Old Acquaintance Page 8

  Ian coughed again, hiding his laughter. “I’m sure it was a bit of a surprise,” he agreed.

  She laughed and nodded. “That would be an understatement,” she said.

  “Why are you still here?” Mary asked. “Are you just protecting your home?”

  The woman smiled. “Now wouldn’t this home be a lovely heaven for me?” she asked. “Did you see my bookshelves? Filled with all of my favorite books. I really could spend eternity here. But, no, I actually have been to the light, and it was superb. However, I find myself on some kind of assignment. I need to be here, for some reason.”

  “Perhaps we’re the reason for your presence,” Ian said. “We’re trying to learn more about Tony Lancaster.”

  “Oh, that troubled young man that killed his family?” she asked. “Yes, I know a great deal about him.” She paused for a moment. “Oh, how rude of me. I never did introduce myself. My name is Adeline McKinley. I was a professor at the University of Wisconsin, and when I retired, I moved here and was the librarian until my death.”

  “Oh, you would have been so much better than…” Mary stopped and clapped her hand over her mouth.

  Adeline laughed and shrugged. “Yes, I know,” she said. “I’ve visited and seen the new librarian in action.”

  “Is she related to someone in power?” Ian asked.

  Chuckling, Adeline nodded. “Yes, the mayor’s sister,” she said. “How did you know?”

  “No one that lacking in basic, genteel deportment could hold a position like that unless they had connections,” Ian said.

  She smiled in approval at him. “Very well said,” she replied. “And you are…”

  “And now we have been impolite,” Ian remarked. “I am Ian McDougal, and I too am a professor, from the University of Edinburgh. And this lovely lady is my good friend and colleague Mary O’Reilly Alden.”

  “It’s lovely to meet you, and I’m elated to have you staying in my home,” she replied. “Now, shall we plan on going back to the library this evening, after hours?”

  “But how can we—” Mary started.

  “Oh, I kept a key,” Adeline inserted. “And I’ve been haunting the place for months.” She looked at both of them and shook her head. “I was not happy with my replacement. So, due to my overt displays of paranormal ability, no one comes near the library at night.” She grinned widely. “I believe I terrify them.”

  “I wonder if that would work for overdue books,” Mary mused.

  Adeline laughed loudly. “Oh, I hadn’t given that a thought,” she said. “Perhaps that’s my next assignment.”

  “When does the library close?” Ian asked.

  “At nine o’clock tonight,” she replied. “And, nowadays, they leave promptly at closing. But, to be safe, we shouldn’t visit until about ten.”

  “And there is information about Tony Lancaster?” Mary asked.

  “I created a file, just about the Lancaster case,” Adeline said. “I was very intrigued by the entire situation, so I kept clippings from the trials as well as later articles that tried to understand his behavior.”

  “That would be very useful,” Ian said. “We were going to visit the asylum this evening, but after that, a visit to the library would be ideal.”

  “Wonderful,” Adeline said. “It will be so fun to visit the library with company. I didn’t realize how much I missed conversation.”

  She smiled sadly and shook her head. “You just don’t get a lot of chance for conversation when you’re dead.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  “Mike, will you just stop talking for a minute while I figure this thing out?” Bradley asked as he sat on the floor in Clarissa’s room putting together a monitor to record both audio and video.

  “It shouldn’t be all that difficult,” Mike said, hovering over Bradley’s shoulder. “I mean, the thing is made for a baby.”

  Bradley looked up and glared at Mike. “It’s made to use in a baby’s room,” he said. “That doesn’t mean a baby can operate it.”

  “And neither can a full-grown man, obviously,” Mike replied. “Maybe you should call Katie Brennan over. She’s really good at these kinds of things.”

  Gritting his teeth, Bradley took a deep breath. “I will get it put together myself,” he said. “I only need a few moments of quiet to concentrate.”

  “Oh. Sorry. You mean you want me to be quiet, right?” Mike asked, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes.

  Bradley nodded. “Yes. You. Quiet,” Bradley replied as he held up one of the six connectors and tried to find the corresponding attachment.

  Mike glided away from Bradley, sat on the bed and started to whistle.

  Bradley looked over his shoulder and stared, incredulously, at Mike.

  “What?” Mike asked, and then he nodded. “Oh. Sorry. Quiet. That’s right.”

  Bradley turned back and held up the connector. “It would be a lot more helpful if the instructions were in English,” he muttered, turning one of the pieces upside down.

  “Bradley,” Mike said.

  “No. Not a word,” Bradley replied as he lifted the other piece and studied it.

  “Um, Bradley,” Mike tried again.

  “Mike, could you just maybe go downstairs and watch for Clarissa?” Bradley said.

  “Wow. Okay. If you don’t mind hurting my feelings,” Mike replied.

  Bradley put the pieces on the floor and looked at Mike. “I don’t mind hurting your feelings,” he said.

  Mike stood. “Fine, then I won’t tell you that the English instructions are under your left knee,” he said, and then he disappeared from the room.

  Bradley moved his knee and saw the instructions, in English, laying on the floor. He closed his eyes and sighed deeply. “Mike,” he called loudly. “Mike, I’m sorry.”

  There was no answer.

  “Mike,” he called again. “I was a jerk. I’m sorry.”

  He waited. Again there was no answer.

  Looking down at the pile of electronics at his feet, he shook his head, stood up and walked out the door into the hallway. “Mike,” he called, going down the stairs. “I said I was…”

  He stopped halfway down the steps and stared in dismay. The top tier of the Christmas tree was now empty, and all of the ornaments Mary had so carefully chosen to be placed up high were scattered in pieces on the ground. “What happened?” he gasped.

  Mike shook his head. “I can only guess that our shadow visitor is not fond of Christmas trees,” he said.

  Bradley came down the rest of the steps into the room. “It wasn’t Lucky?” he asked.

  “No, I checked on her immediately. Lucky’s in the corner of the kitchen, pretty freaked out,” Mike replied. “It wasn’t her.”

  Bradley looked down and sighed with regret. The antique, blown-glass ornament that had been passed down from his great-grandmother was shattered and in pieces. He bent down and picked up the largest piece.

  “I’m so sorry,” Mike said.

  Bradley studied the piece, stood up and then placed it reverently on the mantle. He turned to Mike, his face set. “He caught us off guard,” he said. “And we can’t let that happen again. Were you just giving me a hard time when you mentioned Katie Brennan was good at electronics?”

  Mike nodded. “I was giving you a hard time,” he said. “But she’s amazing at electronics. She has a knack.”

  “How much time before the kids are out of school?” Bradley asked.

  Mike glanced over to the clock. “You’ve got a good couple of hours,” he said.

  Bradley pulled his phone out of his pocket and pressed a number. “Hi, Katie,” he said. “It’s Bradley. I was wondering if you could help me with something here at the house.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  The asylum was only a few miles out of town in the countryside, and it was still light when they arrived. Ian parked the Range Rover on the dirt access road near the asylum, and they both sat in the vehicle and stared at the building, remembering
their last encounter.

  “Well, it looks slightly less creepy in the daytime,” Mary said.

  Ian nodded slowly. “Only slightly, though,” he said. He turned to her. “You know, you don’t have to go inside if you don’t want to. I can go in and see if I can find any records or anything else.”

  “Ian,” she said with a shake of her head. “Do you remember what Mike said the last time we were here? They can already feel my presence, so if you leave me out here, I’m bound to have company.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  “I’m sure,” she replied. “Besides, with two of us, the investigation will be quicker and more thorough.”

  They walked together up the snow-covered path to the old building. “The last time you were here, you felt lightheaded,” Ian said. “How are you feeling now?”

  Mary took a deep breath and shrugged. “Good,” she said. “I feel good. I mean, I can feel some spiritual presence, but I don’t feel like it’s weighing down on me this time.”

  “That’s probably a good sign that Tony hasn’t followed us back here to Wisconsin,” Ian said. He helped Mary up the crumbling steps of the asylum and then brushed the snow off the combination lock with his gloved hand. He entered the numbers Dee had sent them, and the lock opened easily.

  They both pulled the heavy chain out from within the door handles, and then Ian stepped up and placed his hands on the handles. “Before we go in, let’s turn on our flashlights,” he said.

  Mary nodded and flipped on her high-powered LED flashlight. “Yes, I remember those doors slamming shut behind us,” she said. “And I would not like to be standing in the dark in that building.”

  Once their flashlights were on, Ian pressed down on the handles and pushed open the doors. This time, the doors opened smoothly, but under Ian’s power, not by a supernatural force. They carefully stepped inside and moved forward. The large doors remained open, spilling daylight into the lobby.

  “Better and better,” Ian remarked. “But we shouldn’t let our guard down.”

  Mary nodded. “Right there with you,” she agreed.

  They moved to the center of the old lobby with its art deco style, black and white tile floor, careful to step over the cracked tiles, and shined their flashlights around the room. “So far just a scary, old building,” Mary commented. “Which way do you want to go?”

  Ian slowly ran his flashlight around the lobby. There were two hallways that led from the lobby into the rest of the asylum. The one Mary had taken last time was on the left of the room, and the one the rest of the group had taken was to the right.

  “What was down your hall?” Ian asked.

  “There were some operating rooms,” Mary said, shivering quickly as she remembered the procedures she’d witnessed. “And a lot of closed doors.”

  “Could they have been offices?” Ian asked.

  “Yes, they could have been,” Mary agreed. “Offices with file cabinets, right?”

  He smiled at her. “Right,” he said. “Are you okay with going back down that hall?”

  She sighed. “Ian, I’m pregnant, not made of glass,” she said. “And although I’m really touched by your concern, I really wish you’d…”

  “Bugger off?” he replied with a smile.

  She laughed and nodded. “But in a polite way,” she added.

  “You’re right,” he agreed. “Sorry. I just have been a little obsessive about protecting the people in my life.”

  She slipped her arm through his and leaned against him for a moment. “And I know that it’s only because you care,” she said.

  “Aye, but I need to remember that you are capable and strong,” he said. He took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay, let’s do this.”

  “Okay!” she replied.

  They took the hall to the left. It was lined with yellowing wall tiles and more black and white floor tiles. The plaster above the tiles was peeling, and there was dirt and debris scattered on the floor.

  “Lovely place,” Mary whispered. “No windows, no natural light. It would have been like living in a cave.”

  Ian nodded. “I wonder if this environment didn’t make the residents even worse,” he replied.

  “I wondered that myself.”

  Mary looked at Ian in surprise, and they both turned around to find a tall, thin ghost standing in front of one of the closed doors they had just passed. He was wearing a lab coat over his shirt and tie, and dress slacks and black, leather shoes completed his attire. His brown hair was just graying at the edges, and he wore it in a military, crew-cut style. His eyeglasses were round and wire-rimmed and perched on the end on his nose.

  “Hello,” Ian said. “I don’t believe I’ve met you. I’m Professor Ian McDougal, and I’m doing research on the Lancaster case.”

  The ghost sighed deeply. “I’m afraid I failed with that case,” he said, his voice thick with regret. “The boy killed himself, and I didn’t even see it coming.”

  “Hello, I’m Mary O’Reilly Alden,” Mary said. “Can we chat with you about your findings? Because he’s dead, there are no HIPAA regulations that we need to worry about.”

  “I’m sorry, what?” the ghost asked.

  Ian turned to Mary and whispered, “HIPAA didn’t happen until 1996. If I guess correctly, we are meeting Dr. Buus, and he died in the eighties.”

  Then Ian turned to the ghost. “Are you Dr. Buus?” he asked.

  The ghost smiled and nodded. “Mark. Please call me Mark,” he replied. He looked slowly around and shook his head. “This place has really gone downhill fast.”

  “Do you know what year it is?” Mary asked.

  He smiled at her. “You would have made an excellent psychiatrist,” he said. “Asking leading questions to get information not having anything to do with the answer. But, to answer your unspoken question, yes, I realize I’m dead. Although, I can admit, I don’t remember a lot about the circumstances surrounding my death at this point.”

  “And have you seen a light?” Ian asked.

  His smile widened. “Ah, the proverbial passageway to heaven,” he said. “No, I haven’t, and believe me, I’ve looked. So, either there is no such thing or I still have unfinished business here on earth.”

  “There’s a light,” Mary said with confidence. “So, let’s go with the unfinished business. Can we talk to you about Tony?”

  He nodded. “Yes, come into my office,” he invited. “There’s a lot I can share.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Mark slipped through the door. Then Ian opened it for he and Mary to go through. The office, like the rest of the building, showed obvious signs of deterioration. Plaster was peeling in large pieces from the wall; the linoleum was yellowed and pulling away from the floor. The turquoise Naugahyde chairs still placed in front of the old, metal desk were brittle and torn, but still capable of use. Ian picked up one, turned it upside down to get rid of the debris on it and then set it down for Mary.

  “My lady,” he teased with a bow.

  She smiled. “Why, thank you,” she replied, perching on the edge of the chair.

  He did the same for his own chair, and they sat across from Mark, who was seated on an invisible chair on the other side of the table. Clasping his hands together, Mark leaned towards them. “First, I need to apologize that everything I’m going to share with you is from my memory,” he said, glancing over to an old, five-drawer, black, steel, filing cabinet in the corner of the room. “I’ve tried everything to open it, but I can’t. And beyond that, I’m afraid I’ve lost the key.”

  Ian glanced at Mary, and she nodded. “Go ahead,” she encouraged him.

  He stood, pulled a small sheath from his back pocket and opened it to reveal a number of small, metal tools. He turned to Mark. “May I have a go at it?” he asked.

  “Yes, please, do try,” Mark agreed.

  Ian pulled out a thin, pointed tool and slipped it into the keyhole. Then he pulled out a flatter tool and slipped it on top, jiggling the
tool as it penetrated the small, grey housing. In a moment, they were rewarded by the sound of a click, and the locking device popped forward, unlocking the cabinet.

  “Which drawer?” Ian asked.

  Mark smiled and sighed with satisfaction. “The second drawer,” he said. “The large file towards the back.”

  Ian opened the drawer and was grateful to see that all the files were intact. “Fireproof,” he commented, examining the drawer. “That’s what saved them. This cabinet is fireproof.”

  “What do you mean?” Mark asked.

  “You died in a fire,” Mary said. “But, from your appearance, I would guess that you died of smoke inhalation, rather than burns.”

  “Why would you assume that?” he asked.

  “I’ve had a lot of experience with…” she paused, searching for the right word.

  “Ghosts?” Mark supplied.

  She smiled and nodded. “Yes, actually, ghosts,” she replied. “And I’ve learned that their images as spirits, spirits still earth-bound, retain the same appearance they had when they died.”

  “So, a hanging victim…” Mark ventured.

  Mary squinted in distaste and nodded. “Yeah, it isn’t a pretty sight,” she said. “So, the fact that you are unscarred and your clothes are fine tells me it was smoke inhalation, rather than incineration.”

  “Well, there’s something to be grateful for,” he quipped. “But, it’s very interesting to learn that I was a victim of fire. Did you know that many others in this institution were also victims of fire?”

  Ian placed the large file on the desk and sat down. “Yes, actually, the guard at the courthouse mentioned that,” Ian said.

  “And did he also mention that all of those victims had a relationship in one way or another with Tony Lancaster?” Mark asked.

  “Um, no,” Mary said. “He didn’t mention that at all.”

  Mark templed his hands together and was lost in thought for a moment. Finally, he looked up and met Ian’s eyes. “I read something once about psychotic individuals and a connection to psychic abilities. Have you ever heard anything about that?”