Natural Reaction - a Mary O'Reilly Paranormal Mystery Page 8

  “It’s amazing how moms find those things out,” Bradley said.

  Mike smiled slightly. “Yeah, she had ESP where I was concerned. So, I got in trouble and had to go clean out the coop instead of going fishing with Timmy.”

  “Sounds reasonable.”

  “Yeah, but instead of going back home, Timmy decides to go fishing by himself.”

  Turning away from Bradley, Mike looked out the window for a few moments. “They found his body a couple of days later,” he said softly. “He’d been molested and then strangled to death. My best friend. If only I’d cleaned the chicken coop when I was supposed to, he wouldn’t have died.”

  “You don’t know that,” Bradley said. “You both could have been victims.”

  “Yeah, it took me a long time to figure out that I didn’t kill my best friend and I wasn’t responsible,” he said. “But I was messed up for a long time.”

  “So, did they find the bastard?”

  Mike nodded. “Yeah, turns out the school bus driver did it. I couldn’t believe it, he was such a nice guy. But they found a bunch of stuff from all of the victims. Four boys were killed that summer.”

  “You don’t expect something like that to happen in a small town.”

  “Yeah, almost makes it worse when it’s one of your neighbors, one of your friends.”

  Bradley took a deep breath. “Yes. Yes it is.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “So you have those two adorable Brennan children staying with you?” Rosie asked, as Stanley helped her slip out of her coat.

  Nodding, Mary closed the door behind them. “Yes, for at least a couple of days. Katie called me this morning, the surgery went well, but recovery isn’t going as well as they’d hoped. So, I might be able to keep for a little longer.”

  “Keep ‘em,” Stanley growled. “It ain’t like they’s puppies or kittens.”

  “No, they are much more fun to play with,” Mary laughed. “They are so incredibly clever and little Maggie has the biggest crush on Ian. It’s so cute.”

  “Ah, well, the feelings mutual, I assure you,” Ian said, coming into the room and sitting on the couch’s arm.

  “No matter what age, them dames will fall for a foreigner more times than not,” Stanley said, walking over to Ian.

  “So, it’s not my sparkling personality?” Ian asked in mock dismay. “She just loves my accent?”

  “Harrumph,” Stanley muttered. “If you can’t speak English you shouldn’t be living here in America.”

  “Um, begging your pardon, Stanley,” Ian inserted. “But I do believe that we invented English before America was even considered a country.”

  “Yep, and we beat the pants offen you and your countrymen during the Revolutionary War.”

  “Actually, many Scots fought with America against the British.”

  Stanley paused. “You don’t say.”

  Ian nodded. “Aye, we’ve a long friendship with your country.”

  “Well, then, I take it back,” Stanley said. “Now, iffen you could only learn to talk without that accent, things would be fine.”

  “Ach, well, I’ll see what I can do about it,” Ian said with a grin. “Would you all be wanted a bit of tea?”

  “Oh, yes, Ian, that would be lovely,” Rosie said. “And then you must tell me what I can do to help with those dear children.”

  Mary grinned at Ian. “I thought they might like some cinnamon rolls,” she said, “If you have the time to make them.”

  “Well, yes, of course I do,” Rosie said. “I can make some this evening and bring them over. All you’ll have to do is reheat them for breakfast.”

  Shaking his head, Ian turned on the kettle and then walked back over to Rosie. He lifted her hand and placed a kiss on it. “Rosie, please, leave Stanley and run away with me,” he pleaded.

  Rosie blushed and giggled. “Oh, Ian, you silly boy.”

  “Rosie, you and your cooking have captured my heart,” he said.

  Stanley came over and put his arm around Rosie, guiding her to a seat on the couch and sitting next to her. “You can just find your own sweetheart,” he grumbled. “This one’s taken.”

  Rosie wrapped her hand around Stanley’s arm and smiled up at him. “And she’s very happy about being taken too.”

  Mary sat down on the recliner and smiled at her two friends. It was so nice to see them both so obviously in love.

  “So, how are you feeling?” Rosie asked Mary.

  “I’m good,” she replied. “I’ve promised to take things easy for a while. Ian and I are going to find a ghost who isn’t connected to a murder to help.”

  “Aye, that reminds me,” Ian said. “Have either of you heard about the ghost at the high school?”

  Stanley shrugged. “I heard about the ghost in the theater, is that the one?”

  “No, this one is supposed to be in the school, on the second floor,” Mary said.

  The kettle started to whistle, and Ian got up and took it off the stove.

  “He’s supposed to be a Chemistry teacher,” he added from the kitchen.

  Rosie looked up, her face white. “A Chemistry teacher?” she stammered.

  “Rosie, what’s wrong?” Stanley asked.

  She turned to Stanley, her eyes wide. “I didn’t know,” she said. “I thought he would rest in peace. He’s been a ghost…”

  “Who, Rosie? Who’s been a ghost?” Mary asked.

  Turning back to Mary, Rosie clasped her hands together. “Mr. Thorne. He was my Chemistry teacher when I was a senior at the high school. I was there when he died.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  The house looked the same as it had when he had picked Jeannine up for Senior Prom. The shutters were still painted a cranberry red, the siding was soft brown and the window boxes were dark green. It looked like a house that should have been tucked away in the woods, not in the middle of town. Bradley pulled the car into the driveway and quickly switched off the ignition.

  “It’s better to just go in there and get it over with,” Mike said. “They’re waiting for some kind of explanation.”

  Bradley nodded. “Yeah, you’re right,” he said.

  He climbed out of the car and strode the few yards to the front door. It was opened before he could knock. Mike was right, they had been waiting for him.

  “Thanks for seeing me on such short notice,” he said to Jeannine’s parents.

  They ushered him into the house and back to the kitchen. It was the place they had always sat and talked. They sat at the table and no one spoke for a moment, not knowing how to move forward. “Would you like a sandwich or something,” Joyce, Jeannine’s mother, finally asked.

  He shook his head. “Thanks, Joyce, I’m fine.”

  “How do you like that job up north?” Bill, Jeannine’s father, asked.

  “I like it,” Bradley responded. “I’ve met a lot of new people and…”

  He paused.

  “And it’s good to be working again,” Bill finished. “Isn’t it son?”

  Nodding, Bradley felt a lump in his throat. “Yes, it feels good to be working again. So, how are you two doing?”

  “We’re doing just fine,” Joyce said. “Bill had a wonderful garden last summer. He has such a green thumb.”

  “And Joyce joined a computer class at the junior college,” Bill added. “She’s quite a geek now.”

  Joyce chuckled. “We actually have e-mail now, Bradley.”

  “Yes, we are thinking of turning that third bedroom into a computer room,” Bill added.

  The third bedroom. Jeannine’s bedroom, which had been sitting untouched for eight years. A shrine to their missing child.

  An uncomfortable silence fell over the room. Joyce reached over and put her hand on Bradley’s hand. He realized that it was wrinkled and fragile looking. They both look older, he thought. How long has it been since I’ve seen them? Three years?

  “I don’t know if we ever expressed to you how grateful we were to you for giv
ing up your life to try and find Jeannine for all those years,” she said.

  He put his other hand on top of her frail one. “I…it was the only thing I could do,” he said.

  “We want you to know that we realize you did all you could to find her,” Bill said. “No one would have sacrificed as much as you did.”

  Bradley met Bill’s eyes. “Thank you, that means a lot to me.”

  Another few moments of silence. Then Bradley cleared his throat, but before he could speak Bill took a deep breath and saved Bradley from being the one who brought up the topic.

  “And we assume the reason you called us is because you have some news,” Bill added.

  Once again, he nodded his head. “Last week, through an intense investigation, we were able to discover that Jeannine had been kidnapped by someone who lived in our neighborhood. He held her in a subterranean room under his office in downtown Sycamore. He was delusional and thought our baby was his.”

  Joyce clapped her hand over her mouth. “Oh, my baby,” she cried, hope warring with pain. “Down in the dark for all these years.”

  Bradley closed his eyes for a moment and then turned to Joyce. “No, he only kept her there until she went into labor.”

  “But that would have been eight years ago,” Bill said. “What happened?”

  “When she started labor he drove her to Cook County Hospital where she gave birth to…to our daughter,” his voice cracked and he put his head on his hand for a moment.

  “So, he brought her to a hospital,” Joyce repeated. “Surely they must have seen that something was wrong. Surely she was able to ask for help.”

  “The kidnapper had access to pharmaceuticals and he kept Jeannine drugged for most of the time she was with him. I understand she tried to communicate with the staff, but she was in the throes of labor and they didn’t understand what she was trying to say.”

  “But if they had her medical records,” Bill said.

  “The hospital was under the impression she was the wife of the kidnapper, so they did not have the correct medical history,” he continued slowly. “Then they were concerned about hemorrhaging after the baby was born, so they gave her a shot of Syntometrine.”

  “But she’s allergic…” Bill’s voice died out.

  Bradley nodded. “She went into cardiac arrest and died in the labor room. The kidnapper had her buried in a small cemetery in Chicago.”

  Both parents were openly weeping. Bill placed his arm around his wife and held her against his chest. “She’s gone,” Joyce cried. “Our baby is dead.”

  “We had always considered…,” Bill wept softly. “We always knew she could be…”

  “But, we’d always hoped,” Joyce sobbed. “We’d always prayed…”

  “I’m so sorry,” Bradley whispered. “I wish…”

  Bill pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, wiped his eyes and took a shuddering breath. “You did all you could, son,” he said. “And we are so grateful to you for finally finding out what happened to Jeannine.”

  Joyce raised her tear-stained face and nodded. “She always loved you,” she stammered. “You were always her one and only true love.”

  “I loved her with all my heart,” he said.

  “But…” Joyce stared at Bradley and then turned and looked at her husband. “But she gave birth to a baby. We have a grandchild.”

  “What happened to the baby?” Bill asked.

  “The kidnapper handed her over to DCFS to put up for adoption,” he said. “I’m trying to get the court to order a release of those documents, so I can find her.”

  “What can we do to help?” Bill asked. “Do you need money, a lawyer?”

  Shaking his head, Bradley explained, “I’ve met some really good people in Freeport who have connections to the Chicago Police Force and they have been very instrumental in moving things forward.”

  “Where is she buried?” Bill asked. “Can we see the grave?”

  “She was buried under the kidnapper’s wife’s name. I received a call this morning that the judge has signed the papers to have her body exhumed, but before we did that, I wanted to talk to you, so we could plan the next steps,” he said.

  “Do you…could we be there when they open the grave?” Joyce asked.

  Bradley nodded. “Yes, you can. We’ll probably need her dental records to identify her, but if you feel it would help you. You should be there.”

  “It’s not the last image I want to remember, but I think we need to go,” Bill said, “For Jeannine,”

  Joyce nodded. “Yes, we need to be there for our baby.”

  “After they remove her and are able to verify she is Jeannine, we can make sure she is laid to rest properly,” he said. “I wondered if there was a place…”

  “Yes, yes, we already have a plot for her,” Bill said. “We bought it a few years ago, next to our plots in the cemetery. We bought one for you too.”

  “So we could all be together,” Joyce added.

  “Thank you,” Bradley said. “That was very thoughtful of you and I know she will be happy to be in familiar surroundings.”

  “I’ll get in touch with our funeral director today and see about getting this arranged for a memorial service. Could we…do you think we could have one next weekend?”

  Bradley nodded. “Yes, I’ll call Sean and let him know that’s what we are planning.”

  Joyce sniffled and shook her head. “You know, it’s funny, in the past few months I’ve felt Jeannine’s presence occasionally here at the house. It was as if she were visiting us. But last week that feeling went away. I suppose she’s finally at peace.”

  Bradley recalled Jeannine’s face as she said her final good-bye to him. “Yes,” he whispered. “I’m sure she is.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “I was Rosie Meriwether back then,” Rosie said, dabbing a tissue delicately against her eyes. “I remember like it was yesterday. First Coach Thorne gave a demonstration and then we all had lab work to do. Something went wrong and one of the experiments exploded and started a fire. Then, pretty soon, the whole classroom was filled with flames. Coach Thorne and one of the boys, Stevo Morris, ran to the windows and helped us all get out. Coach Thorne had just helped Stevo out when the whole room exploded. It was awful.”

  “But why didn’t you just go out the doors?” Mary asked.

  “They were all locked,” Rosie said.

  Ian shot Mary a questioning glance and then turned to Rosie. “Was that common practice? Locking the classroom doors?”

  Shaking her head, Rosie’s eyes widened. “You know, I never thought of that before, but no, we never locked the doors.”

  Ian picked up a notepad and started to write some things down. “How long had he been teaching Chemistry?”

  “Oh, he’d been at the school for about ten years,” Rosie said. “He was probably getting close to tenure.”

  “That’s interesting,” Mary said. “I wonder if there were only a few slots open for tenure. It would be interesting to find out who his competition was.”

  Nodding, Ian made a quick note and looked at Rosie. “You called him Coach Thorne?”

  “Yes, he was the baseball coach,” she replied. “His team had gone to State five years in a row. No one could beat him.”

  Ian looked over to Mary. “Okay, that’s another possibility.”

  “Possibility for what?” Stanley asked.

  “Until we talk to him, I can’t be sure. But I think there was more to this accident than meets the eye.”

  “Someone did this on purpose,” Rosie said with a shiver. “His wife was right.”

  Ian looked up from his notes. “What?”

  “His wife always said he was too careful, he wouldn’t have made a mistake with the chemicals,” Rosie said. “I remember overhearing her at the funeral luncheon. She wanted the police to look into it. But they only patted her on the shoulder and told her it was an accident.”

  “I remember reading about it,” Stanley s
aid. “They figured something was wrong with the chemicals. The B&R Company looked into it. That Caleb Brandlocker, he stood behind his products. Hired themselves a specialist to look into it, turns out it was just one of those things.”

  “Who’s Brandlocker?” Ian asked. “Are they the chemical company?”

  “They are one of the largest manufacturers in the area,” Mary explained. “They started out over 100 years ago and their salesmen went door to door in horse pulled specialty wagons that had a large supply of their products. They sold everything from horse liniment to women’s shampoo. They have been one of the biggest manufacturers here for over a hundred years.”

  “So, they also hire the most people in the area,” Ian said. “A bit of political pull?”

  “Oh, hell, Caleb didn’t need political pull,” Stanley said. “He was the head of the school board. All he had to do was pass a resolution. His son, Ephraim, is the head of the board now and the president of the company.”

  “I think it’s time we meet Coach Thorne, Mary,” Ian said.

  Mary smiled. “I think that’s a really good idea,” she agreed.

  “Hold your horses,” Stanley said, “Ain’t the reason you was taking this case is because it weren’t supposed to be about murder? Seems to me you’re looking for trouble again.”

  Mary shook her head. “Stanley, this happened over forty years ago. Do you really think someone is going to be worried about us looking into it?”

  “Well, you just never know what some people are thinking,” Stanley said, his eyebrows lifting nearly to the top of his forehead. “And I know of one police chief who wouldn’t be too happy if he found out you was messing with a possible murder.”