Natural Reaction - a Mary O'Reilly Paranormal Mystery Read online

  “Can we speak with Jon?” Ian asked.

  Stevo shook his head. “No, Jon died in Viet Nam,” he explained. “But when the investigator from B&R interviewed us, Jon said his experiment was fine. If they still have a record of the fire, that interview ought to be in it.”

  “Why did the investigator interview the students?” Mary asked.

  Stevo shook his head. “Someone was trying to call it negligence and they wanted to blame the coach. There was a pretty big deal made of it.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Rosie said.

  “Yeah, well, it was mostly the guys in the baseball team who were interviewed,” he said. “All the guys knew the coach was a stand-up guy. No way was he careless.”

  “The coach was a hero,” Lo added fervently. “He looked out for all of the students, not just on the team or in his classes.”

  She paused for a moment and then reached over and clasped her husband’s hand. He met her eyes and nodded, patting her hand.

  “He saved a lot of lives,” she said. “He was one of the good guys. He didn’t care if you were rich and powerful or just one of the little people. He stood up for what was right.”

  “Tell me what happened before the explosion,” Mary asked.

  “Me and the coach got everyone else out of the room,” he said. “Then the coach told me it was my turn. He told me he’d jump down after me and wanted me to catch him. So, he lowered me down as far as he could and then I dropped and rolled.”

  Stevo shook his head.

  “It wasn’t more than a minute later, I stood up to catch him and the whole place exploded. It was like the Fourth of July.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because there were sparks, like fireworks, coming out of the window.”

  “Where was the coach standing when he dropped you out the window?” Mary asked.

  “We were at the window at the front of the class because the smoke from the back of the room was moving up,” he said. “He was facing the window, because he was letting me down.”

  “Was there a fire in the front of the room?” she asked, remembering the burns on the right side of the coach’s face.

  He shook his head. “No, it was all in the back, but it was slowly moving forward,” he said.

  “Is there any reason the coach would have turned away from the window, gone back into the room?”

  “No, everyone was out. All he had to do was climb onto the window sill,” he said. “But the explosion happened too fast. It didn’t give him a chance.”

  “Do you remember anything odd about the explosion?” she asked. “Do you remember what it smelled like?”

  Stevo’s eyes widened and he shook his head. “Yeah, now that you mention it, I do remember that it smelled like garlic bread. It was so weird.”

  Mary wrote down the word “Phosphorus” and then looked back at Stevo and Lo. “Was there anyone who would have wanted to kill the coach?”

  Stevo shook his head. “No. No, everyone loved Coach Thorne.”

  Lo looked up and then lowered her head, not meeting Mary’s eyes. “No,” she said, “No.”

  Mary put her notepad down. “Well, thank you,” she said. “You’ve been very helpful.”

  “If there’s anything else we can do,” Stevo said. “Just let us know.”

  Mary nodded. “Thanks, I might just do that.”

  Chapter Thirty-three

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to come in with you?” Mary asked Ian.

  They were sitting in the parking lot of B&R Manufacturing on the outskirts of Freeport.

  “Aye, let me go in first,” he said. “Then if we have some follow up questions, you can go in without raising suspicions. Besides, I’m a college professor; I’m used to dealing with stuffy administrators.”

  He hopped out of the Roadster and entered the front door. The wooden paneled lobby and tile floor spoke of the years of success in the farming community. The large portraits of the former presidents spoke of the obvious pride they had in their business.

  Ian tugged at the sleeves of his suit coat and made sure he was in pristine condition before he approached the front desk. “Hello,” the burly man at the front desk said. “Can I help you.”

  Half receptionist, half security guard, Ian thought. I wonder why they feel the need for both?

  “Good afternoon, I’m Professor Ian MacDougal,” Ian began.

  “If you’re looking for a grant you have to request a form through our website,” the man interrupted.

  “Well, thank you, but I’m not interested in a grant,” Ian said. “I’m here…”

  “If you’re looking for a job in our research department, we are currently not seeking new employees, but feel free to fill out an employment form on our website.”

  “Again, thank you, but I’m not searching for employment, either,” Ian said, curtly. “I’d like to speak…”

  “If you need information about our products for your research, please see our specific product pages on…”

  “I know, your website,” Ian interrupted. “I’m working with the Chicago Police Department. And we can make this hard or we can make this easy.”

  The man sat up in his chair and shook his head. “What?”

  Well, damn, those stupid movie lines really do work, Ian thought.

  “I’m working with the Chicago Police Department and the University of Chicago,” he said. “I’m working on case that requires me to speak with the president of your company. I called earlier to see if he was available and I was told to come here. I could get a warrant if you’d like, but then I’d be obliged to make anything I find public record. Your choice.”

  “Um, let me call Mr. Brandlocker.”

  “I’d be much obliged,” Ian said.

  “Pardon?” the man asked, looking confused.

  Ian sighed. “Thank you.”

  “Oh, hey, no problem.”

  A few minutes later Ian was ushered into the inner offices of B&R Manufacturing. A pert secretary offered him his choice of beverage and reading material and he assumed that he would be cooling his heels for quite a long time. However, he was pleasantly surprised to see the large oak door at the far end of the room open and an athletically built older man walk out.

  “Professor MacDougal?” the man asked.

  Ian stood and nodded. “Aye, that would be me.”

  “I’m Ephraim Brandlocker,” the man said. “Please come into my office.”

  The office would have been considered luxurious on Michigan Avenue, in Freeport it seemed so out of place it was almost decadent.

  Ephraim slid onto his leather chair and brushed his hand over the polished mahogany and ivory inlaid desk. “I like nice things,” he said.

  “It seems you do,” Ian said, noting both the desk and many of the art objects on the shelves and walls were obviously smuggled into the United States because they were considered contraband. “And it’s obvious you like a little…risk…in your decorating choices.”

  Laughing, Ephraim opened a drawer and pulled out a Cuban cigar which he offered to Ian. “The best isn’t always the …easiest to obtain,” he said. “But I always get what I want.”

  Ian smiled and shook his head, turning down the cigar. “Ach, no, it’d be a shame to get used to the taste of those on a college professor’s salary,” he said.

  “Ah, yes, a college professor,” Ephraim repeated. “I took a few minutes to check your references. The Chicago Police Department speaks highly of your skills.”

  Ian nodded, acknowledging his remark.

  “And you’re no ordinary college professor,” he said, “with a professor’s salary. You and I have a lot in common.”

  “Do we?” Ian asked.

  “We both have a lineage that not only sets us above the others around us, but requires more from us than the average citizen,” he said. “I believe in the UK you call it noblesse oblige.”

  “Actually, that would be French,” Ian said. “But we bo
rrow their words all the time. It makes us sound much more sophisticated than we actually are. You’d know about that, wouldn’t you Ephraim?”

  Ephraim’s eyes narrowed. “You came here wanting something from me, I believe,” he said. “And you choose to be rude. Maybe you don’t know who you’re dealing with.”

  “Oh, perhaps you didn’t know this about the Scots,” Ian said, standing and leaning over the table. “Let me enlighten you. We are a warrior people. We’re often crass. We don’t do things in a small way. Hell, we flip telephone poles across a field as a national sport. We wear kilts, because, quite frankly, no one dare stop us. And we don’t put up with a lot of crap. You’re wasting my time, Mr. Brandlocker. I’ve already mentioned to my friends in Chicago I might need a warrant to search your files. It’ll take a day to get here. And with it will also come several other investigators looking through your files. But, I’d rather wait a day than sit here listen to you tell me how great you are for another minute.”

  Ian turned to leave.

  “Wait,” Ephraim called out. “What do you want?”

  “The fire investigation file for the Chemistry lab explosion in the 1960s,” he said.

  Ephraim reached across his desk, picked up a manila envelope and handed it to Ian.

  “I know what’s going on in my town, Professor. I have a feeling that we might have both underestimated each other,” Ephraim said.

  Ian shook his head. “No, I understand you completely.”

  Chapter Thirty-four

  “Mr. Gormley will be happy to see you now,” the assistant said, ushering Rosie back into Walter’s office.

  Walter stood and extended his hand. “Thank you for coming back to see me,” he said.

  “Well, I did promise you that I would give you updates,” she said. “There isn’t much news. But we do feel that it was more than an accident. Perhaps there was a secondary explosion and that’s what killed Coach Thorne. But tonight is the first night we’re going to use the key. We going to go over late tonight and try to get in touch with his spirit.”

  “Tonight?” he repeated. “You’re going to go tonight?”

  Rosie nodded. “Yes, um, the atmosphere is, um, primed for psychic phenomena. So, we should be able to speak with him.”

  “I find this highly interesting, Rosie,” Walter said. “There is so much in the world we don’t know about.”

  “Indeed,” Rosie replied.

  “And you see ghosts?” he repeated.

  “Yes, yes I do.”

  “And Professor MacDougal, remind me again, does he see ghosts?”

  Rosie shook her head, concentrating on getting the answers right. “Oh, no, he just has equipment to record them.”

  Special equipment?”

  “Yes, very special equipment,” she said, praying he didn’t ask her to name them.

  “And where is Professor MacDougal staying?”

  “Oh, at Mary’s house,” Rosie said, relieved to know the answer.

  She clapped her hands over her mouth. “Oh, dear, I wasn’t supposed to mention that.”

  “Well, Rosie, you and I are old friends,” he said. “Don’t worry; your secret is safe with me. So, that would be Mary…”

  “O’Reilly, Mary O’Reilly,” Rosie said. “But she can’t see ghosts at all. She has never been able to see ghosts.”

  Rosie giggled. “It would be totally absurd to think that Mary O’Reilly could see ghosts.”

  Walter nodded his head. “Well, I’m sure seeing a ghost is a very rare ability, Rosie. And certainly not everyone can do it. So, I don’t think less of your friend if she can’t see ghosts.”

  Rosie took a deep breath and smiled. “Thank you, Walter, that was the perfect thing to say.”

  Chapter Thirty-five

  The clock on the dashboard displayed 11:45 as they pulled into the teachers parking lot at the high school. “Is there any reason we had to wait until nearly midnight to do this?” Ian asked.

  “Midnight is so much better,” Mary teased. “I wanted to be sure all the ghosts in the school were active.”

  “Oh, you’re funny aren’t you,” he said.

  “I thought you researched ghosts in Edinburgh Castle,” she said. “You seem a bit jumpy for someone who’s done this before.”

  “Scottish ghosts are much more reserved than your American ones,” he said. “Our ghosts merely parade down a hall or appear near a battlement. There’s no gadding about talking to people. It’s much more dignified and stoic.”

  “Boring if you ask me,” Mary said, grabbing her backpack and slipping it over her shoulder.

  “There’s not a thing wrong with boring,” Ian said, grabbing his own backpack and following her across the darkened parking lot toward the entrance to the school.

  They were nearly to the door when a dark figure stepped out from behind a tree. Ian jumped and Mary reached for a revolver she no longer carried.

  “Going somewhere?” Bradley asked.

  Mary grinned and jogged the last few yards. “You’re back,” she said, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him soundly. “Welcome home.”

  “Well, you won’t be getting that kind of a greeting from me,” Ian said. “But it’s good to have you back.”

  His arm still around Mary’s waist, he chuckled. “A handshake would suffice.”

  “So how did you know we’d be here?” Mary asked.

  “I called your house and Stanley told me where you were heading,” he said, looking down at her. “I thought we decided you would be investigating something safe.”

  Mary shrugged her shoulders. “Bradley, this case is over forty years old and it’s about an explosion in a Chemistry lab,” she said. “What could be safer?”

  “And what you’re not telling me is?”

  She sighed. “He was probably murdered.”

  “Probably?” Bradley asked.

  “Well, I still have to interview Coach Thorne,” she said. “We didn’t have enough time the other night…”

  “When you were breaking and entering?” Bradley interrupted.

  “Well, actually, we were merely entering,” Ian said. “There was absolutely no breaking involved.”

  “But now we’re legal,” Mary added. “The Superintendent gave us a key.”

  “Walter Formley?” Bradley asked. “He knows you’re doing this?”

  “Well, actually, he thinks Rosie is doing this,” Mary said. “But he knows we’re looking into the explosion.”

  “Okay, let’s go in,” Bradley said.

  The halls were dark except for the small circles of illumination from the emergency lights every twenty feet. They made their way silently past the offices until they reached the stairwell. Their footsteps echoed as they climbed to the second floor.

  “I love old schools,” Mary whispered. “There are so many possibilities for ghosts.”

  “Really?” Bradley asked, following directly behind her. “What kind of possibilities?”

  “In most schools there are former teachers who float down the halls retracing their steps in life,” she said. “Then the librarians who still linger in the stacks, looking for students who aren’t whispering. And then, the fiercest of all…”

  “And who would those be?” Ian asked.

  “The lunch ladies who float through the lunchroom, metal spoon still in hand.”

  A clatter at the end of the hall caused them all to stop in their tracks. “Okay, that wasn’t a spirit,” Bradley whispered. “So, for this one, I go first.”

  He quietly moved in front of Mary and took the remaining stairs two at a time, pausing at the entrance to the second floor hall. Mary came up behind him. “Are you armed,” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  “Then stay back,” he ordered, pulling his service revolver out of his holster.

  His back against the wall, he slipped into the hallway and, staying in the shadows, moved slowly towards the end of the hall. Mary waited a moment and started to move
after him when Ian caught her arm. “He told you to stay,” Ian whispered.

  “He doesn’t have backup,” she said. “I have to go.”

  Ian rolled his eyes. “Fine, but I’m going as well.”

  They both slipped into the hall and followed Bradley, staying several yards behind him. Mary could see Bradley’s shadow against the lockers when he approached the emergency light. He was moving forward, his gun pointing toward the floor. But then she saw a figure step out of the doorway behind him and pull a gun out.

  “Bradley,” she screamed, “Behind you.”

  Bradley turned and dropped. A gun fired and the emergency light exploded, plunging that portion of the corridor into darkness. Ian grabbed Mary and pulled her to the floor, just before a second bullet slammed into the lockers above them.

  They heard running footsteps echo in the hall.

  “Are you…,” Bradley called.

  “I’m fine,” she interrupted. “I’ll call for back-up.”

  Bradley jumped up and ran in the direction of the gunman. He paused at the end of the corridor and listened. He heard a door close softly and muffled footsteps. Quickly moving forward, he found the second floor entrance to the auditorium. Dropping low, he opened the door and slipped inside. Once the door closed, the auditorium was pitch black inside. Bradley knew a flashlight would make him an easy target, so he stayed low and listened for movement.

  He could hear a faint pattering of footsteps near the stage. “Police Officer,” he yelled, moving down the aisle toward the stage. “Freeze.”

  A brief sliver of light flooded the room as the door from the hallway on the other side of the auditorium was opened and a dark figure slipped through. Bradley ran down the aisle, guided by the soft chair lights on the end of the rows, and across the front of the room. He pushed open the door in time to hear the sound of an outside door slamming shut. He ran down the hallway, but there were a half dozen outside entrances on this side of the building and there was no way of telling which one the gunman had used.

  “Damn,” he swore, placing his gun back in its holster.