Loose Ends (12 page)

One call to his old Chief had opened doors for him; he had been interviewed and got the job as Police Chief in Freeport.

“So now, here I am,” he muttered with disgust, “Stalking someone to keep the boss happy. You’ve come a long way baby.” The back porch light of Mary’s house clicked on. Bradley sat up straight and peered out the side window. He caught a quick glimpse of Mary leaving her house, dressed in black once again.

“Well, if nothing else, it won’t be a boring night,” he said as he turned the engine on and slowly drove down the street.

Mary figured she owed Earl. Bradley hadn’t bothered her all day. And he’d probably think twice before he called her a kook again. So, even though she was close to exhausted, she found herself laying in bed that night dressed in her black jeans, a black turtleneck and black running shoes, with her black leather jacket thrown over the banister for easy access.

The clock struck midnight and the familiar shuffling began. Mary waited for Earl to make his way through the kitchen and up the stairs. His bloodied uniformed figure stood in the doorway of her room. Mary sat up in her bed. “Okay Lieutenant, why don’t you show me what has kept you up for so long.”

Earl turned and started back down the hall, with Mary following. The raw stump where his head used to be was pretty gross, so Mary turned her eyes to his feet scuffling across the carpet.

“Remember Earl, I’m not like you – so no going through walls,” Mary said, as she grabbed her jacket. “Instead of the basement, maybe we could use the back door.”

Earl paused and shrugged.

“Shrugs are weird when you don’t have a head,” Mary decided.

Earl reached the first floor and, instead of turning toward the basement, he headed to the back door. When he reached it he began to knock against it with his whole body. “Wait. Wait. WAIT!” Mary yelled, moving around Earl. “I’ll open it, okay? You don’t have to knock down my door.”

She reached for the doorknob and found it covered with Earl’s blood. “Oh, gross,” she exclaimed. “Really, did you have to do that?”

She turned the knob and pulled the door open. The cold air rushed in and brought with it a blast of Earl’s rotting smell. “You know, nothing personal, but I’m going to be really glad when you’re on the other side.”

Earl moved slowly down the stairs, out into the backyard and then down the street. Once on the street his gait increased to a quick clip. “I can tell you were a soldier,” Mary said and jogged down the street behind him, trying to stay upwind if at all possible.

An obese tabby sat on the front banister of a colonial style house, lazily watching moths flutter around a porch light. It slowly turned its head as they approached, ready to send them a disdainful cat “I’m ignoring you’ look. But when it got a good look at Earl, its reaction was immediate – back arched and hair standing on end-it dove off the porch and climbed up the nearest tree.

“Sorry,” Mary called. “If you’re not down by morning, I’ll call the fire department.”

They had traveled about a mile and a half when Earl started to slow. He turned right on Carroll Street and headed for the large estate that was now the Stephenson County Historical Museum.

The Taylor House, a beautiful limestone mansion, sat in the midst of the lovingly tended arboretum. The Taylor Gardeners, group of devoted volunteers, had dedicated hours creating the small gardens and park-like setting throughout the three acres.

Mary followed the winding driveway that led to the front of the home. Large trees bordered the drive, their bare branches illuminated against the full moon. Mary glanced toward the house and saw the familiar shadows of the former residents flit past the tall windows. This was a place filled with contented ghosts who occasionally visited a place they loved when they were still alive. Those ghosts were always a joy to encounter.

Mary glanced around and saw a sweet elderly woman kneeling in the midst of a small English Garden. She was methodically pulling up weeds. Mary moved closer and the woman turned. She smiled up at Mary and faded into the night.

She noted that Earl hadn’t stopped at the front, but had drifted along the south side of the house, past the sunroom. Mary hurried forward, careful not to do anything that would trigger an alarm; she didn’t need another incident with the police department. She bypassed the kitchen entrance to the house and continued to the back of the property.

In one corner, far behind the mansion was a modern carriage-house that accommodated the Museum Director’s office and meeting rooms. Adjacent to the little house was an ancient ornamental wrought-iron fence that housed the family cemetery.

Earl stopped at the wrought-iron gate and motioned to Mary. She opened the gate for him, he glided through and stopped. He paused for a moment and waited for Mary to join him. “Almost there, Earl, we’re almost at the end of the journey.”

He moved to northwest corner of the graveyard, turned back to Mary and pointed. The limestone grave marker was nearly worn smooth. Mary knelt next to it and took out her penlight. She shone it against the engraving. UNKNOWN UNION SOLDIER – APRIL 1864.

That made sense. The Taylors often hosted Union Soldiers before they left for war. It was just like them to honor the death of an unknown soldier.

Mary took out an index card that she had prepared that evening, it read, “Lieutenant Earl Belvidere.” She taped it to the headstone and looked up at Earl. “That’s the best I can do for now,” she explained. “As soon as I get the other information, I’ll get you a new stone. You won’t be unknown anymore.”

Earl straightened, turned to Mary, saluted her and slowly faded into the darkness of the night. Mary rubbed a hand over the headstone and her eyes filled with tears, “Good-bye Earl, happy travels.”

“So, Earl won’t be breaking into your house anymore?”

Mary nearly screamed. “You scared the hell out of me.”

Bradley chuckled and stooped down next to her. “I didn’t think anything scared you,” he said.

“Very funny,” Mary replied, wiping the remained tears from her eyes. “How long have you been following me?”

Bradley shrugged. “Since you left your house.”

“My house,” she paused for a moment. “Am I under surveillance?”

He shook his head, guilt weighing heavy on his conscience. “No, of course not, but the bomb incident has left me feeling a little uneasy.”

“Bradley, I swear, I didn’t plant a bomb,” she said.

He stood and then offered his hand to help her up. “I don’t think you did,” he explained. “But someone did. So that means that someone is trying to frame you. Why?”

“Maybe it was just a mistake,” she said, brushing the dried leaves and dirt from the knees of her jeans. “Maybe someone else planted a bomb – like one of the authors of the crazy letters to the editor. But, because someone saw me there earlier, they thought it was me. A simple matter of mistaken identity.”

“I don’t buy it,” he said.

He guided her to where his cruiser was parked.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked.

He grinned. “Well, first we’ve got to get that poor cat out of the tree and then I’ll take you home.”

Mary smiled. “Thanks. Earl really freaked that poor kitty out.”

“I sympathize with the cat,” Bradley said.

She laughed as she settled into the seat and strapped on her seat belt, “And this is much better than walking back home.”

“Yeah, this way I can keep a closer eye on you,” Bradley said, feeling another twinge of guilt at his choice of words.

They drove through the darkened streets and parked down the block from the house with its cat in a tree.

“I don’t want to draw too much attention to us,” Bradley said, as they exited the vehicle.

“Yeah, because a woman all dressed in black and a policeman in uniform standing outside a house and calling, ‘Kitty, kitty, kitty,’ isn’t going to draw any attention at all,” Mary replied.

“Mary.”

“Yes.”

“Shut up.”

Mary giggled. “Yes, sir.”

The poor cat was right where Mary had left it earlier, clinging to a branch about ten feet in the air. “Awww, poor kitty,” Mary crooned. “Come on down. The big, bad ghost is all gone now.”

The cat looked down at Mary and meowed piteously, but didn’t budge.

“Kitty, kitty, kitty,” Bradley called.

“Did you know that your voice raises at least an octave when you do that?” Mary asked. “It’s almost disturbing.”

“Mary.”

Mary chuckled. “Yeah, I know. Shut up.”

Bradley moved closer to the tree and reached up towards the branches, “Come on, kitty,” he pleaded. “Come on down.”

Mary moved next to him. “Here kitty, kitty, kitty.”

The front door of the house burst open. A heavy-set middle-aged man with a terry-cloth robe barely covering his ratty tee-shirt and boxers exited with a shotgun in his hands.

“Hey, you, whaddya doing in my front yard?”

Bradley moved away from the tree into the light shining from the front porch. “I apologize, we were on patrol and noticed your cat in the tree,” he said, “We were just trying to get her down.”

The man peered into the darkness toward Mary. “You and who else? Cat woman?” he asked.

Mary swallowed a giggle and stayed where she was, under the tree.

“No, an undercover law enforcement officer,” Bradley improvised, “Helping the department with some specialty training.”

“And you stopped to get a cat out of a tree?” he put the shotgun down and scratched his head. “Is that how my tax dollars are being spent? What kind of specialty training?”

“Night ops,” Bradley said.

“Night ops my ass,” the man replied. “Horace get down from that tree right now and get your butt inside.”

The cat scrambled down the tree and dashed through the open door. “Now can I get some sleep?” he demanded.

“Yes, sir, have a good evening sir,” Bradley said.

“Bunch of kooks, middle of the night, night ops,” the man muttered as he closed his door.

Mary doubled over in laughter as Bradley stormed past her toward the cruiser. “People used to have respect for the law,” he said.

“Obviously the man doesn’t appreciate the danger associated with the job,” she giggled. “You could have received some really deep scratches.”

Bradley continued toward the cruiser, trying to ignore her.

“Wait, dear, don’t forget cat woman,” she called, tears beginning to stream down her face. Bradley turned back. Mary could see him struggling not to laugh.

“Night ops my ass,” she mocked and bent over to catch her breath.

The bullet whizzed past her and exploded into the tree bark above her. Her laughter stopped immediately. She dropped to the ground only seconds before Bradley dropped next to her, his gun drawn, his eyes very serious.

“Which way did it come from?” he asked.

“Across the street, northwest,” Mary stuttered, her body shaking in reaction to the close call.

“Hey, are you okay?” Bradley asked, sliding closer.

“Last time I got shot, I died,” she replied, taking a deep shuddering breath. “Just give me a minute and I’ll be okay.”

“Shit!” he swore. “Hang in there. I’m going to call for reinforcements.”

He pulled his radio from his holster. “This is Alden, I’m on Demeter near LaCresta, shots fired. I need back-up immediately.”

“So,” he said, putting his arm around Mary and pulling her alongside him. “I’ve never met someone who died. I mean someone who could actually talk to me about it. Was it all bright lights and Mormon Tabernacle Choir music?”

She smiled in spite of her fear. She’d used this tactic before with victims in their first stages of shock to calm them down until help could get there. “Well, I can’t really be sure but I think I remember hearing Queen’s
Another One Bites The Dust
,” she quipped.

He snorted. “Well, at least it wasn’t ACDC’s
Highway to Hell
.”

She chuckled, and although it was comforting to have him next to her, shielding her, she knew that she needed to figure out what was going on. “So, who do you think is trying to kill me?” she asked.

“Hey, it could have been me they were after,” he replied.

“No,” she turned her head and looked at him. “We both know that bullet had my name on it.”

He turned back, his face grim, his lips set tightly. “Mary...”

The approaching sounds of sirens halted their conversation for the moment.

“That was fast,” she said.

“They’re good guys,” he replied. “I know they have my back.”

Mary slowly did an examination of the area around her, looking at all of the places people could conceal themselves. Suddenly the safe residential street she had just jogged through with Earl had changed from a quiet garden to a dangerous jungle. “Do you think he’s still out there?” Mary asked.

“Not if he’s smart,” Bradley answered. “If he’s smart, he hightailed it as soon as he got that first shot off.”

“So, I’ve been laying on this cold ground next to you for nothing?” she teased.

“Hey, I thought it was a bonding moment,” he smiled at her.

She grinned back. Three Freeport Police Department cruisers pulled up to the curb in front of them and three uniformed cops, their guns drawn exited the vehicles.

“Chief, are you okay?” one of the officers asked.

“Yes, thanks for getting here so quickly,” Bradley responded.

“I think we can get up now,” Bradley added, standing and offering Mary his hand.

“Thanks for your help,” she said to the officers.

“No problem, ma’am,” one of the younger officers replied.

“Well, I still owe you a ride home,” Bradley said.

“That would be really nice,” she said.

“And I’m going to station one of these nice officers outside your house tonight,” he continued, “Just in case.”

“You know I’m licensed to carry,” she said, “I can protect myself.”

“Yeah, I figured,” he said, “Just the same, I’d feel better knowing someone was out there. Just one favor.”

“Sure. What?”

“Don’t shoot my officer.”

“Bradley.”

“What?”

“Shut up.”