Veiled Passages (7 page)

“Why didn’t your psychic guides tell you he was murdered ten years ago?” Mary asked.

Honora looked puzzled for a moment, and then she brightened. “I suppose I never asked them.”

Mary was just about to cast doubt on Honora’s psychic connections when the lobby door opened and two other women stepped inside.  The first had nondescript, shoulder-length brown hair, was wearing a pair of jeans and an oversized cotton blouse and had an friendly smile.  The other woman had dark hair, cut in a stylish bob and was dressed in a casually elegant outfit of tailored navy blue slacks and a matching nautical-look blouse and jacket. She glanced around the room impatiently and, with a moue of distaste, cast her eyes on Honora.

“Sally,” Mary muttered, looking at the dark-haired woman.

Honora turned and stared at Mary for a moment, her jaw dropping. “You are a psychic,” she said in awe, and then called to her friends as she bustled over. “Sally, Tracey, you have to meet Mary. She’s a real psychic and she’s investigating Peter’s murder.”

Mary closed her eyes in dismay.
Great!  Nothing like a little discretion to help in an investigation.

“Honora, shut your mouth,” Sally said. “We don’t have any idea who murdered Peter and you could be chasing possible suspects away with your babbling.”

Although Mary agreed with what the woman said, she probably would have handled it with a little more kindness.  Honora looked devastated.

“I’m so sorry,” Honora whispered, her face bright red with shame. “I wasn’t thinking. I was so excited.”

“She never thinks,” the dark-haired woman said, striding forward to Mary. “I’m Sally Hubley. I was the president of the Midwest Murder, Mayhem and Mystery Writer’s Consortium board at the time of Peter’s death.  We were contacted by the hotel and, of course, we want to do all we can do to aid in solving this mystery.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Mary lied, “and I appreciate your efforts.  But unfortunately, I believe there has been a misunderstanding and I don’t need your help.”

“Why of course you do,” Sally insisted, brushing off Mary’s words. “We are mystery writers. We understand the inner workings of a demented and insidious mind. We insist that you allow us to help, or we might have to contact the media about this unsolved crime. I’m sure the owner of the hotel would find your indiscretion less than professional.”

She smiled at Mary and Mary was instantly reminded of an alligator she saw at Lincoln Park Zoo as a child.

“Honora, do you have our room keys?” she asked imperiously.

“Yes, Sally, we’re on the fourth floor,” Honora said, holding out a key.

Snatching it from her hand, Sally strode toward the elevator, her luggage in tow. “I suggest we all meet down here in fifteen minutes, once we are settled in,” she stated just as the elevator doors closed in front of her.

“Well, of all the…” Mary began, staring at the closed elevator doors.

“We do understand the inner workings of deluded and insidious minds,” Tracey said, from behind her. “Mostly because we are fairly deluded and insidious ourselves.”

Mary smiled and turned. “Hello, I’m Mary O’Reilly,” she said.

“I’ve read about you and I’ve been very impressed.  I almost thought about writing a series based on a woman who can see ghosts and solves murders. But who would believe something like that?” Tracey chuckled, extending her hand. “I’m Tracey Bresnahan and, unfortunately, I also write murder mysteries.”

Laughing, Mary shook Tracey’s hand. “I have nothing against authors,” she said. “I just don’t think it’s safe for all of you to get mixed up in this.”

Tracey nodded slowly. “So, Honora was right,” she said. “You are reopening Peter’s case. You do believe he was murdered and he didn’t just drown in the tub.”

Mary was silent for a moment as she decided what to do.  Tracey, of all the women, seemed the most straightforward and intelligent.  But, she really didn’t need to have a bunch of amateur sleuths following her around and getting in her way.

“I really can’t say…” Mary began.

“Because you don’t need a bunch of amateurs messing things up for you?” Tracey interrupted with a smile.

“Well,” Mary prevaricated.

“Why don’t you let me handle the sleuth sisters and if we can be helpful in any way, just let us know,” she said. “We can, actually, keep a secret despite Honora’s excitement. And we did know Peter fairly well. So we might be able to give you some insight.”

Nodding, Mary considered her offer. “I can give you a little information,” she said. “And actually, it might be helpful to be able to interview all of you about Peter and the rest of the members of the consortium.”

“That’s fair,” Tracey said. “And I think I’ll be able to keep a handle on those two.  I’ve been doing that for years.”

“Thanks,” Mary said, eager to leave the hotel and get back to her house. “I’ll be back later this afternoon and then we can start.”

“Mary,” Tracey said, stopped her. “I just have one question before we meet together with the others.”

Mary waited expectantly.

“Does Peter know who killed him?” she asked.

She really has been reading up on about me
, Mary thought.

“No, he doesn’t,” Mary said. “But we both agree it was murder.”

Chapter Thirteen

The vacuum cleaner had been back in its place in the broom closet for about fifteen seconds before there was a soft knock on Mary’s front door.  She wiped her hands on the back of her jeans, brushed her hair from her face, tucked in her blouse and took a deep breath. “Coming,” she called brightly.

No sooner had she opened the door than she was enfolded in a warm hug. “Mary, darling, it’s so good to see you,” her mother, Margaret, said.

Mary placed her head on her mother’s shoulder and just enjoyed the sweet comfort of the hug.  There was nothing better than a mother’s embrace. “I’ve missed you too, Ma,” she replied.

“Oh, well, I see you do still have a car,” her mother replied wryly, stepping back and smiling into the face of her daughter. “Is it too far a drive from Freeport to Chicago?”

Mary slipped her arm around her mother’s shoulder and led her into the house. “Well, I have been a wee bit busy lately,” she said, “Solving murder mysteries, chasing serial killers, taking care of Clarissa and planning a wedding. You know, the usual things.”

“Excuses, excuses,” her mother teased, wrapping her arm around Mary’s waist. “And do you have time for a cup of tea?”

“It just so happens I have a pot steeping right now,” she said. “And I made cookies yesterday.”

“Cookies!  And Ian actually left me some?” Margaret laughed.

“I hid them,” Mary confessed.

Margaret slipped off her coat and hung it in the closet. “Your house looks lovely,” she said. “I don’t know how you have time to do all you do and keep a neat house.”

Mary sighed. “Well, to tell the truth,” she began.

“Darling, never tell me the truth about housekeeping,” Margaret interrupted. “There are secrets no daughter need share with her mother.”

Grinning, Mary nodded as she placed tea cups and saucers on the kitchen table. “Well, then, if you must know, I get up at 4:30 every morning and scrub the house from top to bottom,” she said. “It pretty much always looks like this.”

Margaret picked up a cookie and took a small bite. “That’s exactly what I thought,” she said with a smile. “I raised my children to be hard-working and brilliant.”

“Well, brilliant liars,” Mary laughed.

“As long as they’re brilliant,” she countered. “That’s all that matters.”

A little while later they were seated at the table, enjoying their second cup and going through the list of things to do for the wedding.

“So, how sure are you of the caterer?” Margaret asked.

“Well, I started working on the case earlier this morning,” Mary said. “It’s going to be a little tricky because he died ten years ago and we really have nothing to go on.”

Mary paused for a moment and sighed, “And he really had a lot of people angry with him. And he was a fairly miserable man with a huge ego. And everyone who was connected to him was very familiar with different ways to kill people.”

Margaret picked up her cup of tea and took a sip.  She put the cup down and looked at Mary. “So, you’re telling me that you’re fairly sure about the caterer, right?”

Mary chuckled and nodded. “Right.  And in the meantime, Rosie is making meatballs.”

“Good! Everyone likes meatballs.”

Margaret sat back in her chair. “And when was the last time you and your handsome fiancée went on a date?” she asked.

“A date?” Mary asked slowly.

She thought about it for several minutes. “Well, there was the one time he asked me out, but then there was a train derailment and so we ended up just going for a run in the park,” she said. “That was the night he asked me to marry him.”

“And you’re telling me that you and Bradley have never gone on a date?” her mother asked incredulously.

“Well, we spend a lot of time together,” Mary prevaricated.

“Chasing bad guys and freeing ghosts does not count as quality time,” she lectured. “You need to spend some time together, to get to know each other without the stresses of work or home.”

“Well, yes, but we just don’t have time,” Mary explained.

“So, you’re going to marry each other without even going on one date? I don’t think so,” Margaret said.

“What do you mean?”

“I want you to call him up, right now, and tell him your mother is babysitting tonight so the two of you can go out together.”

“Really?” Mary asked, a smile brightening her face. “No, I couldn’t ask you…”

“You couldn’t ask me to spend the evening alone with my granddaughter-to-be?” she said. “And why would that be?”

Mary shook her head. “No, I didn’t mean that,” she explained. “It’s just that Clarissa has homework…”

Margaret stood up and carried her cup and saucer to the sink. “So, you’re saying I’m too stupid to help an eight-year-old with her homework?” she asked, her eyebrow raised over a twinkling blue eye.

“No, ma,” Mary replied. “But…”

“Have you had a chance to wear that little black dress you bought a while back yet?” her mother interrupted once again.

Leaning back against her chair, Mary shook her head. “No, I was wearing it the night of the train derailment,” she confessed. “But it’s been on the hanger since then.”

Margaret came back and picked up Mary’s cup and saucer. “And don’t you want to knock his socks off before he sees you walking down the aisle?”

A small smile grew into a grin. “That would be nice.”

“Call the man,” Margaret insisted. “And Clarissa and I will do homework, eat pizza and watch a movie together.”

Mary picked up her cell phone and dialed, and with her eyes on her mother, she said, “Hi, it’s Mary. My mother just insisted on babysitting tonight so we could go on a date. That is, if you’re interested.”

Her smile grew wider and a slight blush brightened her cheeks as she listened to his response. “Okay,” she replied softly. “I’ll see you then.”

She hung up the phone and inhaled deeply.

“So he liked the idea?” Margaret asked with a smile.

Mary nodded, “He really liked the idea.”

She got up and hugged her mother. “Have I mentioned how grateful I am that I have a wise and wonderful mother?” she asked.

Margaret laughed. “No, you haven’t, but feel free to mention it at any time.”

“You are amazing, thank you,” Mary said, kissing her mother’s cheek.

“How much time do you have to get ready? You’ll want to give yourself enough time to be pampered.”

Mary glanced at the clock. “I’ll have enough time,” she said. “But first I have to meet with a couple of authors about a ghost.”

“Well, you go and do that and I’ll get myself settled,” she said.

Mary hurried into the living room and pulled her coat from the closet. “I love you, ma,” she said.

“I love you too, Mary-Mary,” she said. “Now, off you go so you can get back and make yourself beautiful for your man.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Mary said with a wink, as she hurried out the door.

Chapter Fourteen

The restaurant was empty except for the three women sitting at a small table in the corner.  Mary smiled at the bartender/waitress as she walked past her.

“Your usual?” the woman asked pleasantly.

Mary nodded. “Yes, Diet Pepsi would be great.”

As she approached the table, Tracey looked up and smiled at her. “Mary, thanks for taking the time to meet with us,” she said. “Please sit down.”

Mary took the empty seat and pulled a small digital recorder and notebook from her purse. “Thank you for allowing me to interview you,” she said.

The waitress placed Mary’s drink on the table next to her and quickly went back to the bar.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll find, once you speak with us, that we will be much more useful to you than merely an interview,” Sally said. “My novels have won numerous awards. They don’t give those kind of awards to just anyone.”

Mary smiled politely and nodded. “I’m sure they don’t,” she said, as she turned on the recorder. “How long did you know Peter?”

“They never really knew me,” Peter criticized, from directly behind Mary. “They were too busy promoting their books.”

“Does your recorder pick up EVPs,” Honora asked, “Just in case Peter is here too?”

“You know, I never used to believe in all that spiritual crap,” Peter said. “Who would have thought that Honora, of all people, was right?”

“EVPs?” Tracey asked.

“Electronic Voice Phenomena,” Mary replied. “Noises picked up on the recorder that resemble words, but are not from any human recording.”

“Ghost-recording?” Sally scoffed. “Really, you expect to pick up Peter’s voice on that thing?  Why don’t we just all hold hands and have a séance?”

“Honora, I don’t know if my recorder is sensitive enough for EVP because I’ve never had to use it for my investigations,” she replied. “I wanted it here today because there are three of you and I wanted to be sure I caught everything all of you said.  Any small detail could be important in solving the case of Peter’s death.”