Haunted Tales Read Free Page B

with
my family.   I could live my life. But
things would be different for me.”
    She folded her arms loosely over her belly and sighed. “So,
I came back,” she said. “And found, to my great surprise, that now I could see
and communicate with ghosts who were stuck here, on this side of the light,
because they needed someone alive to help them move on.”
    His face lost the look of fear and he stepped toward her.
“So, you’re for real?”
    She shrugged and nodded. “Pretty much,” she said. “I’m in
the profession of helping people move on, and sometimes that means I’m solving
crimes. But sometimes it means I just have to do research. Pretty average
private investigative work.”
    He studied her for a moment. “How much do you charge?” he
asked.
    “Well, when you have ghosts for clients, you really can’t
expect to make too much money,” she replied. “Generally, I end up working for
free.   But the disability income from the
Chicago Police Department makes up the difference.”
    “You can’t work because you were shot?” he asked.
    Mary sighed. This
isn’t going to help at all , she thought. “No,” she said honestly. “I can’t
work because I see ghosts.   That either
classifies me for disability because I’m psychologically unstable, or, as my
friend and psychiatrist Gracie puts it, I got too much going on to concentrate
on my job.”
    He actually smiled, and Mary felt herself relax. “You don’t
seem crazy,” he ventured.
    “Why, thank you,” she replied.
    Once again, he flushed with embarrassment and started to
step back. “I’m so sorry,” he faltered. “I can’t believe I said that.”
    Mary laughed and shook her head. “Don’t worry about it,” she
said. “Now tell me why you decided to come here today.”
    He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a narrow
piece of laminated paper that was folded in fourths.   He unfolded the paper and handed it to
her.   She looked down at a spelling test
that was obviously done by a child.   Most
of the words had been spelled incorrectly, and there was a bright red ‘F” at
the top of the page with red writing that was nearly faded. Mary squinted at
the words, trying to read them.
    He gently took the paper back from her. “I’ll read it to
you.   You
have the ability to do much better than this. I believe in you. You should
believe in yourself ,” he said, and then he looked up and met her eyes. “My
name is Andrew Tyler, and I need you to help me find who murdered my fourth
grade teacher.”

 

Chapter Five

 
    Mary picked up her bottle of water, took a sip and then sat
down in her chair on the other side of the desk from Andrew.   She picked up a yellow note pad and pen.
“Okay, why don’t you give me the details, and I’ll see if this is a case I can
help you with,” she said.
    He nodded. “Okay,” he replied. “Her name was Miss Banks,
Kristen Banks, and she was a fourth grade teacher at Centennial Grammar School
in Polo in the mid-seventies.   It was a
couple weeks before Spring Break, and she was engaged to a soldier who was
serving in Vietnam.”
    He paused and took a deep breath.
    “She must have been working late, after
school,” he said, nervously brushing his hair off his forehead. “The
janitor found her in the morning.   They
said she’d tripped down the stairs and struck her head on the rail.   They said it was an accident, a horrible
accident.”
    Mary looked up from her notes. “But you don’t think it was
an accident?” she asked.
    Shaking his head, he nervously tapped his fingers
together.   After a moment, he took a deep
breath and leaned closer to the desk. “I saw her,” he said, lowering his voice. “After she was dead. I saw her.”
    Mary leaned back in her chair. “What did you see?”
    Shrugging, trying to remain casual although Mary could see
the emotion he was trying to contain, he continued, “They kept us in the same
classroom but brought in a substitute to teach us