Never Forgotten - a Mary O'Reilly Paranormal Mystery Read online

  Stanley nodded and a slight smile spread over his wrinkled face. “I guess that’ll do.”

  They heard Mary’s footsteps at the top of the stairs. “Guess I ought to go into the kitchen and see what kind of mess Rosie is making,” Stanley said slowly. “Won’t be able to keep her in there too long, so make it quick young man.”

  Bradley grinned. “Thanks, Stanley.”

  Mary hurried down the stairs and saw the smile on Bradley’s face soften when their eyes met. “Hi,” he said, moving to the staircase, “how did you sleep?”

  “Mary,” Rosie interrupted, “I was just wondering…”

  “Rosie, I think I just dumped that fancy egg dish down the garbage disposal,” Stanley called from across the room. “It’s okay if I just scoop it back in, right?”

  With a quick squeal, Rosie rushed back across the room.

  Bradley grabbed Mary’s hand and pulled her into the living room. “What?” Mary asked.

  “I’ve got to make this quick,” Bradley grinned, wrapping one arm around her and pulling her close.

  She wound her arms around his neck, “Just not too quick,” she teased.

  He pulled her tighter and lowered his lips to hers. The kiss was deliberate and tender and caused a slow burn in Mary’s midsection. Mary let out a soft moan.

  “Mary, are you okay in there,” Rosie called out.

  “Damn you, woman, leave those young people alone to say hello,” Stanley growled. “Ain’t you got no romance in your soul?”

  Mary laid her head against Bradley’s shoulder and started to giggle. Bradley sighed and then chuckled. “He did tell me to make it quick,” he confessed.

  Mary laughed. “He’s such a romantic.”

  Then she saw the roses he was holding. “Oh, they’re beautiful,” she exclaimed, bringing them to her face and inhaling deeply. “Thank you.”

  She rose on her tiptoes and kissed him back, angling the kiss so she could appease the desire that was building. This time he moaned and, heedless of the roses between them, pulled her even closer. The world had disappeared. All that was left was a tiny island where Mary was surrounded by Bradley’s arms and tormented by his kiss. She inhaled his unique scent and knew the masculine, woodsy smell would always weaken her knees.

  Bradley finally felt that he was home. This wonderful, amazing woman loved him. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was to find love twice in his life. He knew he should stop. He knew Stanley would be coming back, but he just didn’t want to let go.

  Mary wanted it to go on forever. She could be very happy just being in his arms for the rest of her life.

  “Are they okay?” Rosie whispered loudly.

  “Well, looks to me like the roses are going to end up on the casualty list,” Stanley replied.

  “Do you mind?” Bradley growled, not wanting the embrace to end.

  “No, not at all,” Stanley said calmly, “Please continue.”

  Bradley rested his forehead against hers. “Is there anything I can arrest him for?” he whispered.

  “I think obstruction of justice could be reasonably considered,” she sighed, waiting for her heart to return to its normal pace.

  He kissed her forehead. “I’m crazy about you, Mary O’Reilly.”

  She smiled up at him. “I feel the same way about you, Bradley Alden.”

  They stepped away from each other and looked across the room at Stanley. He shrugged sheepishly and ducked back into the kitchen. “You really like him, right?” Bradley asked.

  Mary laughed. “Well, right now’s not a good time to decide that.”

  He pulled the roses out from between them, the stems were bent and, in some cases, snapped in half, but the petals were still intact. He smiled guiltily as he handed them to her. She grinned as she took them. “I never understood the big deal about long-stemmed roses anyway,” she said.

  With a delighted laugh, he placed his arm around her shoulders and led her into the kitchen.

  Chapter 8

  Stanley paused, his filled fork halfway between his plate and his mouth, “So, you’re saying her husband beat her to death?”

  Mary shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said. “She was fairly incoherent. There were two things that stood out in the conversation. Her husband’s mother abandoned her children. She was pregnant and when she told someone, most likely her husband, he beat her and told her that she would abandon her children too.”

  “That’s not uncommon,” Rosie said quietly.

  “What?” Mary asked.

  “It’s not uncommon for someone who has been abused to become an abuser,” she said, “And, unfortunately, if they don’t become an abuser, they often find a relationship where they are being abused.”

  “That don’t make no sense,” Stanley said. “You’d think they’d know what to look for and avoid it.”

  Rosie remained silent for a moment and then she spoke. “When you’re an abused child or when you watch your mother being abused, you think that’s what a normal relationship is all about,” she said. “And when your husband hits you the first time, although you’re shocked, a little part of you wonders if you didn’t deserve it.”

  “No one deserves abuse,” Bradley said.

  Rosie nodded. “You’re absolutely right,” she agreed. “No one deserves it. But sometimes it takes a lot of counseling and some good people to help you understand that.”

  “So, do you want to talk about it, or you gonna leave us guessing?” Stanley asked, leaning forward on the table toward Rosie.

  She laughed nervously. “Yes, of course, you are all my friends and I can trust you,” she said.

  Mary reached across the table and placed her hand over Rosie’s. “You don’t need to share,” she said. “If it makes you relive things you’d rather not.”

  Rosie placed her other hand on top of Mary’s and shook her head. “No. No, this is important and it might help you with the case.”

  She took a deep breath and began, “My father hit my mother. She wouldn’t have dinner done when he came home, so he’d hit her. The house wouldn’t be as clean as he wanted, so he’d hit her. The kids would be too loud, the dog would bark, the cookies would burn, and he would hit her. It took me a while to realize that it had nothing to do with my mother’s behavior, my father just liked to hit her. He liked to control her.”

  Leaning back in her chair for a moment, she shook her head. “I remember the first time I realized that it wasn’t her fault,” she said. “I was about twelve and before that I always thought my mother was a fairly incompetent person. Then my father came home and started yelling at her. He raised his arm and she bent over and cringed, waiting for the blow.”

  Her voice shook; she took a deep breath and then continued, “There was this look on his face, a smile of complete satisfaction, just before he stuck her. I finally realized the hell my mother was living in.”

  “Did she leave him?” Stanley asked, his hands clenched in fists. “Did someone help her?”

  Rosie smiled sadly. “Stanley, in those days women didn’t leave their husbands,” she said. “They just endured. And she endured until he died of a heart attack when he was fifty-seven years old. The day after his funeral my mother cried with relief. She would never have to deal with that man again.”

  Rosie stood up, gathered some of the empty plates from the table and walked over to the sink. She stared out the window at the snow covered backyard for a few moments and then turned to her friends with tears in her eyes. “It’s hard, you know, when you realize that your father is a monster,” she whispered. “It took me a long time to understand that part of the monster didn’t lurk inside me too.”

  Mary hurried over to Rosie and hugged her. “I’m glad you know you had nothing to do with his illness,” she said.

  “Illness?” Stanley growled. “That ain’t no illness. Chicken pox, that’s an illness. Beating on your wife or your kids, that’s just plain mean. That’s just being a bully. And someone oughta have beate
n on him.”

  “Generally, abuse like that is a learned behavior, Stanley,” Bradley said. “Her father was probably abused or watched someone else being abused.”

  Rosie and Mary came back to the table and sat down. “That’s why I got involved with VOICES,” Rosie said. “It’s a place here in Stephenson County where people who are abused can go for help.”

  Bradley nodded. “Yeah, we work with them all the time when we have domestic abuse cases. They are really good people.”

  “Bradley, do you think you could talk to them and see if someone matching our ghost’s description has come to them for help?” Mary asked.

  Stanley was confused. “If she came to them for help, how could she have been killed by her abuser?”

  “The average abused woman leaves her abuser about seven or eight times before she finally leaves him permanently,” Rosie explained. “She keeps going back, thinking it will be okay. Hoping that he’ll change.”

  “But he ain’t gonna change,” Stanley said. “Why should he, if she always comes back.”

  Rosie nodded. “You’re right,” she said. “He won’t change without a lot of help. And he still might not change.”

  Stanley got up and paced around the kitchen, visibly upset by the conversation. Finally he walked back to the table, placed his hands on the edge and leaned toward Rosie. “You said that sometimes the people who see the abuse grow up and let themselves get abused. Is that happening to you? Are you letting someone hurt you?”

  Tears glistened in Rosie’s eyes as she stood up. “No, when I saw what was happening to my mother, I vowed I would never let something like that happen to me,” she said. “But thank you, dear friend, for worrying about me.”

  She leaned across the table and gently kissed him on the cheek. Stanley turned beet red and shrugged. “Well, hell, you didn’t have to go and do that,” he muttered. “But, well, you’re welcome.”

  Rosie smiled and sat back down. “So, what are the next steps to find out what happened to our ghost?” she asked.

  “I’m going to meet with the Director at VOICES tomorrow,” Bradley said. “The information they get from their clients is confidential, so I’m not sure how far I’ll get. But since this is a suspected murder, she might be able to at least point me in the right direction.”

  “That would be great,” Mary said. “I’m going to pay a visit to the Coroner and see if she has any Jane Does or anyone who died of unexplained causes.”

  “How old was she, Mary?” Stanley asked.

  “I’m really bad at guessing ages,” she admitted, biting her lower lip in concentration. “But I would say in her mid-thirties. Why?”

  “Well, if the husband was about her age, then his mother would have left them about twenty to twenty-five years ago,” he replied. “I’ll ask around, see if anyone remembers something like that.”

  “Excellent idea,” Mary said. “I’d think something like that would be talked about for a while.”

  “Mary, when you see her again,” Rosie added. “Tell her it wasn’t her fault. Tell her she didn’t cause it. Tell her that no matter what, there is never an excuse for one person to hit another person. Ever!”

  Chapter 9

  Mary watched from the door as Stanley walked Rosie to her car. He was more solicitous than usual, lightly touching her elbow to guide her around patches of snow and ice.

  “I don’t know who was more shook up about this whole conversation,” Bradley commented, standing directly behind Mary, “Stanley or Rosie.”

  Mary hugged herself and leaned back against Bradley. “It’s hard to imagine a childhood with a father like that,” she said. “I often forget how lucky I am.”

  Bradley wrapped his arms around Mary and placed a kiss on the top of her head. “Yeah, I was lucky too. My parents really loved each other and they showed it every day.”

  “And you and Jeannine?” Mary asked, hating herself for asking.

  “We loved each other,” he said. “And we respected each other. I still don’t understand why she left me.”

  Mary closed the door and turned around in his arms. She wrapped her arms around his waist, laid her head against his chest and hugged him. “I know in my heart that she didn’t leave you,” she whispered. “I don’t know what happened to her, but she would have never left you.”

  Bradley laid his head on top of hers and returned the hug. “Thanks,” he said. “That means a lot to me.”

  She stepped back and smiled up at him, though her heart was heavy with guilt. “So, what are we going to do today?” she asked brightly.

  “Want to help me find a ghost?” he asked with a smile.

  “Why Bradley, how did you know that’s my favorite thing to do?”

  In fifteen minutes they were pulling up in front of City Hall. Bradley unlocked the door and led Mary to the base of the staircase. “I’m going to let you go up first,” he explained. “So I don’t interfere with anything. But I’ll be following close behind.”

  Mary looked up the tall, narrow staircase. “Nothing is going to jump out at me, right?” she asked.

  He grinned. “I don’t think so, but I can’t promise a thing.”

  “Thanks,” she replied.

  She started up the staircase. The afternoon sun was bright enough to cast a warm glow from the second floor down the stairs. She reached the second level and turned toward the former Chief’s Office. She walked slowly, all of her senses keyed on detecting any paranormal energies or entities. She closed her eyes, concentrating on her feelings.

  “Excuse me, can I help you?”

  The woman’s voice seemed to come out of thin air. Mary jumped and squealed.

  The woman was stunning; dark shoulder-length hair, a heart-shaped face with striking green eyes and a figure that filled out her clothes very nicely.

  “I’m sorry,” Mary said, her heart beating a mile a minute. “You surprised me.”

  “Well, when you’re standing in the middle of a hallway with your eyes closed, that’s bound to happen.”

  Mary laughed. “You’re right. I was…I was looking for Chief Alden’s Office when a speck of dust got in my eye,” she lied. “I was just trying to let my tears wash it out.”

  “Well, he’s not in today,” she said. “It’s Sunday…”

  “Mary, are you okay?” Bradley’s voice echoed in the stairwell.

  The woman cocked her head slightly. “Well, I suppose you have more information than I.”

  Bradley poked his head around the corner. “I heard you call out…” he said, pausing when he realized they weren’t alone. “Angela, hello, I didn’t expect to find you here today.”

  “Obviously.”

  “Mary, have you met Angela Murray, the Coroner?” Bradley asked, “Angela, this is Mary O’Reilly, she owns and operates O’Reilly Investigative Services.”

  “Oh, I’ve heard of you,” Angela said, with a pleasant smile. “You’ve really made a name for yourself in local law enforcement. And, I have to admit, I love the fact that you’re not only great at what you do…but you’re a woman.”

  “Yes,” Bradley agreed, “I love that fact too.”

  When Mary glared sideways at him, he simply shrugged and added, “I don’t think professional women, especially in male dominated fields, are appreciated the way they should be.”

  Angela’s smile widened and she placed her hand on his arm and squeezed it lightly. “Well, I knew I liked you for some reason.”

  She released his arm and turned to Mary. “So are you working on a case together?”

  “Yes, we were just going to run some queries on missing women,” Mary said. “As a matter of fact, I was going to stop by and see you tomorrow. We’re looking for a potential Jane Doe.”

  Angela nodded. “I’d be happy to help you,” she said. “Stop by any time after nine and I’ll help you with anything you need.”

  “Thanks, I really appreciate it,” Mary replied.

  Angela moved past them and then turne
d, “Oh, by the way, Bradley, I left a Christmas present for you on your desk last week,” she said. “It was a tin of tea, a special combination of herbs that’s been a family recipe for years. I hope you like it.”

  “Oh, yes, I did get it, thank you,” he said, eyeing Mary meaningfully. “I haven’t had a chance to try it yet, but I will.”

  Angela smiled. “See that you do,” she said. “It’s quite nice.”

  “Well, then, I’ll try it today,” he said.

  “See you tomorrow, Mary.”

  “Thanks, Angela, see you then.”

  She continued downstairs and they waited until they heard the door close and click shut behind her. “She seems nice,” Mary said, wondering if those nagging feelings were jealousy. “What do you think of her?”

  “Is this one of those ‘does this make my butt look fat’ kinds of question?” he teased.

  She grinned and started walking down the hallway, “It all depends on how you answer it.”

  She turned to smile and then was hit with a strong impression of utter desolation. Her smile turned to shock. Bradley rushed to her side. “Are you…”

  She placed her hand over her mouth and shook her head to silence him. She let the first wave of feeling pass over her, took a deep breath and moved closer to the source. She staggered down the hall, letting the emotions pull her in the right direction. She finally stopped, directly in front of the door to the former Chief’s office. She placed her hand on the doorknob and slowly opened it.

  He had been a handsome man, she thought, looking at the shadow of the man standing in the middle of the corridor. She followed him to the corner of the room, watching him peer out of the window. Wondering what he was seeing.

  “Sam, Chief Rogers?” she asked quietly. “Is that you?”

  He turned and looked surprised. “You can see me?” he rasped.

  She nodded. “Yes, and I’m here to help you move on.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know why I’m still here,” he said. “I can’t seem to go beyond this office.”

  Bradley entered the room. “Mary?”

  “Back here with Chief Rogers,” she called.