Final Call by Terri Reid Page A

a younger version of himself with his arms wrapped around
Jeannine. They were standing in front of their home in Sycamore. He remembered
they had just signed the papers and the house was theirs. Their real estate
agent had taken the picture.
    He studied Jeannine’s face. She was
laughing up at him with love in her eyes. And trust. She trusted him and he let
her down. She had been murdered and he hadn’t solved the case.
    With a curse, he placed the photo back
in his wallet, put it back in his pocket and left the car. He pushed open the
door between the garage and his kitchen. He strode through the house to the
bedroom he used as an office. Whipping off his coat and tossing it aside, he
opened a file cabinet and pulled out a group of thick manila files. He sat at
the chair, turned on the overhead lamp and opened the first file.
    Four hours later Bradley realized all
he had for his efforts was a headache and a stiff neck. He got up and walked
into the kitchen, poured himself a glass of water and washed down some pain
tablets.
    Looking around the room, he saw that
his windows were covered with a layer of frost. The picture window that looked
out on his deck from the dining room was half-frosted over. Realizing that the
house was actually pretty cold, he turned up the thermostat.
    The rumbling emitted from his stomach
reminded him he hadn’t eaten in quite a while. He opened the cabinet above the
kitchen counter, grabbed three Oreo cookies and a glass for some milk. It
wasn’t the most nutritious dinner, but he was on the verge of starvation, so it
was a good start.
    He scanned the cabinet for other
options and spied a can of ravioli. Looks
like I’m having Italian for dinner , he thought, not as appetizing as BLTs and tomato soup.
    He shook his head. No, I am not going to think about her.
    Sighing, he suddenly remembered another
set of eyes that had looked up at him with love. He remembered the way she had
stiffened when he told her she wasn’t good at hiding the truth. He should have
realized something was wrong from her reaction. But, no, he was so locked in
her spell, he couldn’t think clearly.
    An inner voice told him he wasn’t being
fair, but at that moment, he really didn’t care. He had trusted Mary and she
betrayed him. Who knew how long she had kept things from him? Who knew how many
other secrets she kept hidden away?
    “She’s done nothing but lie to me,” he
said aloud. “I can never trust her again.”
    A slight scratching had him turning around
and facing the picture window. Something had been scratched into the frost. He
moved closer until he could make out the message.
    You
are an idiot. She is a treasure.
    Sincerely,
    Fireman
Mike

Chapter Eighteen

 
    “Dan Stevens,” the voice on the other
end of the line announced. “Who loves ya baby?”
    “Hi Dan,” Mary said. “It’s Mary
O’Reilly.”
    There was a pause on the other end of
the line.
    “Yeah, Mary O’Reilly, I remember, the private
investigator with something extra,” he said slowly, although he knew exactly
who Mary was. “You wouldn’t let me write an article about you.”
    “Yes, that’s right,” she acknowledged,
with a chuckle. “I was just a little concerned it might bring me some unwanted
attention.”
    The return laughter was warm and
engaging. “I think your exact quote was, ‘It would bring the crazies out of the
woodwork.”
    “Something like that,” she giggled.
    “But it would have made a hell of a
story,” he replied. “So, what can I do for you, Mary?”
    Mary glanced out the window before
answering. The snow had stopped falling that morning and now, at two o’clock in
the afternoon, it was bright and sunny and most of the roads had been plowed.
    “I was wondering if you were planning
on being in Freeport today?” she asked, knowing Dan’s paper and his offices
were located in the small town of Lena, about fifteen miles away.
    “Yeah, I had a couple people I needed
to meet,” he replied.