the phone. “Hi, Sean. Did you get the information I sent you about Henry Madison? Yeah, we’re pretty sure he was another one of Gary Copper’s victims.”
Then the laughter left her face. “Oh, of course, I’ll tell him. Yes, we’ll be there. First thing in the morning. Yes, I know the place. Thanks, Sean. Love you too. Bye.”
Bradley slowly put her down on the floor. “What is it?” he asked.
“They are going to arraign Gary Copper tomorrow and Sean wants us all to be there,” she said.
Rosie hurried across the room and put her arms around Mary. “Are you ready to see him again?” she asked. “You have only just started to not react…”
Nodding, Mary returned the hug. “I’ll be fine,” she said. “I have to be fine. There’s no way that man in going to walk free again.”
Ian tossed Bradley another muffin. “Well, then, let’s have a sit down and discuss our plans,” he said. “Bradley did you get Henry’s information?”
Bradley nodded. “I’ve sent a request for a copy of his autopsy,” he said. “I’ll get it later this week.”
“Who’s Henry?” Stanley asked.
“The man who was raising my daughter,” Bradley explained. “We think Gary Copper killed him too.”
“Oh, my dear, Bradley, that’s horrible,” Rosie said. “What can we do to help?”
“Wait, what about your ghosts?” Mary asked.
“Oh, well perhaps it was a one-time thing,” Rosie said. “Nothing to get worried about.”
Stanley nodded, “Yeah, I probably imagined it. We got more important things to do.”
“Are you sure?” Ian asked.
“If I get another visitor, you’ll be the first to know,” Rosie assured him.
“Okay, well we do have a lot of catching up to do,” Ian said. “And I would suggest we get a move on.”
Chapter Eleven
The small home on Freeport’s north side was showing gentle signs of neglect. The porch was scattered with faded sales flyers, plastic-wrapped telephone books and dried autumn leaves. The front steps still held remnants from the snowfall several days ago and there was a crack in one of the front windows from a thrown rock, the culprit still sitting on the sill.
“I’m so glad Katie had an extra key,” Mary said as they stood in front of the empty house.
“I still think it’s strange she would just leave,” Ian said. “This is where she’s made her roots.”
“When you feel helpless, the first thing you consider is running away,” Bradley said. “If she really had no one left, being lost in a crowd is a lot easier.”
Mary, Bradley and Ian made their way up the stairs and to the front door. Bradley took the key out of his pocket and inserted it into the lock. The door opened easily and they walked through the small hallway into the living room.
Sunlight illuminated the dust motes that lingered in the middle of the room. There was an overstuffed sofa in a floral design against one wall and a matching love seat next to it. A small bookcase of children’s books sat next to the loveseat, several books were still open with favorite pages exposed.
Mary walked over and picked one up. “This was one of my favorite books,” she said. “It’s all about a little bird who’s trying to find her mother.”
“Fairly ironic,” Ian said, looking over her shoulder.
“No, not at all,” Bradley said from across the room.
He was standing in front of a tall dark bookshelf that was divided into cubbyholes. In the center cubby was a small framed photo of a man, woman and a little girl, all smiling widely into the camera. “She looks like she wasn’t searching for anything,” he said, lifting the frame from the shelf and studying it more closely. “She looks like she was happy and secure.”
Mary and Ian walked over and looked at the photo.
“Aye, she’s happy. You can see it in her eyes,” Ian said. “But there’s no denying who her parents really are.”
“She looks like Jeannine, but she has your eyes,” Mary said softly.
He took a deep shuddering breath. “She’s my daughter,” he said, his voice cracking. “There’s no doubt in my mind. Clarissa is my little girl.”
Ian looked over Bradley’s shoulder. “She’s yours alright,” he said. “And it’s a blessing she didn’t get your nose.”
Surprised laughter slipped through his lips and eased the tension that had been building inside his body. He took a deep breath and put the photo back on the shelf. “Well, let’s get to work finding her,” he said.
Mary reached up, took the photo off the shelf and handed it to Bradley. “I think it would be fine for you to keep this,” she said, putting her hand up when he began to protest, “if for nothing else, it will be helpful to show people when we are searching for her.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment, just nodded and slid the photo into his coat pocket. “Thank you,” he said, his voice tight with emotion, “thank you both for your help.”
“What’s to thank?” Ian asked with a casual shrug. “All for one and all that.”
Mary smiled softly. “Yeah, what he said,” she added, reaching up and kissing Bradley. “Now let’s find Clarissa.”
They walked through the first floor searching through desks drawers and cabinets for any more information that would help them find out where they’d gone. “Uh,oh,” Ian said, holding a small piece of paper in his hand. “The mother, Becca, is on theophylline.”
“What does that mean?” Mary asked.
“It means she has some kind of respiratory disease,” he replied. “And by the small dosage, she’s using it to maintain open airways, I would guess her lungs are deteriorating.”
“So, she’s trying to take care of a child in Chicago while she’s sick?” Bradley asked. “How did she even think she could do this?”
“Who’s in Chicago and what are you doing in my house?” a deep male voice demanded.
Both Mary and Ian turned toward the voice, but Bradley continued to search. Mary stepped over to Bradley and took his hand. “We have company,” she whispered to him.
He turned to see the ghost of a tall, muscular man dressed in work clothes standing in the doorway. “You’re the father,” Bradley exclaimed, “from the photo. You’re Clarissa’s father, Henry.”
“You know my daughter? Where is she? What have you done with Clarissa and Becca?”
The ghost raced across the room and hovered threateningly in front of Bradley. “Tell me what you’ve done with my wife and daughter,” he demanded. “Tell me where you’ve taken them.”
“You really love her,” Bradley said, some of the tension in his heart easing.
“Of cour
se I do,” Henry exclaimed. “I’m her father.”
Bradley nodded. “Yes, you are,” he said calmly. “And I’m her father too.”
Henry shook his head. “Are you some kind of nut case? Are you like that dentist? Clarissa doesn’t need more than one father, and that job has been taken by me. Now, where have you taken them?”
“We don’t have your wife or your daughter,” Mary replied. “We’re here to find out what happened to them too.”
He shook his head. “Someone’s taken them,” he said. “Becca would have never left without me. I came home and they were gone. I’ve been searching for them ever since.”
Ian moved forward. “Henry, I’m Ian,” he said. “And this is Mary O’Reilly, a private investigator and this fellow you think is a nut is actually Police Chief Bradley Alden.”
Henry turned to Bradley. “You’re a cop?” he asked.
Bradley nodded.
“Good! It’s about time you guys showed up,” he said. “We’ve got to find my wife, she’s sick. If she runs out of pills…”
Ian held up the prescription form. “She runs out of air,” he finished.
Henry nodded. “She has COPD, she’s not supposed to be stressed,” he said. “I was taking care of her, of both of them…”
“Aye, I understand you were,” Ian said, “and doing a fine job of it. We’re friends of the Brennans and they told us how devoted you’ve been to your family.”
“That’s how…that’s how you know my name?” he asked.
“We know quite a bit about you, Henry,” Mary said. “Like how you went to see Dr. Gary Copper to ask him to leave your family alone.”
Henry nodded. “Yes, I went to see him and he agreed to leave us be,” he said.
“Did he give you anything to eat or drink while you were there?” Ian asked.
“Yes, he insisted I try his sweet tea. And I was trying to get him to see reason, so I did, ” Henry replied. “It actually was pretty bad, had a funny after-taste to it.”
“I bet,” Bradley said. “Copper was known for his bad after-taste.”
“Henry, do you remember what happened after you left Dr. Copper’s house?” Mary asked.
Pausing, Henry searched his memory. “I got in my car,” he said slowly. “I drove back to the highway… I was feeling a little weird, like the tea didn’t sit right. But I had to get to work…”
He stopped and he looked at Mary. “I can’t remember anything after that. I only remember I got home and everyone was gone.”
He glided up to Mary. “Did he take them?” he demanded. “Did Copper take them?”
Mary shook her head and met Henry’s eyes. “No, Becca was concerned that he would come, so she took Clarissa and ran away,” she explained.
“But, why didn’t she wait for me?” he asked.
“Because Copper poisoned you,” she said slowly. “He poisoned your sweet tea. On the way home from Sycamore the tea made you pass out and you crashed your car. Henry you died on the way back to Freeport.”
Henry slowly shook his head. “No. No. I’m not dead,” he argued. “I’m here, I’m right here in front of you. Why are you doing this? I can’t be dead. I need to take care of Becca and Clarissa. They need me. I promised them.”
His voice cracked and he fell to his knees. Dropping his head in his hands, he cried, “I can’t be dead. Who is going to help them?”
Bradley, making sure he had Mary’s hand securely in his own, knelt down next to him. “We will, Henry,” he promised. “We’ll find them and we’ll help them. But we are going to need you to help us.”
Henry looked up and met Bradley’s eyes. “You don’t understand,” he whispered, grief evident in his voice. “Becca doesn’t have much time. But she didn’t know… I made the doctor promise not to tell her. She was so worried about not being there for us, I didn’t want her last months to be focused on the end.”
“How long did the doctor think she had?” Ian asked.
Henry shook his head, his eyes filled with grief. “A year, maybe two,” he replied and as he watched their reaction he asked,” Why?”
“It’s March, Henry,” Mary said. “You’ve been dead for nearly a year.”
His eyes widened and he shook his head. “You have to find my little girl.”
He floated to the middle of the room. “Clarissa,” he called out. “Where are you?”
Then he faded away.
Chapter Twelve
“Do you want me to walk you up to Mrs. Gunderson’s apartment, dear?” Becca asked Clarissa as she closed their apartment door.
Clarissa shook her head. Not only did she not want her mother to have to climb the extra stairs, she certainly didn’t want her mother to see the kind of apartment Mrs. Gunderson lived in. If she did, she would be worried all the time, and her mother did not need another thing to worry about.
“I’m fine, Mommy,” she replied. “I love walking up the stairs by myself.”
Becca bent over and kissed Clarissa’s forehead. “Do you have your key?” she asked.
Clarissa pulled the chain from under her shirt and showed her mother the key.
“You let Mrs. Gunderson use that when she brings you downstairs and tucks you in,” her mother reminded her. “You understand.”
Clarissa nodded obediently, knowing that Mrs. Gunderson generally kicked her out of the apartment at about 7:00, two hours before she was supposed to, because her shows were on television and she didn’t want to be disturbed. Clarissa generally spent the last several hours alone in their apartment, sitting in the darkened room, so no one would know she was there.
“I will, Mommy,” she said. “I promise.”
Becca looked up the stairs, guilt and anguish filling her heart. She didn’t want to leave Clarissa alone with anyone, but she had to go to work. They needed her income.
“Okay, darling, I won’t be late and I’ll try to bring some dessert home this time.”
“Thanks, Mommy, I love you.”
“I love you too, sweetheart.”
Clarissa stepped up one step and turned and watched her mother slowly struggle down the steps to finally let herself out the front door into the cold afternoon. Sighing, Clarissa turned and walked up the stairs to the fourth floor and Mrs. Gunderson.
The stairwell was dark and it smelled bad. Clarissa tried to avoid touching the railing because it was often sticky and once, when she had been holding on to it, something crawled over her hand. The walls were stained and littered with graffiti, words that Clarissa’s mother had told her were not nice. And very often the stairs were covered with garbage from the apartments above them.
Clarissa kicked a beer bottle out of the way and heard it clatter all the way down the stairs behind her. When she reached the fourth floor, she walked to the fifth apartment down the hall.
Her stomach clenched as she heard the yelling coming from within the apartment. Mrs. Gunderson’s husband was home, because it was Sunday. She sighed, and then, with reluctance, knocked on the door.
“Who the hell is knocking on the damn door?” she heard Mr. Gunderson yell.
“Probably that little brat from downstairs,” Mrs. Gunderson replied, her voice even louder than her husband’s. “If you had a decent job I wouldn’t have to watch some whore’s kid.”
“Yeah, well you could get a real job yourself,” he yelled back, “instead of sitting on your fat ass all day watching TV.”
Another door opened on the floor above them. “You give me that money, hear?” she heard a man call out. “You give me the money or you give me back that blow.”
“I ain’t got no money, man,” a woman argued back. “And I need my stuff. So, you back away from the door or I will cut you.”
“Bitch! Give me my money!” the man screamed.
She knocked on the door again, urgently.
“Answer the damn door,” Mr. Gunderson yelled.
The door flew open in front of Clarissa and Mrs. Gunderson reached out and grabbed her by h
er shoulder and pulled her into the house. “Didn’t your momma ever teach you any manners,” she yelled, slapping Clarissa across the face. “You don’t pound on people’s doors; you wait for them to answer.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Clarissa answered, reeling from the sting of the slap.
Mrs. Gunderson pulled Clarissa down through the apartment into a small room off the kitchen. It was a little larger than a closet and was filled with stacked boxes. There was a small, child-sized table in one corner with a bowl of broken crayons and a stack of scrap paper on it.
“Now, you go in there and color,” she said. “And don’t make no noise. We don’t want to be interrupted. Shouldn’t have to be watching you on Sunday, no how. Just doing it out of the goodness of my heart.”
Clarissa nodded. “Yes, ma’am,” she repeated.
The woman relented a little. “You hungry?” she asked. “I got some peanut butter.”
Clarissa glanced behind her, to the dirty kitchen counter and tried not to shudder as she watched a cockroach crawl across the jar of peanut butter. “No thank you,” she replied. “We just ate before I came.”
“Well, good, ‘cause I ain’t s’posed to feed you no ways,” she said. “And you gotta go home a little early tonight. Me and Mr. Gunderson, we got some plans for tonight.”
Clarissa nodded.
“And you don’t tell your momma I let you go down early,” she said. “We both know you’s a big girl and can take care of yourself. Right?”
Clarissa nodded again.
“And don’t you let your momma forget, I get my pay for next month tomorrow. I can’t watch you ‘cept I get my pay in advance. I ain’t gonna have no one cheat me.”
“I’ll bring it tomorrow,” Clarissa promised.
“Effie, the damn show is on pause, are you going to get in here?” Mr. Gunderson yelled.
“Shut the hell up, Lee, I’m taking care of the kid,” she yelled back.
Clarissa moved into the little room and obediently sat at the table. “I’ll be back in an hour to let you out, case you need to go potty or something,” Mrs. Gunderson replied, before she closed the door and Clarissa could hear the lock click on the door.