Loose Ends (3 page)

“Come on,” Mary growled, as she passed yet another car whose driver had decided to take a parking spot and a half at the crowded curb, “Who taught you how to parallel park?”

Once she found a parking spot a block from the small café, she grabbed her briefcase, locked her car and casually strolled down the street. The large showcase shop windows gave her ample opportunity to study herself coming and, if the angle was right, going. She hated to admit it, but she was slightly intimidated by women like Susan Ryerson. Perfect political partner. Sophisticated and highly educated. Born with a silver spoon in her mouth.

Glancing at herself in one of the store windows, she tucked a loose strand of hair back in place and checked her lipstick. She was glad she had decided on wool tailored slacks, silk blouse and tweed jacket that morning.

She smiled.
Not only am I making a fashion statement, I’m not freezing my butt off.

The café was quaint and inviting, with a small blazing fireplace in one corner, solid wooden tables and chairs, and vintage tin signs on the walls. She inhaled the warm flavors that greeted her as she entered: freshly roasted coffee, cinnamon pastries and, she paused for a moment, pumpkin. A quick glance to the Specials board advertising Pumpkin Bisque confirmed her conclusion.

Even if she hadn’t seen Susan on television a number of times, she would have been able to pick her new client out from the primarily blue jean clad clientele. Mary took a moment to study her. She had chosen a table in the far corner of the café, where she assumed they would have some privacy.

Susan was impeccably dressed in a wool boucle suit with black pumps. Her silver-blonde hair was cut in a sleek cap over her head. She looked like the picture of cool sophistication, something out of a magazine.

Then Mary looked at Susan’s hands sliding up and down over the outside of her oversized latte mug. She was not as calm as she tried to project.
Not as cool and calm as she looks
, Mary thought with a smile.
Why does that make me feel better
?

She stopped at the bar and ordered an herb tea before strolling over and introducing herself to her next client.

“Hi,” she said, extending her hand as she slipped into the chair across from Susan, “I’m Mary O’Reilly. It’s nice to meet you.”

Susan Ryerson shook the offered hand and pasted a strained smile on her face.

“Susan Ryerson. Thank you for coming.”

Mary paused for a moment as her tea was delivered to the table and then pulled the yellow legal pad out of her briefcase.

“Do you mind if I take notes?” she asked the senator’s wife.

Susan shook her head, “No, not at all. I would prefer if I don’t have to repeat anything.”

Mary nodded and tapped her pen on her hand. “Why don’t you begin by telling me why you called me today?”

Susan shook her head. “Before I do that, can you tell me a little bit about your company and what it is you do?”

Mary smiled and nodded.

“My background is in Criminal Justice. Police work is part of my DNA. My grandfather, my dad, my older brothers and I were all Chicago cops. It was the only career I ever considered.

“I went to University of Illinois, got a degree and started as a rookie on the force. I did pretty well. Moved up quickly. I was in line to become a detective. I figure if I had put in another six months, I would have been promoted.”

“What happened?”

Mary sighed and unconsciously rubbed her hand just below her left shoulder. “A stake-out gone bad,” she said, shrugging. “I ended up in the middle of a gang war. Not a place you want to be.”

“You were shot?” Susan asked, stunned.

“Not only shot, I died,” Mary replied.

Susan’s eyes widened.

“Yeah, I did that whole `walk to the light’ thing,” Mary said flippantly. Then she took a deep breath and met Susan’s eyes, her face now somber.

“I still remember looking down on my body. My whole family was there in the hospital room,” she said softly, “I saw my mother sobbing, and my dad, he just looked so old all of the sudden. I knew that I - my death - had caused it.

“Then I got a choice,” she continued. “I heard a voice – called me by name. He gave me a choice to go back, if I wanted. But told me if I chose to return, things wouldn’t quite be the same.”

She smiled and shook her head.

“I figured, you know, that I’d walk with a limp or something. Oh, no, nothing as simple as that. When I came back I was able to see people who had died. People who hadn’t gone to the light, who needed to resolve some issues in order to get there. So, here I am – doing investigations to help move people on.”

“So, do many people have ghosts that they need you to help move on?” Susan asked.

Mary laughed, thinking of her night-time visitor. “No, most of my customers are the ghosts themselves. It makes giving out references a bitch, but, hey, it’s a living.”

Mary leaned back in her chair, “So, now that you know my story, why don’t you tell me yours?”

Susan took a deep breath, leaned forward in her chair and whispered, “First, I need to be assured that everything I say is held in the strictest confidence.”

“Of course.”

Susan studied Mary’s eyes for a moment, then continued, “I believe my husband and I are being haunted. And I believe the ghost is a young woman who died at our home many years ago.”

Mary sipped her tea. After a moment she asked, “Why would someone, this young woman, haunt you?”

Susan’s eyes glanced away for a moment and then met Mary’s straight on.

“Because she might not have just died as we assumed. I think she might have been murdered.”

That evening Mary found herself once again navigating the winding roads that twisted through the northwest landscape of Illinois. It was tricky driving on them during the day, but on a cold, drizzly fall evening, the roads could be considered close to treacherous. Not only did Mary have to worry about meeting white-tailed deer on the road, she also had to keep her temper when non-local drivers sped past her like they were on an interstate, rather than a two-lane highway.

“If you crash and end up a ghost, don’t come to me begging for help,” she muttered as a sporty Mercedes whizzed past her at a tricky overpass. Mary tightened her grip on the steering wheel and shook her head, “Idiots!”

She entered the Tapley Woods Conservation Area and slowed down. If there was any place on this road for a run-in with a white-tail, this would be it. A movement and a glimmer of white in the woods drew her attention, but disappeared before she could get a good look at it.

Exiting Tapley Woods, she turned right on a road leading to a ridge overlooking the town of Galena. The homes in this area were an eclectic combination of estates and week-end hunting retreats. She found the address Susan Ryerson had given her and pulled into the drive. This was no week-end hunting retreat. The stately mansion stood about a half mile back from the road and looked imposing sitting on the slight rise before her.

She put the car into first gear and continued slowly up the drive, glancing carefully at the tall trees that stood on either side. The vegetation made it nearly impossible for her to see the grounds beyond the drive. But the familiar chill running down her spine told her the house was indeed hiding a secret.

She parked in the circular drive and climbed the marble steps to the oversized oak door. She only waited a few moments after pressing the doorbell before she could hear the sharp clicking of high heels against ceramic tile. Susan opened the door and invited Mary inside.

“I’m grateful that you could come tonight,” Susan said, “Joseph, the senator, is in Chicago and I really didn’t want him to be here when you came.”

“Have you talked to him about the ghost?” Mary asked.

Susan shook her head. “No. But I’ve seen him looking at the same area I’ve seen her. Because he doesn’t speak about it, I thought perhaps it was too painful.”

“Have you considered that this is something he would rather not have investigated?” she asked.

Susan’s eyes widened for a moment, “Why wouldn’t he…,” she paused. “Are you saying that you think my husband might have been involved with her murder?”

Mary shrugged.

“I’m not drawing any assumptions yet – I haven’t even seen the ghost. But if I find out that there was a murder and he was involved, I can’t leave it there. I’ll have to investigate,” she replied firmly.

“Is that some kind of private investigator’s rule?” Susan asked.

Mary shook her head.

“No, it’s my rule. I’m all about getting these ghosts to the other side. And they won’t go until things are settled.

“So, do you want me to continue?” Mary asked.

Susan paused a moment and linked her hands together at her waist. “Well, I guess it comes down to trust,” she said, almost to herself. She looked up and nodded.

“Yes, I trust Joseph. I don’t think he had anything to do with her murder,” she said firmly. “Yes, I want you to continue.”

Mary hoped Susan’s trust was well placed.

“Great, then let’s get going,” she said, “Where do you see the ghost?”

Susan led Mary across the hall and opened a large door.

“This is the ballroom,” she said, as they entered the room, “The kids actually used it for roller skating when they were young. Now, it mostly sits empty.”

She walked over to a grouping of switches and flicked on a few, casting the room into dim light.

The room was about the size of the gymnasium at the local high school.

“Wow,” Mary said, “Nice.”

The room had soaring ceilings with crystal chandeliers, a parquet wood floor, a wall of leaded glass windows and French doors that led to a stone-covered terrace.

In one corner sat a gleaming black grand piano that looked like it was well used. There were chairs pushed back against the wall and a rolled up rug against another.

“The first time I saw her, I was searching for some sheet music,” Susan said, walking across the room to the grand piano. “I keep music in the bench.”

They reached the piano and Susan pointed across the room near the terrace doors.

“She appeared there,” she said, “Then she walked out through the French doors.”

Mary nodded and reached into her pocket for her penlight.

“Are you prepared to follow her tonight?” she asked.

Susan looked startled for a moment. “Do you need me?” she asked.

Mary hid a smile. She had almost forgotten that the general population would rather not have to know that ghosts exist, much less follow them around.

“If you want to come, I’d welcome your input,” Mary said, “But you have to decide what makes you feel comfortable.”

Susan bit her lower lip nervously.

“Why don’t we wait and see what happens,” she suggested.

Mary nodded, slipped her penlight back into her pocket and pulled a notebook out of her purse. “Why don’t I ask you a couple of questions to help me in my research,” she said.

Susan sat on the bench and Mary leaned against the piano, her pen posed on the paper.

“About what time of day did you see her?” she asked.

“It was about 8:30 at night,” Susan replied.

Mary watched Susan’s eyes flick nervously across the room.

“And the other times, when you came back at the same time, did she reappear?”

Susan’s startled eyes flew back to Mary. “How do, how did…” she stammered.

“You’re a curious and intelligent woman,” Mary shrugged, “Of course you’d come back here to make sure it wasn’t your imagination or a passing car light reflected in the windows. So, how many times?”

Susan shrugged. “I’ve seen her four additional times since the first night,” she admitted, “always at the same time, always in the same place.”

Mary nodded and noted it. She watched Susan fidget and wondered what else the woman was not telling her. She only had a few minutes before the ghost was scheduled to appear, so she’d have to trust her gut.

“Can I have a copy of the information you’ve found on the woman who died?” she asked in a matter-of-fact voice.

Once again, Susan looked flustered, and then shook her head.

“You are very good at this, aren’t you?”

Mary smiled. “I’m the best.”

Susan looked up and her eyes caught across the room. Mary followed her gaze. In the far corner, a soft haze appeared close to the French doors. The haze began to take shape and in a moment they were staring at a dark-haired young woman, dressed in a short dress.

“I’ll have the files waiting for you, when you get back,” Susan whispered, her voice shaky.

Mary nodded, her attention on the movements of the ghost across the room. She watched as the ghost looked around the room and smiled, motioning with her eyes and with subtle movements to someone unseen. Then, with a last secretive smile, she slid out of the room through the French doors.

Mary called back to Susan as she jogged across the room, “I’ll try to find out what she wants.”

Mary pushed open the French doors, scanning the terrace with her flashlight. At the far corner, she saw the ghost slowly gliding down the stairs towards the garden. Mary followed.

The evening sky was dark – clouds covered the nearly full moon and the stars – but thankfully the rain had stopped. Mary pulled her jacket tighter and followed the translucent glow across the lawn, trying to avoid slipping on the wet leaves that carpeted the grass. Beyond the manicured lawn, the informal garden was overgrown with trees and vegetation. Mary pushed through the wet, dead limbs to find the path that the ghost slid through effortlessly.

“Someone needs to fire the gardener,” Mary muttered, when a particularly lethal-looking branch just missed her face. “Or shoot him.”

Once through the barrier of the garden, Mary felt the landscape begin to slope downward. The grass was knee-high, but she had a clearer view of the ghost.

She stumbled forward, her foot catching on a hidden root, and ended up on her hands and knees on the muddy path. “Crap!” Looking up quickly to be sure she didn’t lose the direction of the ghost, she was rewarded with a splash of cold water that dripped onto her head, down her forehead and into her eyes. Wiping her eyes with her sleeve, she scurried to her feet and half jogged down the trail to catch up. She saw her about fifteen feet further up the path when the ghost drifted behind a tall dense wall of privet hedges and disappeared from view.