Secret Hollows Page 18

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.

  Chapter Forty-two

  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.

  In the corner of the grain house was a small room that used to be an office. The old oak door was covered in grain dust and the hinges were dark brown with rust. The window was covered with a yellow paper that was half-peeled away. Allen grabbed hold of the doorknob, turned it and pushed against the door with his hip. The door didn’t budge. Allen hit it again, using the force of his entire body and the door gave way, slowly opening under the pressure.

  A dozen mice scattered in different directions and Mike very nearly squealed, but his attention was immediately diverted when he saw his dad reach into his pocket and pull out his keys.

  Why in the world would he carry around a key for something in an old office that hadn’t been open since Mike could remember?

  Allen lifted his flashlight up and hung it on a hook in the wall. Next to the hook was an old metal locker. It looked like it had been salvaged from a school hallway. Allen flipped through the keys on his ring and finally came to a small copper-colored key. He inserted it into the lock and twisted. Then he lifted the latch on the locker door and pulled the door open.

  Mike saw his father reach inside and pull something out, but his father’s shadow fell over the item at first. Then his father turned and Mike’s breath caught. Then he felt sick to his stomach.

  In his own father’s hands was the stainless steel fishing rod that Mike had always coveted. The bright red reel was still on top of the black spincast handle. And Mike knew if he looked closely he would also see two initials scratched at the end of the handle in the shiny stainless steel. T.B. Timmy Beck. This was Timmy’s fishing pole. The one he had with him on that summer’s morning twenty years ago. The one that was never found.

  The one the murderer must have kept.

  Chapter Forty-three

  “I tell you, it was like it dropped from the skies,” Stanley explained, as he hung his coat up in Mary’s closet. “One minute it’s as quiet as you’d like, the next, some poor cat sounds like it’s being tortured.”

  “Oh, Stanley, that sounds just awful,” Rosie said, moving into the living room to find a chair. “I don’t understand how people can be so cruel to animals. Bradley, the police should be doing something about this.”

  Bradley, aware of Mary’s side of the story, took a moment to respond. “You’re right, Rosie,” he agreed. “There ought to be a law against that kind of thing.”

  Mary sent him a warning glance.

  He grinned back at her. “Disturbing the peace, noise pollution, unlawful use of a torture device…” he continued.

  “Funny, Bradley Alden, very funny,” Mary replied.

  Stanley walked across the room, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Strangest thing, though,” he said.

  “What?” Rosie asked.

  “Could have sworn the cat was singing Eye of the Tiger,” he replied, shaking his head and then he looked over at Mary and winked.

  Mary took the pot holder she was holding and whipped it across the room at him. “That was not funny, Stanley Wagner,” she said.

  He ducked and it missed him, then he sat next to Rosie and laughed. “I had to do it,” he said. “And then, when there was complete silence from you afterwards…I ‘bout had a spasm laughing so hard.”

  “You mean there wasn’t a cat?” Rosie asked.

  Stanley laughed harder, tears rolling down his cheeks, “No,” he wheezed, “just Mary.”

  “But Mary doesn’t sound like a cat,” Rosie said.

  Bradley covered his laughter with a series of suspicious coughs.

  “Oh, don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, Alden,” Mary said. “Rosie, I think you and I should go out for dinner and let these men fend for themselves.”

  Rosie turned and looked at Stanley and then over at Bradley. “Um, Mary, did you decide which song you were going to sing at my wedding?” she asked innocently.

  Stanley sat straight up and stopped laughing. “What?” he asked.

  “Why Stanley, I’m sure we discussed this,” she said. “Mary is going to sing at our wedding.”

  Mary nodded, biting back a grin. “Yes, I’ve been practicing for weeks,” she added.

  “But, but, but…” Stanley stuttered.

  “I thought about the perfect song for both of you,” Mary continued. “So, I’ve been practicing You Light Up My Life.”

  She picked up a wooden spoon and, holding it in front of her mouth, began to sing, as off tune and screechy as possible, “You light up my life. You give me hope to carry on. You light up my days and fill my nights, with song.”

  “So, what do you think?” she asked.

  “We’re eloping,” Stanley muttered softly.

  Rosie clapped her hands together. “Why Mary, it’s perfect,” she said. “I insist you do an encore performance at the reception.”

  Stanley dropped his head into his hands. “Okay, okay, uncle,” he cried, “I’m sorry Mary, I’ll never criticize your singing again. I’m sorry I made fun of you. Please, forgive me.”

  Before Mary could respond, the front door opened and Ian stepped inside. “Have you seen Mike about?” he asked, without bothering to greet anyone.

  Mary shook her head. “No, I’ve been here for about two hours and he hasn’t shown up,” she said.

  Ian shrugged off his coat and laid it on the back of a chair. “I just had the oddest conversation with Mike’s parents,” he said. “Mike suggested I go by and meet them. See what they may know about the case. And everything seemed to be going fine until I brought up the case.”

  “Then what happened,” Bradley asked.

  Looking over at Bradley, Ian shrugged. “Suddenly Mike’s dad, Allen, was over-the-top upset about it. Claimed that I was using the investigation as a way to get publicity. Said that Emil had killed those boys, case closed.”

  “But what about Ronny?” Mary asked. “Did you mention the new evidence?”

  Ian nodded. “I did, but he didn’t believe me. He told me I was lying and threw me out of his house.”

  Mary sat down on one of the stools next to the counter. “How did Mike take it?”

  “He was as surprised as I was,” Ian said. “He told me to drive back here, because he wanted to stick around and hear the conversation that took place after I left.”

  “Well, he is the mayor of the village,” Stanley said. “Having a murderer running around loose for twenty years ain’t good for public confidence.”

  “But wouldn’t you want to know?” Rosie asked. “Wouldn’t you be grateful if someone found out you were wrong and was trying to figure out the truth?”

  “Unless you didn’t want that truth to come out,” Bradley said. “Unless you ha
d something to hide.”

  “No, it can’t be Mike’s dad,” Mary said. “It would destroy him.”

  “Well, let’s just hope for the best,” Rosie said.

  “Aye, we can hope,” Ian said. “And wait to hear from Mike.”

  Chapter Forty-four

  “Fourteen bottles of beer on the wall, fourteen bottles of beer. You take one down, drink it by yourself and there’s…” Mike stopped singing for a moment, counting in his head.

  Mary sat up in her bed and shook her head. “Thirteen. Thirteen bottles of beer on the wall.”

  Mike looked up at her, grinned widely and then bowed. “Thank you, milady,” he slurred. “Thirteen bottles of beer on the wall.”

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  He floated over next to her bed. “I’m drunk.”

  Sighing, she shook her head. “You can’t be drunk,” she said. “You don’t have a body, so alcohol can’t affect you.”

  He stared at her, then he moved closer trying to get her face in focus, and then he moved back. “I can be drunk if I want to be,” he replied, nodding in a self-satisfied manner. “Maybe I drank ghost beer. What do you think about that?”

  “Well, I’ve never heard about ghost beer.”

  He nodded and winked at her. “We drink it at all the ghost bars,” he slurred. “Bud Really Really Lite.”

  “I don’t buy it,” she said.

  He exhaled loudly. “Come on, Mary,” he said, his voice and actions back to normal, “I really need to be drunk right now, okay? So just play along.”

  “Mike, what happened when you stayed behind at your parents?”

  His entire body seemed to deflate as he sank onto the edge of the bed. “Tell me, Mary O’Reilly,” he said softly, his face searching hers, “would you lie for me?”

  She paused for only a moment and then she nodded. “Yes, I would,” she said with a quick shrug. “Because I know you and I trust you. And I know you would not ask me to do something that in the end would be wrong.”

  He dropped his head. “Dammit Mary, why did you have to do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Trust in me,” he said, lifting his head and meeting her eyes. “You shouldn’t trust me, Mary, because I’m selfish and dishonest and self-serving…”

  “What do you need me to do?” she asked.

  “I don’t know because I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” he said, his voice strained and filled with emotion. “My dad…I think my dad murdered Timmy.”

  “Oh, Mike. No, that can’t be true,” she said. “There must be some mistake.”

  He stood up and floated across the room, pacing back and forth. “I don’t see how there can be a mistake,” he said. “I saw him take Timmy’s fishing pole from a locked hiding place in the barn. I remember… I know… Timmy had that pole on his way to the lake. Only the murderer…”

  “There has to be an explanation,” she interrupted.

  “Yeah, I’ve been trying to think of one all night,” he replied. “Why didn’t he turn it in for evidence? Why didn’t he give it to Timmy’s parents? Why has he hidden it for all these years?”

  He floated back to her bed. “Mary, my dad can’t go to prison,” he said. “It would kill my mom. First she loses me and then my dad. She wouldn’t be able to deal with it.”

  “Your mom is probably stronger than you think,” she said.

  He shook his head. “You didn’t see how people in town treated Emil’s mother after he went to prison,” he said, shaking his head as he remembered his own cutting remarks to the woman. “We weren’t kind. We were cruel and unforgiving.”

  Mary sat up as she remembered the swim trunks. “Oh, Mike, I’m sorry,” she whispered, covering her mouth with her hand.

  “What? What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “I gave the State’s Attorney a pair of Timmy’s swim trunks Emil found before he was arrested,” she said. “He’s checking them for DNA evidence.”

  “How long?” he asked.

  “Tomorrow,” she replied, “He was fast-tracking it for us.”

  He started fading away.

  “Wait, Mike,” she called. “What are you going to do? What do you want me to do?”

  He smiled sadly, his body nearly completely transparent. “Do what’s right, Mary,” he said. “Do what’s right.”

  Chapter Forty-five

  Bradley’s car pulled up in front of Mary’s house early the next morning. She peeked out the window and then pulled her overcoat on over her dark suit.

  “It’s good you’re going with him,” Ian said, leaning on the counter and sipping a cup of tea. “He needs you to be there.”

  She nodded. “I wish you could come, too,” she said.

  “Well, it’s a wee bit tricky to explain my relationship with Jeannine,” he said with a wry smiled. “Aye, I knew her well, after she died.”

  “Yes, we do live strange lives, don’t we?” she agreed.

  “Aye, but I wouldn’t change it for the world,” he said.

  Mary thought about her conversation with Mike last night. “Well, sometimes I’d change it just a little,” she said.

  Bradley knocked on the door and Mary opened it. He was dressed in a dark suit with a white shirt and gray tie. She reached up and gave him a quick kiss. “You look very nice,” she said, although she knew that was a gross understatement. But you couldn’t tell a man on the day of his wife’s memorial service that he looked incredibly sexy, could you?

  “Thanks,” he said, “are you sure you want to come?”

  She linked her arm through his. “Of course I do,” she said. “Besides, I know Jeannine would want me to be there.”

  He looked over to Ian. “Do you think you can keep Freeport safe while we’re gone?”

  Ian grinned. “Aye, I’m prepared for a banshee attack, a zombie rebellion and the apocalypse. Do you think I have it covered?”

  Shrugging, Bradley smiled at him. “Well, I hate to mention it, but we have a regional cheerleading competition at Freeport High School. There will be over 400 teen-age girls attending.”

  Ian placed his tea up on the counter with a click. “Ach, no, you can’t leave me alone,” he said. “I can face anything but that.”

  “Just wear your black spandex shirt,” Mary suggested. “You’ll be fine.”

  He chuckled. “Let’s just pray everything goes fine at the competition until you return.”

  “We’ll be back by one,” Bradley said. “The service is at nine and there’s an informal brunch at the church.”

  “Well, take your time,” Ian said. “I’m sure things will be fine here.”

  *

  Jeannine’s parents were standing in the front lobby of the church, next to the closed casket, when Bradley and Mary entered the church.

  “Bradley,” Joyce, Jeannine’s mother, hurried across the lobby and hugged him. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  Bradley hugged her back. “How are you doing?”

  Joyce shrugged. “Well, you know, it’s been hard,” she admitted. “But at least we know what happened.”

  She turned toward Mary and then looked at Bradley, curiosity evident in her eyes.

  “Oh, Joyce, this is Mary, Mary O’Reilly,” he said. “She was very instrumental in solving Jeannine’s case.”

  “Oh,” Joyce came forward and hugged Mary. “Thank you so much for bringing our little girl home.”

  “I understand Jeannine was a wonderful woman,” Mary said. “I’m only sorry that I didn’t get to meet her when she was alive.”

  Joyce put her arms on Mary’s shoulders and smiled. “I think she would have liked you,” she said. “I think you would have been friends.”

  Mary nodded. “I believe we would have,” she agreed.

  She took them both by the hand and led them over to Bill, Jeannine’s father. Bradley hugged Bill. “How are you doing?” he asked.

  His eyes red-rimmed, Bill shook his head. “It’s still hard,” he sai
d, his voice cracking. “I didn’t think it would be, after all these years, but it’s still hard.”

  “Bill, this is Bradley’s friend, Mary,” Joyce said. “She helped solve Jeannine’s case.”

  Bill turned to Mary. “I heard you let the same man kidnap you, the man who took Jeannine, so you could catch him,” Bill said. “I heard you ended up in a hospital.”

  Joyce gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. “I didn’t realize…”

  Mary shook her head. “Please, don’t think about it, I just did what was necessary,” she said. “I’m glad we caught him. I’m grateful that Jeannine can rest in peace.”

  Bill leaned forward and kissed Mary’s cheek. “Thank you for coming today,” he said. “We will always be in your debt.”

  The funeral director entered the church and approached the family. “We will be opening the doors in a few minutes,” he said. “So, you’ll want to be ready for the receiving line.”

  He turned to Mary. “Are you a relative?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “No, I’m just a friend,” she replied.

  “Well, then, let me help you find a chair in the chapel.”

  “She’s with me,” Bradley added, then looked to his in-laws and saw their nods of agreement. “She’s with all of us. If you could guide her to where the family will be seated, I’d appreciate it.”

  The funeral director nodded. “Of course, this way please.”

  He led her through the empty chapel to the front row. “This is reserved for family,” he said. “They will be joining you in about a half hour.”

  Mary slid over to the end of the pew and gazed around the big church. The stained-glass windows portraying Christ’s last days on the earth were done in an abstract style and she had a hard time discerning the faces amidst all the color.

  “Those windows used to freak me out.”

  She turned and found Jeannine seated next to her. “Oh, you came back! It’s so good to see you,” Mary whispered.

  Jeannine smiled; her whole countenance glowed with peace. “I can’t stay long, but I couldn’t miss my own memorial service,” she replied. “How are you doing?”