Never Forgotten (10 page)

Bradley ran his hand through his hair, “Don’t try to be logical when I’m being emotional,” he said, with a self-deprecating smile. “Yeah, you’re right, but, you know…”

She smiled, “Yeah, be careful out there.”

Stanley dropped his feet from the desk. “So, when are we going?”

“We?”
Mary asked.

“Well, yeah, you don’t want the Chief here to be with you,” he said. “But I
ain’t
no
threat to no one. I can go with you.”

“I like that idea,” Bradley added.

“Actually, I like it too,” she agreed. “No one will suspect the two of us. When can you go?”

“What’s wrong with right now?” Stanley asked.

“Nothing,” Mary replied with a grin, standing up and grabbing her purse.

“Stanley, can you give us a minute here?” Bradley asked.

He nodded, “Yeah, I’ll go warm up my car,” he said.

“Wait, I thought I would drive,” Mary protested.

“Listen, I
ain’t
never had a woman drive me around before and I
ain’t
planning on starting now,” Stanley said firmly. “Sides, that fancy car of yours would drop its engine on those country roads with all the rutting and wash outs.”

Once the door closed behind Stanley, Bradley walked over to stand beside Mary. He put his hands on her shoulders, pulled her close and laid his forehead on hers. “I want you to promise that you won’t take any unnecessary chances,” he said.

She smiled. “Only necessary ones,” she agreed. “I promise.”

“Funny, Mary O’Reilly, very funny.”

Mary tilted her head and lightly kissed him. “I remember what she looked like, Bradley,” she whispered. “I realize what kind of animal I’m dealing with. I’ll be careful.”

He nodded and then stepped back. “See that you do.”

“So, do you have plans tonight?” she asked.

He nodded and grimaced, “City Council meeting,” he said, “And then some special meeting after that about new procedures through the Coroner’s Office.”

“You and Angela are meeting together?” Mary asked. “Alone?”

Bradley grinned. “Jealous?”

Mary didn’t smile. She thought about her encounter with Angela. “No. At least, I don’t think I’m jealous. I just think she’s an odd duck,” she replied. “Watch yourself.”

He picked up his uniform cap and placed it firmly on his head. “If I get done early, can I stop by?”

Smiling, she nodded. “That’d be nice.”

He walked to the door and then stopped, bracing his hand on the frame.

“Are you okay?” Mary asked.

He nodded. ‘Yeah, my stomach’s been acting up a little. No big deal.”

He took a deep breath, smiled at her and walked out of the office.

A few minutes later, Stanley and Mary were riding out of town in “Betsey,” a turquoise blue 1961 Chevy Impala 4-door sedan. Stanley had purchased her off the lot, brand spanking new in 1961. She was the size of a boat, had the engine power of a locomotive and, through Stanley’s careful ministrations, purred like a kitten - a big, gas-guzzling V-8 kitten. “Careful you don’t hit that snowplow, Stanley,” Mary cautioned. “We wouldn’t want to have to pull them out of the ditch.”

“Funny, girlie,” Stanley growled. “You just don’t appreciate good quality machinery when you ride in it.”

“Oh, I appreciate it,” she answered. “And I know why all of the gas station owners run out and wave to you when you drive by. They must have sent all their kids to college on the money they earned from you gassing up this good quality machinery.”

Stanley chuckled. “Well, a good date’s never cheap.”

Slowing down to thirty miles per hour as they drove through Cedarville, Mary noted the large piles of snow on the sides of the road. “This is going to be a mess once it begins to thaw,” she commented.

“Don’t have to worry about that until June,” he teased.

Laughing, Mary shook her head. “Don’t say that, it’s not even January and I’m already a little tired of the snow.”

After Cedarville, they drove about five miles further
north
on Highway 26 and turned left on one of the country roads. The road twisted and turned, past farm fields and barns, and over narrow one-lane bridges. When the road changed from asphalt to gravel Mary got concerned. “Stanley, you do know where you’re going, right?”

“Yep, it’s just up here a ways at the end of the lane,” he said, his voice vibrating as the car drove up the washboard rippled road.

The farmhouse was neat and trim. Cheery Christmas decoration covered the front porch and a festive wreath hung on the front door. Sparkling white lights hung from under the eaves and were turned on even though it was daylight. Stanley pulled up the gravel drive and parked between the house and the barn. “So, where do we check first?”

“Let’s go up to the house first,” Mary said. “I would guess that’s where she was murdered. Then, if we have a chance we can check the out buildings.”

“And if someone asks us what we’re doing here?”

Mary shrugged. “I’m still working on that one.”

“Well, that gives me a great deal of confidence.”

Mary grinned. “Thanks Stanley, that means a lot to me.”

They both exited the car and walked down the narrowly shoveled lane to the house. Snow rose up two feet on each side of the shovel-wide walkway. The walkway was only shoveled to the back of the house. Mary turned to Stanley with a question in her eyes. “Folks in the country don’t generally use their front doors,” he said. “Everyone comes around back.”

The back porch was covered with a green metal awning and held an assortment of shovels, brooms and rakes. The black Welcome mat was slightly askew and the steps had no trace of snow or ice.

“That’s strange,” Mary commented. ‘You would think there would be a little snow or ice on the steps.”

Stanley looked around. “Concrete steps, south facing porch, could be it just melted.”

Mary nodded. “Yeah, good point.”

Mary knocked on the back door. “Hello,” she called, “Anyone home?”

She tried the door, it was unlocked. She pushed it open and called out again, “Hello. Is anyone here?”

She turned back to Stanley. “It seems that no one is home,” she said, in mock dismay.

She scanned the yard, and then said, “Stanley, you’re looking a little pale.”

“I am?”

“Yes, you are. You probably need to take some kind of medicine and you probably, urgently, need a glass of water in order to swallow your pills.”

“
Ahhh
, yes, you’re right, I’m afraid my ticker
ain’t
what it used to be,” he replied, thumping on his chest. “You better hurry on in there for some water before I kick up my toes right here on the porch.”

Mary grinned. “I’ll be right back with your water.”

The back door opened into a mud room that held an assortment of work clothes, boots and a washer and dryer. The top of the dryer was covered with a pile of unfolded laundry. Mary walked through and opened the next door which led to the kitchen. The sink was filled with dishes, pots and pans. The remains of meals were scattered on the stovetop and counters, and the table was overflowing with filled bags from the grocery store.

“Housekeeping is not quite as easy as you thought, obviously,” she muttered.

Being careful not to disturb any potential evidence, she walked cautiously around the kitchen, hoping to be contacted by Peggy. She felt nothing. She moved into the dining room and living room space. A Christmas tree sat in the corner of the room, the presents underneath unopened. Two cups of coffee sat on the coffee table. Mary moved closer and saw that a film had formed over the liquid and decided it had sat for at least a couple of days.

She moved over to the fireplace and saw a framed photo on the hearth. The man and woman in the photo stood in front of church in their wedding clothes. They looked to be very much in love with one another. Studying the photo, she saw love evident in their faces. “What happens to cause love to die like this?” she wondered aloud.

Stanley’s very loud coughing alerted her. She ran back to the kitchen, found a paper cup and filled it with tap water. Rushing out the back door, she saw the large man heading toward the house. “Here you are,” she said loudly, being sure her voice carried to the bulky farmer only yards away. “Now take your medicine.”

She handed Stanley the cup and looked up and smiled at the approaching man. “Hello, I’m Mary,” she said, walking down the stairs and meeting the farmer with an outstretched hand. “I am so sorry that I just barged into your home. My friend, Stanley, was starting to feel uncomfortable and needed to take his medicine, but we realized we forgot his water bottle back in town. I knocked and called out, but it was an emergency.”

The man looked tired and worn. He shrugged. “Paul Thompson,” he replied. “No, harm done, I’m just a little embarrassed about the condition of the house. My wife left unexpectedly and with chores and all, I haven’t been able to keep up.”

“Oh, well, when your wife gets back, she’ll realize just how much you need her,” she replied.

Paul sighed. “Yeah, I thought she knew that before she left.”

He looked up at Stanley, still sipping the water. “Do you need me to call the hospital or anything? He looks pretty bad.”

“No,” Mary answered. “He’ll be fine. He just has to remember to take those pills on time. Thank you so much for your offer.”

“No problem,” he shrugged. “It was just a glass of water.”

Mary walked back up the stairs and slipped her arm though Stanley’s. “I’ll help you to the car, Stanley,” she said. “Watch your step now.”

“My, these stairs are so clean,” Stanley commented to Paul. “How’d you keep them from being slippery?”

“My wife was real particular about the steps,” he said. “Didn’t want anyone falling down them, she’d always say. That was one of the last things she did before she left on her trip.”

“Will she be home soon?” Mary asked.

Paul moved past them onto the porch, ignoring her question. “If you need anything else,” he said, ‘just let me know.”

He walked into the house and shut the door behind him.

Stanley pulled his arm out from Mary’s grasp. “I look bad?” he grumbled, slipping into the car. “I look bad? Well, he
don’t
look too good himself.”

“Stanley, stop the car,” Mary called, looking down the snow covered country lane that bordered the edge of the Thompson’s land.

Stanley slammed on the brakes and the large car fishtailed on the gravel road. Mary reached forward and braced herself against the vinyl dashboard. “Sorry,” she said through clenched teeth.

The car slowed and came to a stop, its nose pointing down the narrow gravel road that had caught Mary’s eye and caused her to call out her request. She pointed to the end of the muddy yellow lane, “Down there, the old cemetery. I think I saw someone.”

Stanley maneuvered the large car down the narrow road, keeping to the center to avoid slipping into the snow-filled ditches. He pulled over into a muddy tractor access road across from the cemetery. Mary climbed out of the car and hiked across the mud to the ditch in front of the cemetery. She looked up and down the snow-filled ditch for easier access to the graveyard. “Over here, dear,” a woman’s voice called. “There’s less snow here.”

Mary looked up to see a woman standing near a tall grave marker near the road. She moved to where the woman had gestured and climbed up the several feet to the elevation of the cemetery. Walking slowly back, she approached the woman. “Hello,” I’m Mary O’Reilly.”

The woman’s smile was warm and inviting. “It’s so nice of you to stop,” she said. “I get so lonely sometimes. I’m Shirley Thompson, Mike’s wife.”

“I’ve heard of you,” she said. “You have two boys.”

The ghost’s face turned sad and translucent tears streaked down her cheeks. “I never got to say good-bye,” she whispered. “He never let me say good-bye. How are my boys?”

“Good. Luke is a doctor and Paul is a farmer,” she said.

Shirley smiled. “Little Paul was always so good with animals, I’m glad he became a farmer.”

“Like his dad?” Mary asked.

Shirley shook her head, “No, not like his dad,” she replied. “Never like his dad.”

Mary glanced around her. The grave marker they were standing near was surrounded by an overgrown tree and brush nearly hid it away. The carving on the limestone was nearly obscured by the years of wear and tear, but she could see the date was 1890. “Shirley, this isn’t your grave,” Mary said. “Why are you here?”

Shirley sighed with a sadness that touched Mary’s heart. “This is my great-grandmother’s grave,” she said. “I stay here because it’s close to the farm.”

Shirley started to slowly fade away.

“But, where is your grave? Where were you buried?” Mary asked.

A forlorn look crossed the ghost’s face, “I’m lost, Mary,” she said. “I’m lost and I need to be found. Find me, Mary. Please find me.”

The ghost faded away.

Mary stood at the spot for a moment, feeling the echoes of loneliness Shirley had left behind.