Haunted Tales - A Mary O'Reilly Paranormal Mystery - Book Fifteen (Mary O'Reilly Paranormal Mystery Series 15)

by Terri Reid

  Chapter Forty-three

  “I can’t believe it’s Halloween!” Clarissa shouted as she ran down the stairs the next morning. “This is going to be the greatest day ever!”

  Mary smiled at Bradley. “And she hasn’t even had sugar yet,” she whispered.

  “Can we have waffles for breakfast this morning?” Clarissa asked.

  “No,” Mary said, grabbing her excited daughter and pulling her close for a hug. “You are going to have a day filled with sugar. So, breakfast is bacon and eggs.”

  “Bacon and eggs sound good, too,” Clarissa agreed with a smile.

  “Or we could have hotdogs,” Mike said as he appeared in the kitchen. “But we would have to have holes cut through them.”

  “Why?” Clarissa asked.

  “Because then they would be hollow-weenies,” he joked.

  “Oh, that was really bad,” Mary chuckled, rolling her eyes.

  “That joke was so bad that it almost made my stomach hurt,” Clarissa added.

  “Of course, we all know what you’re having for lunch,” Bradley said, getting into the spirit of the game.

  “What?” Mary asked, more than a little worried about his answer.

  “Boo-logna sandwiches,” he said. Mike floated over and high-fived him.

  “With ice scream for dessert,” Mike said to Bradley.

  Bradley laughed and nodded. “Or frankenfurters with ketchup,” Bradley said.

  “Or, if you want Mexican, you could always have a boo-rito,” Mike said, laughing with Bradley.

  Mary and Clarissa looked at each other and shook their heads. “They’re scarier than Halloween,” Clarissa whispered.

  “I agree,” Mary said. “Perhaps if we just ignore them.”

  “Bradley,” Mike said, “where do mummies go for a swim?”

  “The dead sea,” Bradley replied. “Mike, where does a vampire keep his money?”

  “A blood bank,” Mike answered in his best Dracula imitation. “What do birds sing on Halloween?”

  Bradley paused. “I don’t know? What?”

  “Twick or tweets.”

  Clarissa looked from Bradley and Mike to Mary. “Are these supposed to be funny jokes?” she asked.

  “Ouch,” Bradley said. “You just thrust a sword of scorn right through my heart.”

  “Or a sword of good taste,” Mary said, sending an apologetic smile in the direction of her husband. “Just saying.”

  “Wow. Et tu, Mary?” Bradley asked.

  Laughing, she shook her head. “While I would love to hear more Halloween puns, we’ve got to get moving. After breakfast, Clarissa has to get into her costume and makeup before the bus comes.”

  “Okay,” Mike replied with a sigh. “But we were just getting good.”

  Mary looked at him and shook her head. “Oh, no, you were both a long way from good.”

  Bradley chuckled and shook his head at Mike. “Tough audience,” he said, picking up a plate, filling it for Clarissa and placing it on the table before her. “Happy Halloween, sweetheart.”

  “Thanks, Dad,” she said. Picking up a piece of bacon, she took a bite out of it and then pointed it in Mary’s direction. “When are you coming to the school?”

  “I’m supposed to be there by 10:30,” Mary replied. “And then I get to listen to the special reports you did. And after that, we have a party.”

  “This is the most exciting day ever,” Clarissa said. “I can’t wait ‘til you see my report. I worked really, really hard.”

  “I’m sure you did,” Mary said. “And I know I’m going to be impressed.”

  Clarissa giggled. “Yes, you are going to be more impressed than anyone else in the classroom,” she said.

  “What do you mean by that?” Mary asked.

  “You’ll see,” Clarissa said.

  Mary turned to Bradley. “Are you sure you can’t come?” she asked.

  He shook his head regretfully, thinking about all of the things he had to get ready for the party while Mary was at the school. “I’m really sorry. I’ve got meetings all day.”

  “Well, we’ll miss you,” she replied. “And somehow you got away with not wearing a costume all day.”

  Bradley grinned. “Well, imagine that.”

  Chapter Forty-four

  “Okay, I feel a little ridiculous,” Mary said, standing in front of the mirror in her bedroom and looking at her reflection. The wide gypsy skirt and lace shawl camouflaged her growing baby bump, and the white peasant blouse set off what little tan she had left from the summer.

  “I think you look sexy,” Bradley said, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist before pressing a kiss to her neck.

  “I’m going to be a room mother for a fourth grade Halloween party,” she said. “I’m not supposed to be sexy.”

  “Says who?” Bradley asked. “I speak for fourth grade boys everywhere when I say that sexy moms are the best ones to have for room mothers.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Bradley, you’re not helping,” she said. “This is my first big event for Clarissa, and I don’t want to embarrass her.”

  “First, you won’t embarrass her. She is thrilled beyond belief that you are coming,” he said. “Second, you look like a gypsy princess, not like a tramp. Your skirt is nearly to your ankles, and your blouse and shawl pretty much cover up everything else. Your costume is very appropriate. It’s the woman inside the costume that’s so sexy.” He kissed her neck again. “Besides, I know what lurks beneath this demure outfit.”

  She smiled at him through the mirror. “Are you sure?” she asked.

  “Positive,” he said.

  “Okay,” she said, taking a deep breath. “Well then, wish me luck. I’ve never dealt with an entire classroom of over-sugared fourth graders.”

  “Just think of it like riot duty,” he said. “And you’ll be fine.”

  Chuckling, she turned and kissed him. “Thank you,” she replied. “Excellent advice.”

  The classroom was already buzzing with excitement when Mary entered the room, her arms filled with shopping bags full of treats.

  “Oh, good, Mrs. Alden, you’re here,” Mrs. Spangler said. “Perfect timing. We are just about to start our reports. Why don’t you join Mrs. Brennan in the back of the room.”

  “Thank you,” Mary said.

  She hurried to the back of the room where Kate sat at the wooden table. She was dressed as a witch, and Mary felt a twinge of guilt. “Hi,” Kate whispered, standing up and giving Mary a hug. “You look amazing.”

  “Thanks,” Mary whispered. “Rosie picked it out for me.”

  “She’s amazing,” Kate said softly.

  “I want to thank you for bringing the girls to the library so they could work on their project,” Mary said in a hushed tone as they sat down next to each other.

  “My pleasure,” Kate replied. “I can’t wait to see what they came up with.”

  “Now students,” Mrs. Spangler began. “And moms,” she added, acknowledging Mary and Kate with a nod of her head. “I am very excited to hear your reports. I know that you’ve been working so hard on them. So, first we’ll let you introduce the main character of your report, tell a little bit about him or her, and then we’ll let the class ask you questions.”

  She looked down at her clipboard. “Rusty, you’re first.”

  “Isn’t he the boy who throws up?” Mary asked.

  Kate nodded. “But this isn’t math, so we should be safe.”

  A tall, young boy with brown, curly hair and a shy smile stepped forward. “My report is on Resurrection Mary, a famous ghost in Chicago.”

  Mary and Kate listened with fascination as Rusty explained the legend and then read some eye-witness accounts of people who had actually picked up the hitchhiking ghost on Archer Avenue. After a few questions from his classmates, encouraged by the teacher, he sat down.

  “Now, it’s time for Maggie and Clarissa to give us their report,” Mrs. Spangler said.

 
Maggie and Clarissa carried two poster boards to the front of the room and placed them in the easels Mrs. Spangler had provided. Then they moved into the center of the room, in front of the teacher’s desk, and held hands.

  “Oh, isn’t that adorable?” Kate whispered to Mary. “They are holding hands.”

  Mary was about to answer when she noticed a movement in the doorway of the classroom. A tall, familiar-looking, well-dressed ghost in a black stovepipe hat walked through door and stood next to Maggie and Clarissa. Clarissa looked up at him and then looked directly at Mary with a wide smile on her face.

  “Our report,” Maggie began, and then Clarissa joined her, “is about President Abraham Lincoln.”

  Chapter Forty-five

  “Mr. Lincoln,” Mary said softly, keeping her voice low so others couldn’t hear her. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”

  She was in the corner of the room with her back facing the class as she prepared treat bags for the children. It was the perfect opportunity to speak with the president without having anyone think she was talking to herself.

  He smiled at her. “It is my honor, my lady,” he replied. “I assume that you are Miss Clarissa’s mother. The one who can see ghosts, too?”

  She smiled and nodded. “Yes, I am,” she said.

  “You must be very proud of these enterprising young ladies,” he said, looking over to where the girls were mingling with their friends.

  “Yes, I am,” she said. “But I’m afraid I’m slightly confused. I had heard your spirit was often seen at the White House, but I’m surprised to see you in Freeport.”

  “Ah, well, Freeport holds an important place in my heart,” he replied. “When I was a young captain in the Illinois militia, one of my first duties was to come here to the Freeport area during the Blackhawk Wars. I never engaged in battle, but I was a part of the militia that buried the soldiers that had fought. I was only twenty-three years old, but the memory of those who died stays with me even to this day.”

  “I had no idea,” Mary said.

  “Well, that is not my only connection to Freeport,” he said. “In Freeport, I debated Stephen A. Douglas for the office of senator. As a matter of fact, the debate site is adjacent to the very library where I have engaged in delightful conversation with Miss Maggie and Miss Clarissa.”

  “And how did you do in the debate?” Mary asked.

  A smile slowly grew on his face. “Let me just say that it was an election which I most assuredly lost.”

  Mary chuckled. “Well, it doesn’t seem that Freeport holds very good memories,” she said.

  “Ah, but you don’t know the rest of the story,” he said, his eyes twinkling with enjoyment.

  “And what would that be?” she asked.

  “During the debate, I asked Douglas about his stance on slavery, whether territories had the right to determine if they were going to be free or slave states, or if, as according to a majority decision of the United States Supreme Court, the territories could not legally exclude slavery.” He chuckled. “That put the “little giant” in quite a quandary. He greatly respected the Supreme Court, but their decision was contrary to his political aspirations. He answered that despite what the court said, slavery could be prevented from any territory by the refusal of the people living in that territory to pass laws favorable to slavery. So, although he won the Senate contest, the Freeport Doctrine, as it was called, did not endear him to the people in the southern states. And that, I believe, was his downfall during the presidential election of 1860. The election that I won.”

  “You and Douglas must not have been on very good speaking terms after that,” Mary suggested.

  His smiled turned sober, and he slowly shook his head. “No, as a matter of fact, Stephen was a good man and a great supporter of my presidency, and he was one of the fiercest advocates of maintaining the Union.” Meeting Mary’s eyes, he smiled sadly. “He was my friend.”

  Mary was about to ask him another question when she heard her name called from the other side of the room. “Mrs. Alden,” Mrs. Spangler called. “Would you like to join us in the parade around the school?”

  Mary turned and smiled. “Of course, I would be delighted,” she said, and when she turned back, President Lincoln was gone.

  “He does that,” Maggie said, both girls coming up alongside Mary. “But he always comes back.”

  Mary smiled down at them. “Well, that’s good to know,” she said.

  “Were you surprised?” Clarissa asked. “Were you so surprised?”

  “I was incredibly surprised,” she said, bending over and giving Clarissa a hug and then turning and giving Maggie one, too. “I couldn’t believe it when I saw him walking through the door.”

  “And I saw him,” Clarissa said. “I actually saw a ghost.”

  Mary smiled at her, her heart melting at the joy in her daughter’s face. “Yes you did,” she said. “And I can tell that both of you made quite an impression on him.”

  “Clarissa, Maggie, take your place in line,” Mrs. Spangler said.

  “Oh, we have to go,” Clarissa said, but then she gave Mary one more hug. “Thanks for coming to the party.”

  “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” she said.

  With Kate in the lead, the classroom marched out into the hallway towards the doors to the playground. Mary waited as they left the room, taking up the back.

  “Mrs. Alden,” Mrs. Spangler said once the children had left the room. “I’ve been meaning to speak with you about Clarissa, and I put it off because I knew you would be here today.”

  “Oh?” Mary said, a pit growing in her stomach. “Is something wrong?”

  “Well, I’m not sure,” the teacher said, motioning to Mary to walk with her as they followed the children at a safe enough distance that they could see them but not be overheard. “It seems that Clarissa has had a strong interest in death lately.”

  “Death?” Mary asked.

  The teacher nodded. “Yes, she asked me several times this week if anyone either died in this classroom, or in the gym, or in the lunchroom,” she sighed. “Basically any place in the school we’ve gone.”

  The pit in Mary’s stomach dissolved, and she smiled at the teacher. “Did you happen to catch the article in the paper about my work a couple of weeks ago?” Mary asked.

  Mrs. Spangler shook her head. “No, I live in Rockford, so I don’t subscribe to the local paper. Is it relevant to our discussion?”

  “Actually, not really,” Mary said, “but it might have shed a little more light on our families predilection to death or, more specifically, ghosts.”

  “I’m sorry?” Mrs. Spangler asked.

  “It would seem that Clarissa has been more occupied with ghosts than death,” Mary explained. “Other than her school project, my family has a tradition of telling ghost stories on Halloween night. Usually…” she paused to find the right word, “unique stories. So I’m sure that Clarissa was just trying to see if she could find a real ghost story.”

  Mrs. Spangler chuckled. “Children have the most outrageous imaginations, don’t they? Real ghosts. How absurd.”

  Mary looked up ahead at the children, saw the tall, gangly former president walking in the midst of them, and shook her head. “How absurd indeed.”

  Chapter Forty-six

  “Dammit,” Bradley growled as he hit his thumb with the hammer for the third time. “This is not working.”

  “Not much to hanging a sheet up against a wall,” Stanley muttered. “Most intelligent people could handle it.”

  Bradley turned slowly from his position on the top rung of the step ladder and glowered at Stanley. “Well then, why don’t you try it?” he asked.

  “Don’t mind if I do,” Stanley said, reaching up for the hammer and then stepping out of the way so Bradley could get down.

  With a shrug, Bradley climbed down and stepped to the side while Stanley climbed up the ladder, smiling with a cocky certainty that he was going to show Bradle
y a thing or two. He placed the white sheet against the plaster wall, reached over and pulled a small, gold finishing nail from the container and set its point against the sheet. Applying pressure with his forearm to hold the sheet in place and gripping the nail between his thumb and forefinger, he brought the hammer down with exacting precision. The hammer hit the nailhead, and the nail exploded into the air, just missing Bradley’s face and ricocheting across the kitchen floor. “Dagnabbit!” Stanley yelled, popping his finger in his mouth. Then he turned and looked down at Bradley. “Go ahead, say it,” he growled. “Not like I wouldn’t have if the tables had been turned.”

  Bradley smiled and shook his head. “I don’t need to say a thing,” he said. “Just as long as we both know what I would have said.”

  Just then the front door opened, and Margaret and Timothy, Mary’s parents, walked in. “Where can I put these things down?” Timothy asked, his arms filled with packages. “I think my darling here packed everything but the kitchen sink.”

  “Over here,” Rosie called. “There’s plenty of room on the kitchen counter.”

  Timothy hurried past Bradley and Stanley to place the packages where Rosie had suggested, and then he turned to the two men to see what they were doing. “Well, you aren’t going to get nails through that wall,” he said.

  “What? Why?” Bradley asked.

  “Well, that wall was originally the outside wall before the previous owners added the new dining room and kitchen,” he said. “That’s concrete underneath that plasterboard.”

  Bradley turned to Stanley. “Um, yeah, we knew that,” Bradley said. “Right, Stanley?”

  “Of course we knew that,” Stanley said. “We ain’t no fools.”

  “So, Timothy, just to be polite, what would you suggest we do?” Bradley asked. “We have to hang this curtain so Mary doesn’t see what’s behind it.”

  Timothy slowly looked around the room. “Well, if it were me,” he said, “I’d string a length of clothesline from that kitchen cabinet over there,” he pointed to the cabinet at the far end of the kitchen, “to that curtain rod over there.” He pointed to a curtain rod in the far corner of the dining room. “Then I’d use clothespins to attach the sheets.”