Secret Hollows (25 page)

Mike guided Ian out of town and down the country lanes until they came to his childhood home. Ian pulled into the farmyard and parked, as Mike had instructed, next to the back door.

“Dad’s probably already done the milking for the afternoon,” Mike said. “So, he and mom will be in the kitchen talking about their day. This is a good time to catch them.”

Ian got out of the car. “Are you sure I shouldn’t use the front door?” he asked.

Shaking his head, Mike led him to the back porch steps. “Only salesmen use the front door,” he said. “Regular people use the back.”

Ian climbed the stairs and knocked on the screen door. A moment later, a woman in her fifties opened it and smiled at him.

“Hello, can I help you?” she asked.

“Hello, Mrs. Richards,” Ian said. “My name is Ian MacDougal. I’m a friend… I mean, I was a friend of Mike’s.”

“You knew Mike?” she asked, opening the door wider.

“Aye,” Ian said with a smile. “We were fast friends.”

“Please, come in,” she said. “I’m sure we’d be happy to speak with you.”

Ian walked into the kitchen of the Richard’s farmhouse. The bright, warm room was such a contrast to the cold, dark night outside. The kitchen table was draped in a yellow gingham checked tablecloth and the cabinets were a warm golden maple. The kitchen curtains were blue and the walls were painted a soft creamy yellow with pale blue accents.

“This is a lovely room, Mrs. Richards,” Ian said, as he entered.

“We’re not much on formality here, please
call
me Alice,” Mike’s mother said. “Do you mind if we sit in the kitchen? I’m in the midst of preparing dinner.”

“Oh, forgive me for intruding,” he said. “I shan’t stay but a moment.”

“Nonsense,” Alice replied. “Allen is just washing up and will be down soon. You have to stay and visit with us. We’d be pleased if you’d consider staying for dinner.”

She moved over to the counter and started cutting biscuit dough into rounds and placing them on a cookie sheet.

“Mom’s making pot roast,” Mike said from the corner of the room. “You’d be a fool to leave.”

“Is that pot roast you’re making?” Ian asked. “Mike would speak of it, often. He’d say if I ever got offered the chance to try his mother’s pot roast, I’d be the luckiest of men.”

She turned and smiled at him. “Did he really say that?” she asked.

“Aye, I can still hear the words,” Ian said. “I’d be honored to stay.”

“So, where did you meet Michael?”

“Oh, well, then, that’s a story,” Ian said, looking to Mike for direction.

“When I went to
Philmont
Boy Scout Camp, you were there from Scotland with your Troop,” Mike said.

“Do you recall when Mike went to
Philmont
Boy Scout Camp?” he asked.

“The one in Arizona?” she asked, lifting another biscuit from the board.

Ian started to nod in agreement, but Mike called, “No, it’s in New Mexico. She always forgot that.”

“Um, no, it’s in New Mexico,” Ian said.

Alice smiled. “Oh, that’s right,” she said. “I always forget that.”

“Aye, well I was one of the International Scouts and I met Mike there,” Ian said.

“Were you the one he wrote home about?” she asked, looking concerned.

Mike laughed. “No, no,” he said. “That kid puked every night because he missed his mommy.”

“Oh, do you mean the poor lad with separation issues?” he asked. “No, that wasn’t me.”

“Did you two keep in touch from Scout Camp?” she asked, lifting the cookie sheet and placing it in the oven.

“Yeah, like I’d write a letter,” Mike said. “No we saw each other again in college.”

“Oh, no, I wasn’t very good at correspondence,” Ian said.

Nodding, Alice closed the oven door and set the timer. “Neither was Michael,” she said. “We had to threaten him to get him to write thank-you notes at Christmas.”

Ian laughed. “I’m sure me mum feels the same way,” he said. “We met up again at college. We each realized we’d met earlier and hit it off again.”

An older version of Mike entered the room. Ian figured Allen Richards was probably in his late fifties, but he moved and looked like a much younger man.

“The body of an athlete,” Mike commented. “That’s what farming will get you.”

“Allen, I want you to meet Ian,” Alice said. “He’s was a friend of Mike’s. He’s in the neighborhood and thought he’d stop by to meet us.”

Allen didn’t say anything at first, just sat down at the table across from Ian. “What brings you to our neighborhood?” he asked.

“Tell him the truth,” Mike said. “My dad can see a lie a mile away.”

“Well, I’m actually here in the area doing research,” he explained. “I’m a professor from the University of Edinburgh and we have a relationship with the University of Chicago. For the time I’m working with a private investigator in Freeport.”

“A private investigator,” Alice said. “Well, that sounds exciting.”

Ian smiled, “Aye, it has been so far.”

“What do you study?” Allen asked.

“Criminology and Paranormal Phenomena,” Ian replied.

“Well, that’s different, isn’t it?” Alice said.

“Mom thinks you’re a nut,” Mike translated.

Ian bit back a grin. “Aye, it is different, which is why we want to study it,” he said. “There are many so-called psychics who come forward with information, some are mere charlatans, but some have good information that often helps solve a crime. How do we tell the difference?”

“So, all you are studying are psychics?” Allen asked.

Ian shook his head. “No, currently my emphasis is on paranormal images or ghosts.”

Alice walked across the room and sat at the table next to Ian. “Do you believe in ghosts?” she asked, watching him intently for his answer.

He nodded. “Aye, I do,” he said. “I believe there are ghosts among us and they often want to communicate with us.”

He watched her lift her hand to her cheek for a moment. “Are they all evil?” she asked.

“No more than asking if all the people in the world are evil,” he replied. “I’m sure there are some evil ones, but I believe the majority are good.”

“Why are they here?” Allen asked.

Ian sighed. “Well, my theory,” he began. “And it’s still just a theory,
mind
you, is that we have several kinds of ghosts. We have ghosts that haven’t moved on to their next stage yet. It could be because they don’t realize they’re dead or they still have unfinished business. Then, there are ghosts who moved on and come back to visit occasionally. They come back to the places that were important to them – either a place they spent a lot of time or perhaps, a place they died.”

“Like the battlefields at Gettysburg,” Alice said.

“Exactly,” he replied. “And then, I’m learning just now about another group who passed over, have no unfinished business, but come back to watch over those they love.”

“Guardian angels?”
Alice asked.

Ian nodded. “Yes, and they can come for a little while to deliver a message or protect a loved one, or they can be present for a longer period of time,” he said.

“This is actually research a university is paying for?” Allen asked. “Don’t they have better things to do with their money?”

“Well, the funding is coming from a fairly wealthy benefactor who is interested in this particular subject,” Ian said. “And so, really, we’re not taking money from other projects.”

“Allen, that was rude,” Alice said. “Ian was Mike’s friend.”

“I don’t remember Mike talking about an Ian,” Allen said. “How do we know he isn’t here poking around about Mike.”

“Well, why don’t you ask me some questions only someone who knew Mike would know,” Ian suggested.

“What was Mike’s favorite ice cream?” Allen asked.

“Vanilla,” Mike replied quickly.

“Vanilla,” Ian replied. “Although, really, one would think he would have been more expansive in his tastes.”

“I like vanilla,” Mike said.

“That’s right,” Alice said. “He loved vanilla.”

“What was Mike’s favorite baseball team?” Allen asked.

“Does he want the one I told him was my favorite or my actual favorite?” Mike asked.

“Would you
be wanting
the one he told you was his favorite, or the one he truly favored?” Ian asked.

“Is this a trick answer?” Allen asked.

Ian shook his head.

“I really liked the Milwaukee Brewers,” Mike admitted. “But my dad loved the Cubs, so I cheered along with him.”

“Well, he told me once he was a Brewers fan, unless he was home with you, and then he was a Cubs fan.”

“Damn, I remember finding that Brewer’s t-shirt in his room,” Allen said. “And he told me a friend had left it.”

“I have a question,” Alice asked. “Why didn’t he ever get married?”

“Because I didn’t meet Mary O’Reilly until after I was dead,” he answered automatically and then turned to Ian, panic on his face. “And if you ever tell her I said that, I’ll haunt you for the rest of your life.”

Ian smiled.
“Because he could never find anyone who could live up to his mother.”

Alice smiled. “Well, that was nice.”

“So, what are you investigating now?” Allen asked.

Ian breathed a silent sigh of relief, it seemed he passed inspection. “Actually, I’m working with the Freeport Police Department on the Emil Forrest case,” he said.

“What?” Allen asked. “That case is twenty years old. Why would you be working on that case?”

“Because some new evidence has come forward showing that Emil could not have committed the crime,” he explained.

“What?” Allen exclaimed. “That’s absurd. It was an open and shut case.”

“Tell him about Ronny,” Mike said.

“There was another boy,” Ian explained calmly, “a boy from Chicago who was missing from Lake Le-Aqua-Na a year before the other deaths. He was another victim of the killer. But Emil was out of town at the time of his disappearance. There’s no way he could have done it.”

Allen shook his head. “No, I don’t believe this,” he said. “I think you and your investigation has tried to create something to get a little publicity and I can tell you, I don’t appreciate it.”

“I can assure you…”

“You can’t assure me of anything, young man,” he said. “I want you out of my house. I want you out of my town. And I want you to drop this whole idea of reopening this case.”

Ian stood up and nodded politely. “I apologize for upsetting you.”

“Upsetting me?” Allen yelled. “Emil Forrest murdered those boys! End of story! Now get the hell out of my house.”

“Allen, what are you…” Alice began.

“No, Alice, you don’t understand,” Allen said. “This man could ruin our lives with his meddling. If you were ever a friend of Mike’s you will drop this case and leave the area.”

The door slammed in Ian’s face and he hurried down the stairs and to his car. He turned on the car and waited for Mike to appear. He didn’t have to wait long.

“Mike, I’m sorry…,” Ian began.

“Ian, I’m sorry…,” Mike said.

They both stopped and looked at each other and started laughing.

“What the hell happened back there?” Mike asked.

“I have no idea,” Ian said. “But I really touched a sore spot with your father.”

Mike looked back at the house for a moment and then he turned to Ian. “I’m going to stay here for a while,” he said. “I just want to be sure they are both okay.”

“That’s a good idea,” Ian said. “I’ll meet you back at Mary’s.”

Mike started to fade away, and then reappeared. “Oh, about what I said about Mary…”

Ian shook his head. “All of this excitement, I can’t really remember what went on in there at all,” he said. “And I have a feeling
it’s
permanent amnesia.”

Mike smiled. “Thanks, Ian.”

He faded away and Ian put the car into reverse and pulled out of the Richards’ farmyard.

Mike came back into the kitchen in time to see his father pull on his chore coat. “I’ve got to go out to the barn and check on the calves,” he said.

“But, Allen, dinner is almost ready,” Alice said.

“Sorry, you go ahead without me,” he replied. “I don’t have much of an appetite anyway.”

He slipped on his tall rubber boots that he kept next to the door and grabbed the flashlight and walked into the dark night, across the farmyard to the barn.

Mike followed his dad into the barn and was surprised to watch him walk past the calves that were mooing in their stalls. He walked beyond the milk house, with its stainless steel stalls and state-of-the-art milking equipment, and into the grain house.

The grain house had always been Mike’s least favorite place to go. No matter how hard you tried, there was always grain spilled on the ground and that would attract farm mice. Mike could handle a lot of things, but scampering mice sent a shiver down his spine. But mice or not, Mike followed his father.