Mary Had a Little Scare Page 8

  Mary squinted her eyes and read the name on the birth certificate. “Oh my…this is Ralph McCane.” With her heart racing Mary quickly folded up the birth certificate, stuffed it into the front pocket of her dress, stood up, and ran back to Betty. “Betty, wake up,” she begged and began fanning Betty’s face with her hands. “The dead man is Ralph McCane. The man we encountered in that spooky room is his brother…Oh, Betty, please wake up.”

  Betty let out a weak moan. Her eyes fluttered, slowly opened, looked up at Mary, and then closed. “I don’t want to wake up,” she begged. “Please let me lie here in peace. At least in the dark there’s no dead bodies.”

  Mary plopped down and put her chin in her hands. “Oh, Betty, what a night,” she said, looking back at the body of Ralph McCane. “And I have a bad feeling that even though the hour is late, the night is young.” Mary shook her head. “Oh, John, I’m trapped in another mess and you’re far away flying bombing missions over Europe. I wish you were here…but I’m all alone.”

  Outside, the rain continued to fall harder and harder and harder.

  Betty kept her eyes away from the dead man. She focused on Mary. “So that’s…Ralph?” she asked.

  Mary nodded and carefully removed the birth certificate from her dress pocket. “See for yourself.”

  Betty took the birth certificate, and even though the lighting was very dim, she managed to read the name of Ralph McCane. “Golly,” she said in a spooky voice, “this night keeps getting scarier and scarier.”

  Mary took the birth certificate from Betty and placed it back in her dress pocket. “Betty, we have to hide the body.”

  “Hide the body?” Betty gasped in shock. “What in the world for? We should make a wild dash for Sparrow Falls and find the local sheriff.”

  “Even if we did manage to escape and find the local sheriff,” Mary pointed out, “by the time we returned, the body of Ralph McCane…well, might not be here.” Mary looked at Betty. “The body of Ralph McCane was removed from the foyer and stowed away in this hidden hallway, behind that door. If we leave, there’s no telling where his body might be taken to. And then what would we do if we brought the local sheriff back to a mansion absent of a dead body?”

  “I see your point…I wish I didn’t,” Betty said in a pained voice.

  “We have to hide the body,” Mary told Betty in a quick voice. “By hiding the body we’ll be able to gain some ground in this awful story we’re trapped in.”

  “How do you figure that?” Betty asked.

  “Well,” Mary said as she began pacing around in a small circle, “the killer obviously needs the body. If the body goes missing, that will put the killer into a state of panic…I think.” Mary began nibbling on her lip as her mind worked on the problem. “Ralph McCane was killed for a reason…and I think his birth certificate might be a clue. I’m not sure how yet, but I feel that the birth certificate might lead us to some very important answers.” Mary stopped pacing. “I believe the person wearing that black cloak is Matthew McCane’s daughter, not Ralph’s. I believe she killed Ralph McCane.”

  Betty hugged her arms. “I can agree with you, but I’m still confused as to why I was called and told to attend Aunt Gennifer’s funeral. Why would Matthew McCane, or his daughter, want me to come to this awful mansion?”

  Mary shrugged her shoulders. “I haven’t figured that out, I’m afraid,” she confessed. “My thoughts are still a little fuzzy on Cousin Brenda, too. Cousin Brenda knows what is happening but she’s too afraid to speak. Also,” Mary pointed out, “Cousin Brenda has to have something on Matthew McCane…otherwise, I truly believe he or his daughter would have…killed her by now.”

  “Golly, do you think?” Betty asked in a worried voice.

  “It’s possible,” Mary confessed. “The newspaper hound in me is saying that Brenda is being kept alive because she has a loaded gun hidden someplace.”

  “Well, I guess that does make sense. I mean, we did see how that creepy old man looked at poor Cousin Brenda…with the eyes of a dead snake.” Betty shivered all over. “Poor, poor Cousin Brenda. I can’t imagine the horror she’s been having to face all alone. And to make matters worse, poor Aunt Gennifer is close to the grave.” Funeral home caskets exploded in Betty’s mind. She saw dead bodies sit up from the caskets and begin reaching for her. “Oh…please,” she begged her mind, “don’t think such awful thoughts.”

  Mary reached out and touched Betty’s shoulders. “Stay conscious,” she begged.

  Betty drew in a deep breath, glanced at the dead man lying a few feet away, and then looked at Mary. “Where…do we hide a dead body?” she asked in a shaky voice.

  Mary looked up and down the hallway. “Let’s explore some,” she said. She grabbed Betty’s hand and moved up the hallway a few feet. “Let’s explore this hallway,” she said and pointed to her left.

  Betty nodded and followed Mary down a short hallway covered with a dusty red carpet. The hallway ended at a door. “Please not another dead body,” she begged.

  “Please is right,” Mary said. She curiously eased the door open, expecting a lurking monster to lunge out at her. Instead, she spotted a small room filled with old furniture covered with white sheets soaked with dust. She hurried into the room, walked across a hard-wooden floor, and looked around at dark green walls. “Look,” she said, pointing to two holes sitting on the far wall. She ran to the holes and looked through. “A bedroom,” she told Betty, seeing a large bed fit for a king surrounded by a deep blue bed curtain.

  Betty rushed over to Mary and looked through the two holes. She spotted the bed and let her eyes soak in a room that was designed as a royal palace. “Golly,” she whispered.

  Mary walked away from Betty and studied the dusty furniture room. “No good,” she said, “nowhere to hide a body. Come on, Betty.”

  Betty followed Mary back out into the main hallway. “Where to?” she asked.

  “Let’s try another hallway,” Mary said and charged down a short hallway to her right. She found a closed door, drew in a deep breath, eased the door open like a woman expecting to be attacked by a killer dog, and looked into an empty room covered with a burgundy carpet and green walls. “This mansion has more hidden rooms than…well, anything I’ve ever seen.” Mary sighed and hurried away from the door and chose another short hallway to explore. When she reached a closed door, she closed her eyes, steadied her mind, and hoped for the best. “Here we go,” she whispered, easing open the door and peering through. “My,” she gasped.

  “What?” Betty asked.

  Mary stepped into a room filled with mirrors—mirrors captured from decades, even centuries, of history. “Golly,” Betty whispered, seeing herself in a mirror designed in the year 1712. “What lovely mirrors.”

  Mary’s eyes did a quick scan and saw over a hundred mirrors—tall, round, short, square, old, wooden, gold, every kind of mirror her mind could possibly imagine. She approached a mirror housed in what appeared to be a life-size music box sitting with its lid open. “So beautiful,” she whispered.

  Betty approached the music box and looked in the mirror. “I look like a white scarecrow,” she sighed.

  “You do not,” Mary assured Betty and began exploring the music box with her fingers. As she ran her fingers inside the box, she felt a small metal lever. “What’s this?” she asked and pulled the lever up. As soon as she did a hidden compartment sprung open, hitting Mary and Betty in their shins. “Ouch,” Mary cried out. Betty let out a yelp of pain and backed away from the music box. “Are you okay?”

  Betty bent down and began rubbing her bruised shins. “I think so… Are you okay?”

  “I think so,” Mary said. She bent down and looked into the hidden compartment, and to her shock spotted a bed. “Betty, this is a bed of some sort.”

  Betty stopped rubbing her shins and dropped down onto her knees. “My, it sure is,” she said, peering into the music box. “What a strange bed.”

  Mary stood up and looked over her s
houlder. “Strange, yes, but perfect for us. Come on.” Mary grabbed Betty’s hand and ran her out of the mirror room and back to the dead body. “You take his legs and I’ll grab the arms.”

  “Are you going to…oh my, you’re going to put this poor man inside that strange music box, aren’t you?” Betty asked.

  “Yes,” Mary said. She bent down, grabbed the arms of Ralph McCane, and looked at Betty. “We need to hurry.”

  “Oh dear,” Betty fretted. She rubbed her scared hands together, leaned down, and grabbed a pair of thin legs. “Why, he isn’t very heavy, is he?” she said in a shocked voice.

  “No,” Mary said, hearing sorrow enter her own voice. “Don’t worry, Mr. McCane, we’re going to treat you with the utmost respect.” Mary looked at Betty. “Okay, let’s hurry.”

  Betty slowly and carefully began backing up. “I hope you won’t be mad at us,” she told the dead man. “We’re only trying to help…honest.”

  “I think Mr. McCane understands,” Mary promised Betty and didn’t say another word until she reached the mirror room. “Careful now,” she begged Betty and eased over to the music box. “We have to lay him on his stomach.”

  “Okay,” Betty said and prepared to work her tired back. “Here we go.”

  “Careful,” Mary said again and with tender care placed Ralph McCane down onto his stomach and then, with much effort and strain, began sliding his body into the music box and onto a thin mattress. “My,” she said, wiping sweat from her forehead, “that was a chore.”

  Betty stood up and stretched her back, looking toward the mirror room door. “I suppose this music box was built for a child. That bed sure isn’t designed for an adult.”

  “It’ll have to do,” Mary pointed out. She placed her hands on the hidden door and began pushing it closed. “There,” she said, “now Mr. McCane is well hidden.”

  “Maybe so, but we’re still in a world of trouble,” Betty said. “What do we do now?”

  Mary rubbed her aching back, stood up, and looked around. As she spotted her beautiful and exhausted reflection in the countless mirrors staring at her an idea soared into her mind. “Well, we could continue lurking about like shadows,” she told Betty. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to try to find Brenda’s bedroom and spy on her…but you know what, I think we should go back to the kitchen.”

  “What for?” Betty gasped.

  “We’ve just changed the rules of the game,” Mary explained. “Now let’s see how our opponents are going to react. Besides,” Mary added, fighting back a yawn, “Matthew McCane and his daughter are obviously well acquainted with every hidden hallway and room in this spooky mansion. It might not be so smart to be here when they discover the body of their victim is missing. They might turn very violent.”

  “I was worried you might say that,” Betty said. She looked at the music box, shivered, and followed Mary out of the mirror room. Mary closed the door, took Betty’s hand, and walked back down the hallway. She grabbed the fire iron and carefully maneuvered back down to the kitchen. “Easy now,” she told Betty as she squeezed back through the small door in the pantry, “it really is a tight fit.”

  “Tell me about it,” Betty agreed. As soon as Mary was in the clear Betty sucked in her stomach and forced her body through the small door. Mary took her hands and helped her stand up. “I hope we can find a…more suitable entrance next time,” she told Mary.

  “Me, too,” Mary said, hurrying Betty out of the pantry. She walked to the kitchen table, sat down, picked up her cup of coffee, and let out a deep breath. “Now we sit here and act casual.”

  “Casual, got it,” Betty said, sitting down next to Mary. She picked up her cup of coffee and took a sip. “Oh, the coffee isn’t hot anymore.”

  “I’ll refresh our cups.” Mary took Betty’s coffee cup and stood up. As she did, Matthew entered the kitchen carrying his silver cane. “Oh, hello,” Mary said and fought back a yawn, desperately hoping to appear…casual. “Coffee?”

  Matthew shook his head. “Oh, not this late,” he said in a faux pleasant voice. “I took your luggage to one of our dearest guest rooms.”

  “Oh, thank you,” Mary said. She walked over to the wooden stove and began pouring coffee into Betty’s cup. “Betty and I both are exhausted,” and then Mary added: “Uncle Ralph.”

  “Uncle Ralph,” Matthew said in a pleased voice, “how nice of you to call me that.” Matthew strolled over to the kitchen table and seated himself across from Betty. “Did you eat, dear?”

  “Oh…yes, thank you. Cousin Brenda made us a cheese sandwich.” Betty nervously placed her hands together. “The cheese was very…delicate tasting.”

  Matthew grinned. “I insist on having the finest foods,” he explained.

  “Well, the cheese Cousin Brenda served us was the finest,” Mary told Matthew as she walked back to the kitchen table. She handed Betty her coffee and sat back down. “Hot,” she warned Betty, “be careful.”

  Matthew studied Mary with dangerous eyes. Mary was a threat—Betty, on the other hand, was a poor gag. And it was Mary whom he had come to investigate with clearer eyes. “If I may be so bold to ask, what does your husband do for a living?” he asked Mary.

  “My husband owns and operates a newspaper,” Mary explained. Even though her own coffee was now turning cold, she decided to take a sip. “Why do you ask?”

  “An old man’s mind is always set in a curious path,” Matthew told Mary. “Now, if it’s all right with you, I would like to discuss the events that you claim transpired within these walls earlier tonight. I’m very concerned about the events that you claim have taken place.”

  Mary looked into Matthew’s eyes and immediately saw that the creepy old man was fishing for information. “Uncle Ralph, Betty and I are extremely exhausted,” she said. “If we could beg your patience until we’ve managed to get some sleep that would be wonderful.”

  “Sleep,” Betty agreed and deliberately yawned. “After my coffee, of course.”

  Matthew frowned. He wasn’t pleased with Mary’s response. “I’m afraid I must insist we discuss the events you claim—”

  “If you insist,” Mary said and let out an annoyed sigh. “I honestly don’t want to sit here and recall the awful prank that was carried out in poor taste tonight. It’s one thing to play a prank that is harmless…but the prank that was played tonight was tasteless and cruel.”

  Matthew frowned again. “My dear, I assure you, no prank was carried out.”

  “Then who called Betty and invited her to Aunt Gennifer’s funeral?” Mary demanded. “Why are we here if not for some sour prank?”

  Matthew didn’t have the answers Mary was demanding. He didn’t have a clue as to why Mary and Betty were sitting in the kitchen of a mansion filled with murder. “Perhaps we can solve this…mystery together?” he suggested and glanced toward the wooden stove. “Perhaps I will have a cup of coffee after all.”

  “Of course,” Mary said and stood up. As she walked away from the kitchen table, she heard thunder erupt outside. The boom shook the kitchen and wandered away. “Oh, John, I wish you were here…you were never afraid of the dark, but I sure am,” Mary whispered, feeling a dark shadow in the form of an old man slowly creeping out of the dark.

  6

  Matthew took the cup of coffee from Mary and carefully set it down on the table. “When did you say Brenda contacted you about my wife’s funeral?” he asked Betty.

  Betty sipped at her coffee, glanced at Mary, and moved forward with extreme caution. “Cousin Brenda didn’t call me,” she explained. “The woman who called me had a lovely voice. Sadly…Cousin Brenda’s voice sounds like a—”

  “Chipmunk, yes I know.” Matthew sighed. “Her voice is a constant nuisance to my ears.”

  “It’s not her fault,” Betty said, becoming angry at Matthew. “Cousin Brenda is a very…sweet woman. It’s not her fault that her voice sounds like a chipmunk.”

  “Be that as it may,” Matthew told Betty, “that doesn’t
change the nagging voice into a rose petal.”

  “Cousin Brenda does not nag,” Betty insisted. “Why, that poor dear is suffering inside of her very heart. Aunt Gennifer is close to the grave and that alone must be tearing Cousin Brenda to shreds. So don’t you dare sit here and insult her, you…you…creepy old bat.”

  “Now Betty,” Mary said, spotting the perfect opportunity to please Matthew’s good side, “let’s not be rude. Uncle Ralph is being very hospitable toward us. Cousin Brenda ordered us to leave earlier, remember?”

  Betty stared into Mary’s eyes and quickly caught onto the game. “I’m sorry…Uncle Ralph.”

  “Not to worry, my dear,” Matthew told Betty, “you’ve been through a very trying night.” Matthew glanced down at his coffee and decided to take a sip. “Some nights can be very trying,” he continued in a sad voice that gave Mary the creeps. “Some nights more than others, I’m afraid.”

  Mary pretended to show sympathy and then carefully eased into a question that had been gnawing at her mind. “Uncle Ralph,” she said, “this mansion is very…uh, beautiful. If you don’t mind me asking, or sounding too nosy, what did you do for…or still do…for a living?”

  Matthew, acting like he enjoyed being called by the name of his murdered brother, pushed a bored smile to his face. “Oh, my dear, I wouldn’t want to bore you with such…dribble.”