Veiled Passages (3 page)

His eyebrows lifted. “Really? Two weeks? We could get married in two weeks?” his smile widening.

“You mean I could have asked for more time?” she questioned.

“Nope, not now,” he said, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips. “In two weeks you’ll be walking down the aisle to make me the happiest man in the world.”

Nodding, she leaned up and kissed him. “Yes. Well, if I can walk after this experience,” she commented drily.

He lowered his head once more and teased her lips with his, exploring and tasting, the heat slowly building for both of them.  Finally, he lifted his head and met her eyes. “I love you,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

Smiling, she slipped her arms around his neck. “Don’t thank me yet,” she said. “You’re going to have to put up with a frantic fiancée for two weeks.”

He kissed the underside of her jaw and Mary shivered when the stubble from his jaw slid against her skin. “Yeah, but then I get to enjoy a wedding night with my sexy bride,” he whispered, “A very long wedding night.”

Chapter Three

Mary slipped through the front doorway and leaned against it, closing it tightly behind her.  She covered her face with her hands and took deep calming breaths. “I will not panic. I will not panic. I will not panic,” she repeated firmly.

“Go ahead and panic,” Mike suggested from a few feet away.

“Aye, never waste a good opportunity to go stark-raving mad,” Ian added from the kitchen. “And why are we panicking this fine morning?”

Mary slipped her hands down and placed them on her knees.  She took a deep breath and then looked up at her roommates.

“What happened to you?” Mike asked, his face suddenly awash with concern.

“Do you need me to call an ambulance?” Ian added, hurrying from the kitchen with a dish towel.

“I’m getting married,” she said breathlessly.

Mike and Ian looked at Mary, and then at each other, confusion evident in their faces.

“Aye,” Ian said slowly. “I’m thinking we knew that…right?”

Mike hovered closer to Mary and held up his hand. “Mary, how many fingers am I holding up?” he asked, displaying three fingers.

She sighed and shook her head. “Yes, we knew that. But Bradley just asked me to move up the wedding,” she replied.

“And that’s when he pushed you off a cliff?” Mike asked.

Shaking her head, Mary looked at him. “What?”

“Mary, you’re a mess,” Ian said. “You look like something the dog didna drag in.”

She ran her hand through her hair and came out with twigs. “Oh, this,” she said. “We kind of rolled down the hill.”

“Before or after he asked you to move up the wedding?” Ian asked.

“After,” Mary replied impatiently. “He won the race, so he got to ask.”

“So, when are you getting married?” Mike asked.

Sighing, Mary leaned back against the door. “Two weeks.”

“Two weeks?” Ian asked. “That’s not much time.”

Mike shrugged. “If you can plan a Super Bowl Party in two weeks, you can plan a wedding in two weeks. I mean there’s not much difference.”

Mary glared at him.

“Wrong answer, right?” Mike said sheepishly.

Nodding, with her teeth clenched, she replied, “Yeah, wrong answer.”

Ian walked over to her and put his arm around her shoulders, guiding her to the staircase. “Okay, now, darling,” he said. “You go on upstairs and take a nice hot shower.  Then, when you’re ready, we can start making some lists and divide and conquer this problem.”

“Really?” Mary asked. “You’ll help me?”

“Of course I will,” he said. “We’re a team.  We’ll get this done.”

“Yeah, and I’ll help too,” Mike added hesitantly. “I don’t know what the hell to do, but I’ll help.”

“Oh, aye, that makes us all feel much better,” Ian replied, rolling his eyes. “Don’t worry, darling, we’ll put him in charge of something harmless.”

“Music!” Mike suggested with enthusiasm. “Angels and, you know, heavenly choirs. I can do music. You need something great when you walk down the aisle.  Something unique. Something that screams ‘Mary O’Reilly is getting married.’”

“How about the Wedding March,” Ian suggested.

“Oh, no, too boring,” Mike replied. “I was thinking
Thriller
and maybe she could learn the dance steps.  Hey, maybe we could all learn the dance steps.  Wouldn’t that be…”

He stopped when he heard Mary groan aloud and watched her run up the stairs, her hands slapped over her ears.  He turned to Ian. “Not
Thriller
, huh?”

“Yeah, probably not.”

Chapter Four

Mary walked into the small restaurant located in the lobby of the downtown hotel.  Having gone through a complete renovation only a few years before, the restaurant was now a trendy Irish Pub with a lunch menu that offered items from a corned beef and slaw sandwich on rye to a Dublin burger with fries.  Although the hotel was only a few blocks from her office, Mary had never been inside the restaurant.  But with a fast approaching wedding, desperation and the hope of catering had her entering the place well before the noon-hour rush.

“Good morning. Can I help you?” the friendly bartender asked as Mary walked towards the bar.

Sliding up on a bar stool Mary nodded. “I’m supposed to meet Angus O’Malley here to talk about catering,” she explained. “But I wouldn’t mind a Diet Pepsi.”

With a quick smile, the woman loaded a glass with ice and used a tap to fill it with the desired drink.  “Angus is in the back, placing orders for next week,” she said. “But I can tell you, his catering scheduled is filled up until June.”

Mary closed her eyes for a moment. “I still want to speak with him,” she said, “just to plead my case.”

The woman smiled. “I’ll let him know you’re here.”

Mary nodded and took a quick sip of the soda.  She closed her eyes in pleasure as the caffeinated beverage slipped down her throat.  She’d been trying to cut back, but today she really felt like she needed one.

“Excuse me, but that stuff will kill you.”

The man’s voice came from right beside her. Mary jumped, looked over to where the voice was coming from and jumped again.

“Oh! My! Goodness! You’re naked,” Mary said, sliding a stool over to get away from the ghost sitting next to her.

The ghost looked casually down at his fleshy and very naked body and nodded, “So it would seem I am,” he said.

Mary reached across the bar, grabbed a folded linen napkin and slid it towards him. “Well, at least cover yourself,” she said. “This is a public place.”

The ghost reached over, shook out the napkin and placed it judiciously on his lap. “There! Happy?”

Turning to him, Mary met his eyes. “No, because I am probably going to be scarred for life,” she replied. “What were you thinking?”

The ghost sat back against the stool and shrugged. “Well, I really wasn’t thinking about it at all, because no one has ever noticed me before,” he said. “I’ve sat here at this bar in my altogether for about ten years.”

“Ten years? What happened ten years ago?”

“I was murdered in my hotel room,” he said with a shrug. “Don’t know how they got to me, but it must have been them.”

“Who is
them
?” Mary asked.

“One of the alphabet agencies,” he replied, lowering his voice and looking over his shoulder. “They are probably still tracking me now. It could be dangerous for you.”

Mary turned and looked around the deserted restaurant and lobby. “I think we’re safe,” she said. “After all, you’re a ghost and no one else can see you.”

He turned and stared at her. “I’ve heard they have people like you working for them,” he said, suddenly suspicious. “Are you one of them?”

“No,” she replied, “And even though I don’t know who
them
are, I can guarantee you I am not one…of them.”

“Them, I mean, they, are the elite secret agencies that actually rule not only this country, but the rest of the world,” he whispered confidentially. “They are only known by letters.”

“Actually,” Mary replied, imitating his confidential tone. “We are all only known by letters.  Just depends on what the letters are. I’m Mary O’Reilly, emphasis on the O.”

The ghost scowled at her. “I’m Peter Swift,” he said, nodding his head slightly as he introduced himself. “Noted author, distinguished intelligence agent, super spy and international playboy.”

“You forgot one really important designation,” she said. 

He sat up straighter and looked surprised.  “And what would that be?” he asked with a sneer.

“Dead guy,” Mary replied and picked up her soda and took a sip.

“Were you talking with someone?” the bartender asked as she slipped back behind the bar.

Mary shook her head. “Phone call. Bluetooth,” she explained. “I always worry people will think I’m talking to myself, or worse yet, I’m talking to ghosts.”

The woman behind the bar chuckled, but shook her head. “Don’t mention ghosts to Angus,” she cautioned. “He’s pretty superstitious and he thinks that if word gets out that the hotel is haunted, he’ll lose business.”

“The hotel is haunted?” Mary asked quietly.

The bartender nodded. “Yeah, some room upstairs has a bathroom door that won’t stay closed whenever someone is taking a bath.  They say some guy drowned in the bathtub and he keeps opening it.  Some kind of pervert ghost.”

“I am not a pervert,” Peter announced. “I am merely trying to save lives.”

“How did he drown?” Mary asked.

“Drunk,” she said. “They found an empty wine bottle on the table next to the TV.  I heard he had a couple of drinks downstairs and then went upstairs to finish off a bottle on his own.  If he’d only gone to bed instead, he’d be alive today.”

“I never got to drink that bottle,” Peter insisted. “The murderer must have drunk it to cover up his fiendish plot.”

“Was there an investigation?” Mary asked.

The woman shook her head. “No, it was pretty cut and dry,” she said. “Well, except for the cash they found in his room.  Seems the old guy was cheating his fellow writers out of some hard earned cash. There weren’t a lot of nice words spoken about the deceased.”

Mary glanced over at Peter and he turned his head away from her. “It wasn’t one of my better moments,” he confessed. “I am ashamed I allowed money to overrule my better judgment.”

“So, does Angus really think the place is haunted?”

“I do, and that’s a fact,” Angus roared from the doorway. “And it’s also a fact that I’ve tried all kinds of things to rid myself of the presence.  Why do you ask?”

Mary swiveled in her stool and faced the burly Irishman with a smile. “Have I got a deal for you.”

Chapter Five  

“So, you’ve made a deal with the caterer that if you get rid of his ghost, he’ll cater the reception?” Bradley asked, still trying to overcome his astonishment. “But what happens if you don’t solve the mystery?”

Mary walked back to the refrigerator and put the milk away. “Bradley, don’t worry. I’ll solve it,” she replied. “I always solve the mysteries.”

Rosie, sitting at the kitchen table next to Bradley, reached over and patted his arm softly. “Well, just in case, I’ll start freezing meatballs,” Rosie added. “Everyone loves meatballs.”

“Have you forgotten that you have a murderer stalking you?” he asked. “How do you expect to solve a case when you are supposed to be under police surveillance?”

Mary walked back to the counter. She picked up a wooden spoon and began stirring the batter in the big yellow bowl on the counter. “Well, actually, the ghost is a former spy and intelligence officer,” Mary said. “So, he might actually be of help to me.”

“Mary, he wasn’t that good,” Bradley said.

“How do you know?” Rosie asked.

“Because he’s dead,” Bradley replied firmly.

Rosie picked up her cup of tea, took a sip as she considered his words and finally placed the cup down and looked over to Mary. “You know, he has a point,” she replied. “Even in the movies, the good spies never die.”

Rolling her eyes, Mary stopped mixing the cookie dough. “I’m sorry, who was the person who asked me to move the wedding up this morning?” she asked.

Sighing, Bradley nodded. “I was.”

“Thanks for that clarification,” she replied, starting to mix again. “I was afraid I’d made a mistake.”

“But do we really need a caterer?” he asked. “Couldn’t we just…”

“If you suggest we order pizzas I will throw my spoon at you,” she replied.

“Pizzas?” Ian asked, coming down the stairs. “That sounds like a great idea. I’m starving. I’ll have pepperoni with extra cheese.”

Rosie shook her head. “You’ll have to wait two weeks for them,” she said. “You’ll be really hungry by then.”

Ian stopped on the bottom step and slowly backed up several steps. “Okay, let’s just run this scene again,” he suggested. “Pizza? Pizza for what?”

Mary chuckled as he continued down the stairs and entered the kitchen.  “Bradley was just about to suggest that we order pizza for the reception,” she said.

Turning to Bradley, Ian shook his head. “You said that out loud?” he asked. “Most men just think it.  You are braver than I thought.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Mary warned.

Ian laughed. “Oh, by the way, great news,” he said, dipping his finger into the cookie dough and snatching a bite. “Gillian is going to be able to come to the wedding.  She got her tickets today.”

“Oh, that’s great,” Mary replied. “I can’t wait to meet her.”

“What kind of pizza does she like?” Bradley asked with a grin.

“You are a brave man,” Ian said.

He turned to Mary. “So, why pizzas? I thought I was helping you.  I’ve already looked up my dear-grandma’s recipe for wedding haggis,” he said.

“What’s wedding haggis?” Rosie asked.

“Well, it is quite a spectacle,” Ian said, walking across the room and sitting next to Rosie. “First, a fellow wearing a kilt and playing a bagpipe leads the procession, followed by another fellow carrying the haggis on a silver platter.  They are followed by the bride and groom.”

“Sounds disgusting,” Bradley muttered.