Never Forgotten (9 page)

Tess laughed. “No Lamborghini?”

Bradley chuckled, “If you can charge a Lamborghini on that card, let me know,” he said. “I must have inherited some money no one told me about.”

Regina guided Bradley into her office. “So, other than taking your money, how else can I help you today?”

“Tess told me that your funding’s been cut again,” he said. “Are you going to be okay?”

Regina sighed and then nodded. “It’s the same game,” she said. “We are not the most popular social service and so no one notices when our budget is slashed. I mean, who wants to talk about abused women when they can talk about daycare or senior services.”

She raised her hand, “Not that those services aren’t important too,” she said. “I just get frustrated because I spend so much time writing grants and petitioning lawmakers for money for a cause that ought to be one of the most important line items on their budgets.”

She sighed. “But, I’m preaching to the choir here,” she said with a rueful smile. “I know that you understand how important our work is.”

Bradley got out of his chair and walked to the door. He poked his head out of the office and called over to Tess, “Make that six boxes, okay?”

He walked back over and sat down.

“You didn’t need… I didn’t mean…” Regina stuttered.

“No, you were venting to a friend who asked,” he said. “But you also were reminding me how much this organization does for our community and sometimes, when I get busy, I forget. This is the least I can do. Besides, I’ve got a friend who could use more carbs.”

Regina smiled. “Well, thank you. And now that I’ve depleted your savings, what can I do for you?”

“I’m working with a friend on a case,” he said. “It looks like a domestic abuse case. And we’re afraid the victim might have been killed.”

The color drained out of Regina’s face. “Oh, no,” she said. “Is it someone we’ve helped?”

Bradley shook his head. “I don’t know. That’s what I was trying to find out.”

“Do you have a description of her?” she asked.

“Yes, she’s in her mid-thirties, about five feet, seven inches tall, medium build with dark hair and blue eyes,” he said, recalling the ghostly image. “We think she was killed on Christmas Day.”

Regina shook her head. “Statistically, Christmas Day has the least number of domestic violence attacks of any other day of the year. Unfortunately, we’ve learned that’s usually because women don’t want to report their spouse on Christmas. They don’t want to spoil the holiday. So, they don’t tell anyone, they just take it.”

Regina walked over to her filing cabinet and unlocked it. “You realize this information is confidential and I can only offer you what our clients have approved,” she said. “And this is only because you’re a law enforcement officer.”

Bradley nodded. “Yes, I appreciate your help and I wouldn’t ask, but…”

“But
it’s
murder,” Regina said quietly.

She pulled out two thick manila envelopes and brought them back to her desk. “Do you know if this was a repeated occurrence?” she asked.

Bradley nodded. “Yes, I’ve reason to believe she found out she was pregnant and wanted the abuse to stop so she could protect the baby.”

Sighing, she sat down at her desk. “So, she would protect the baby, but not herself.”

“It sounds like his mother left when he was small and he accused her of abandoning their future children. Things escalated and she was killed.”

“How do you know this much information and don’t know the woman’s name?”

Bradley shrugged. “Weird, isn’t it?”

Regina clasped her hands together and leaned forward. “Are you, perhaps, working with Mary O’Reilly?” she asked, raising her eyebrows slightly.

Bradley sat back in his chair. “Why would you ask that?”

She smiled. “Because, I’ve had a couple of incidences where Mary has come to the shelter and helped us out. The last one, as I recall, was when a grandmother had to tell her granddaughter to get out of a bad situation. The most interesting part of the conversation was that the grandmother had been dead for two years.”

Bradley struggled to hide a grin. “Yes, that would be interesting.”

Regina nodded. “But you’re not surprised.”

The grin broke through. “Let’s just say that recently a whole new world has been opened up to me.”

“So, the woman came to Mary?” Regina asked, the smile slipping from her face.

“Yes, on Christmas Day. She was badly beaten.”

Sympathetic tears welled in her eyes. “She didn’t give you her name?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “She was pretty incoherent. At first we could barely decipher what she was saying.”

“Wait…you saw her too?”

Bradley wondered just how much information he wanted to share with Regina. Then he thought of all of the people that had been entrusted in her care and knew he could trust her.

“We have this thing, this connection,” he explained. “If I have a hand on her shoulder, I can see the things she sees too.”

Regina looked at Bradley for a moment and then smiled slowly. “Is that the only connection you have with Mary O’Reilly, Chief Alden?”

“That, Regina, is none of your business.”

She laughed. “I’ll go through all of my files to see if anyone matches your description. I’ll also talk to the folks who manned the phones over the holidays to see if they got any calls that would match.”

Bradley stood and extended his hand. She took it and shook it. “We’ll help you,” she promised.

“Thanks,” he replied.

Just as he put his hand on the door knob, her voice stopped him.

“Bradley,” she said.

He turned.

“Mary does not need the carbs.”

He just chuckled and left her office.

“Morning, Mabel,” Stanley called as he stomped the snow off his boots on the floor mat just inside the Belt Line Cafe. “How’s the coffee this morning?”

“Hot,” Mabel, the sixty year old waitress called from behind the counter.

“Just like me,” Stanley replied, receiving a number of fairly uncomplimentary comments from the people, mostly men, sitting at the counter and surrounding tables.

“You’re just jealous,” he responded, hanging his overcoat on the coat rack and swinging onto a stool at the counter.

The Belt Line Cafe looked just like it had when it opened twenty-five years earlier, like your neighbor’s kitchen. The blue and yellow country decor with Thomas Kincaid pictures hanging on the walls, plastic gingham tablecloths and friendly waitresses just waiting to refill your cup was the epitome of a small town restaurant. The Belt Line opened early, so farmers could get a hearty breakfast and the old timers could catch up on local gossip. It closed at two in the afternoon, after the lunch crowd. Diners looking for dinner would have to go elsewhere.

Mabel brought Stanley a fresh cup of coffee and small pitcher of cream. She knew Stanley didn’t care for that “artificial crap” others might put in their coffee. “So, you want the usual?” she asked.

Pouring the cream into his coffee, he smiled and nodded, “
Ain’t
New
Years
, so I
ain’t
gonna
change my ways.”

Mabel laughed. “Stanley, you’ve been coming in here for twenty-five years and you haven’t changed yet.”

Stanley winked at her.
“Might just surprise you one of these days.”

Picking up the cup, he took a sip and smiled. That was a good cup of coffee. He glanced around the room and saw the usual crowd was out in force. At one table sat Steve Turner, owner of the local funeral home, he was a good guy with a strange sense of humor. But, Stanley decided, all the funeral directors he’d met either had no sense of humor at all, or a slightly strange one. He preferred the slightly strange.

“So, Steve,” Stanley called. “How’s business?”

“People are dying to see me,” he replied.

Several moans and a few chuckles greeted his response. Although Stanley heard the same joke every day for twenty-five years, he still chuckled.

“I was talking to a relative last week and she was trying to recall the name of the family where the wife up and left her husband and her kids,” Stanley said casually. “I seem to recall it was about twenty-five years ago.”

“Damn shame,” Earl Livingston said, shaking his head. “Damn shame.”

“You know the family?” Stanley asked.

“No,” Earl replied. “Damn shame it wasn’t my wife.”

“Yeah, the rest of us wonder why she’s still with you,” Leo Hankins commented.

“It’s my good looks,” Earl said.

“Have your wife come and see me, I’ll make some time for her this week,” Charlie Morris, the optometrist, called out.

After the laughter died down, Mabel, arriving with Stanley’s breakfast, said, “You know
,
I do seem to recall a story like that. They were farmers, down from around the Orangeville area. Husband was a real mean kind, I never did blame her for leaving, but I couldn’t believe she didn’t take the kids.”

“You’re right,” Leo added. “Name was Tomlin or Thomas or something like that.”

“Name was Thompson, Mike Thompson,” Bud Porter said, Bud had been the Stephenson County Sherriff, until his retirement fifteen years ago. “Her name was Shirley, as I recall. Although in those days it was Mrs. Mike Thompson.”

“You mean Doc Thompson’s dad?” Stanley asked.

Bud nodded. “Yeah, he called me out to the farm,” Bud said. “Showed me her clothes were gone, suitcase was gone and her little jewelry case, shaped like a small steamer trunk, was gone too. I always wondered how little Shirley Thompson could have carried all that stuff down the road without anyone seeing her.”

“Did you think she had
help
?” Stanley asked.

“Well, I wouldn’t have blamed her if she did,” he said. “Old Mike would get real mean when he was drunk. Course, he got real mean when he wasn’t drunk. She probably just got tired of it all.”

“Yeah, I remember when Mike nearly killed that guy for taking his parking spot over at the grocery store,” Earl said. “The poor guy didn’t see that Mike was waiting and just pulled in.”

“Yeah, not too many people came to his funeral,” Steve added. “Just his two boys, what were their names?
Luke and Paul.
That’s right, Luke and Paul.”

“Yeah, Luke was the older one,” Earl added.
“Grew up to be a doctor.
His maw would be proud of him.”

“Paul’s still out there on the farm,” Bud said. “He’s got himself a fine set up and a pretty little wife.”

“Bud, when Mike’s wife went missing, did you investigate?” Stanley asked.

Bud shook his head. “No, the kids were pretty young and they didn’t need folks talking about their mom like that,” Bud said. “Seemed pretty cut and dry at the time.”

“Well, you didn’t hear this from me,” Mabel said. “But from what I heard yesterday, history just might be repeating itself.”

“Why?” Stanley asked, trying to remain casual.

“Thompson boys were in here for lunch yesterday and Paul was pretty upset,” she said. “I overheard them talking about his wife. How she just up and left on Christmas Day, of all days.”

Stanley’s stomach dropped, this had to be the one. “So, what was her name again?” he asked, “Can’t seem to remember.”

“Margaret, ‘course folks called her Peggy,” Mabel said. “Peggy Thompson.”

Stanley laid a five dollar bill on the table and slid off the stool. “Just remembered I have to be in early,” he explained.

“But you
ain’t
even touched your breakfast,” Mabel said.

Stanley picked up his plate. “Steve, did you have your breakfast yet?” he asked.

Steve, well known for his appetite, looked down at his empty plate and shrugged.
“Just the first course.”

Stanley placed his plate on the table in front of Steve. “Second course is on me.”

He hurried out of the cafe and pulled out his cell phone. When he reached Mary’s voice mail he left a short message, “Mary, I think I found your ghost. Come over to the shop when you get in.”

“You don’t have a body, you don’t have probable cause and no one has filed a complaint,” Mary argued. “How are you going to search that property?”

Sitting back in her chair, Mary looked up at Bradley who was pacing back and forth in her downtown office. The Christmas lights were still up, festive white against slightly browning greenery with red bows. Occasionally he would brush against some
swags
, sending a sprinkling of needles to the floor.

Stanley was sitting in the chair across from Mary, his feet propped up on the desk. “She’s got a point,” he agreed, “We
ain’t
got
nothing
but a conversation with a ghost. And who’s
gonna
believe that?”

Bradley paused and turned to both of them. “Whether they believe me or not, I don’t want Mary going out to that farm by herself.”

Mary shook her head. “Okay, while I really appreciate the concern,” she said. “Remember, I was a cop in Chicago, I think I can handle a farmer. And if you go out there, you’re going to scare them and they might get rid of any evidence.”