Mary Jane's Grave (6 page)

I woke up in bed the next morning and realized at once that Michael had apparently carried me there from the living room couch. He was gone when I awoke, and I stretched luxuriously, feeling alert and refreshed. I took the rare opportunity to make animal-shaped pancakes for the kids before putting Isabelle and Selina on the bus. Since Sean had arrived a day early for his visit, our neighbor, a stay- at- home mom named Maggie, agreed to watch him.

I went to work earlier than usual and began combing every inch of the Kari Sutter murder case file. I could see that Bob was getting annoyed by my constant phone calls to the lab bugging them for the final test results. By afternoon, he had taken the phone off the hook.

I managed to sneak in a call to my attorney to get moving on the divorce paperwork as soon as possible. We had learned the original paperwork had somehow gotten lost by a temporary clerk. Worried about losing her job, she had kept quiet and never disclosed the error.

The errant clerk, whom I would gladly have strangled, had thankfully been terminated due to other errors on her part. As a result, there was technically no one we could hold accountable at this point.

To take my mind off my personal problems, I sat down cross- legged on my office floor to look at the photographs I had taken by the edge of the woods, along with the photographs from the crime scene.

Coop walked in, clearly feeling chatty. “And a good day to you, babe. Want to hear about how I keep busy?”

Resenting his easy familiarity, I shot back, “Forget the babe bit. What’s up?”

He flushed briefly, then decided to ignore my rebuke. “I drove all over the county yesterday and didn’t see Anything that resembled your description of that car,” he announced, sitting down in my one shabby chair. “I also listened to some of the messages the local kooks left on your phone.”

I looked at him curiously. “I thought you had those two drug murders to work.”

“Not much to work. We know who did it, and the warrants have been issued. I’m sure Detroit or Chicago PD will find them by the end of the month. The other detectives are working on the Harker Street shootings so I’m all yours, babe.” He smiled.

I looked back at the photographs and began to check out the names on the tombstones. Coop had grabbed the case file off my desk and was flipping through it, but my attention stayed on the tombstones. Then I saw something I hadn’t seen before. I turned to Coop, who had put the file down and was stretching out his legs.

“From the way it looks, we’re at a dead end. Doesn’t look like we have any more leads right now,” he said with a yawn, clearly bored and looking for more excitement.

I held up one of the photographs. “Think again, Coop. I’ve got a lead right here. We’re going to look into the history of Mary Jane’s Grave.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Coop protested. “How is looking into the history a lead? Hasn’t every historian in the county researched Mary Jane’s Grave?”

“Not like we’re going to do it.” I handed him the photograph. “Look at the new tombstone that the county put up. It lists the names of everyone buried in the cemetery.”

“So?”

“They’re all related, Coop.” I needed him to understand where I was going with this. “It’s mainly the Secrist and Berry families, and Mary Jane Hendrickson’s name is second to last. I know that Mary Jane’s real grave was the last one in the cemetery, but for some reason the county listed Ann Maria Baughman last.”

“What does any of that have to do with the murder?” He still didn’t get it. I groaned inwardly; patience was never my strong suit.

“Look, Coop,” I said, “this recent murder was a very personal one. It required a lot of forethought. All I’m saying is we should be able to rule everything out, and we can’t do that without a thorough investigation. I’m wondering how the Mary Jane legend got started in the first place.”

“Don’t know,” Coop answered. “I know it was before my parents’ time—they went to see the grave when they were teenagers.”

“Mine did, too.” I paused. “I heard she was actually an herbalist, and that was where the story came from. People back in the eighteen hundreds mistook herbalism for witchcraft.”

“What the hell
is
an herbalist? I mean, I’ve heard the term and all, so I know it has to do with herbs…”

“Yes, that’s exactly what it means, Coop.” I snorted. “It’s a person who uses plants, herbs and other homegrown stuff to treat ailments.”

“Like that euthanasia stuff you take when you have a cold?”

I laughed hard enough to bring tears to my eyes. “It’s echinacea, dummy, and yes.” Actually, it felt like a relief to laugh—at least Coop was good for something.

I wiped my eyes. “Say, for example, you lived back in 1898 and got a sunburn. If you went to an herbalist, she’d give you part of an aloe plant to rub on the burn. Even today we use the plant’s sap to heal burns. It’s certainly not witchcraft.”

“I think you’re wasting your time,” Coop said wearily, “but, hey, you’re the ace. Just tell me what you want me to do.”

“Nothing right now,” I said, looking down at my watch. “I’m going to run over to the library to see what I can find out. Keep after the lab about those test results and call me if anything comes up.”

Coop could be right, I thought. Maybe the history of the grave had nothing to do with the murder. But right now it was all I could come up with, and it felt better than twiddling my thumbs.

When I arrived at the library, I asked the librarian to find me everything she had on Mary Jane Hendrickson. She gave me an odd look and led me to the media resource room.

“Everybody comes here around the same time every year to read about her, and I’ll tell you what I tell all of them. You’ll be surprised at how unexciting she really was.”

I sat down at the large wooden table in the center of the tiny room. Edna, the librarian, was a big woman with short, dark hair and glasses, and her bulk made it hard for her to maneuver between the table and the shelves.

However, she managed to grab album after album of news stories and threw them on the table. Each one produced a loud
whack!
as it landed in front of me.

“Everything you need should be in those,” she said finally, dusting herself off. She pointed at the albums. “If there’s something you can’t find, it might be on microfiche. Let me know so I can get it for you.” She eyed me over the rims of her glasses. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“No, thank you very much.” I smiled as she shuffled off to her post at the front desk.

Suddenly, she turned back around and peered at me more closely. “Say, aren’t you that policewoman I read about in the papers and saw on TV?”

“Yes, I probably am.” I waited.

“Hmm, I thought so.” She raised her eyebrows and walked out the door.

I shrugged and proceeded to attack the files. I ended up spending hours sorting through the news articles. The librarian was right about one thing—Mary Jane Hendrickson certainly seemed to have lived a boring life. Actually, there wasn’t much written about her personal life, but there were stacks of articles about her legend. It was when I was reading her obituary that something caught my attention.

Mary Jane Hendrickson had been born in 1825 and died in 1898. The obituary said she had left behind a sixteen-year-old daughter, Madeline. I’m not much of a mathematician, but I could clearly add and subtract.

According to the dates, Mary Jane would have been fifty-seven years old when she gave birth to her daughter. I don’t know of any fifty-seven-year-old woman outside the
Guinness Book of World Records
who’d had a baby at that age now, let alone in the 1800s. There had been no mention of Madeline being adopted, but I’m sure that possibility existed. For some reason, though, I had my doubts that she was the product of an adoption.

I checked again. No, it wasn’t a misprint. Mary Jane had died at age seventy- three. I set the obituary aside, deduced that Mary Jane was Superwoman and continued my research.

I noticed it was dark outside, and I groaned when I looked at my watch. I had been there more than three hours. Michael probably wasn’t home yet, either. I knew he was out meeting with federal prosecutors in Cleveland to prepare for their upcoming trial.

The kids were with our babysitter, so I called home to do a quick check on everybody. Selina said that Michael had called about forty- five minutes earlier and was on his way home. I told her I’d be there in about an hour.

Once I had gotten through all the articles, I looked at my handwritten notes. Mary Jane Hendrickson had lived on the property where Mt. Olive Cemetery now stood. She had married Joseph Hendrickson, but he died of smallpox in 1897. For the most part, Mary Jane had cleaned houses for a living, mainly for her sister and brother- in- law, Sophia and Samuel Secrist. I remembered seeing their names on the tombstone.

Several articles confirmed that Mary Jane had also been an herbalist. After Mary Jane’s death, Madeline went to live with her aunt Sophia and had died in 1948 at age seventy-six.

Madeline’s obituary read that she was preceded in death by her father, mother and infant brother. I couldn’t find anything on the brother. That was the only time I ever saw him mentioned.

Madeline also had a daughter, Maryanne, who’d been born in 1899. I lost track from there. There was no mention of a husband of Madeline; her obituary said “Hendrickson” only.

Who was Maryanne’s father? I made a note to go to the county health department the next day to get the whole family’s birth and death certificates. And I was curious to learn more about this new character, the mysterious baby Maryanne.

I had gone long past the hour that I’d promised to be home, and I couldn’t wait to get there. I needed to be with Michael and the kids. Unfortunately, they’d had a long day and, according to Michael, were pooped. He’d put them all to bed shortly before I came home, and then we’d talked for almost half an hour before climbing the stairs to bed.

As I passed Sean’s room, I was surprised to find him awake and sitting up in bed in the dark.

I walked into his room and sat down beside him on the bed. “Sean? What’s wrong, buddy?”

At first, he just looked at me with his huge green eyes—his father’s. I noticed that his chubby little cheeks were puffing in and out, and I realized he was about to start crying.

“Honey, what is it?” I patted his leg reassuringly. “CeeCee’s here. Tell me what’s going on.”

And then he did, and what he told me sent shock waves rippling throughout every part of my body. He said he wanted to ask me a question since he’d arrived here, but he’d been too scared.

Apparently, before Michael had picked him up to bring him here, Sean’s mother had told him that she and his daddy were getting back together. She knew that Michael would be moving back in soon and that Sean wouldn’t be coming here anymore.

As his tears began to fall, Sean moved into my arms, the saddest little guy I’d ever seen. My heart broke as I listened helplessly to his sobs.

“I won’t ever see Selina or Isabelle or you again, will I?” he asked me, wiping his eyes.

I pulled Sean closer, and then I felt another presence behind me. Michael was standing in the doorway, and he looked as shocked as I felt.

“Sean, what exactly did Mommy tell you the other day?” he asked, sitting down on the other side of the bed.

I wasn’t only confused and shaken—I was fuming. Maybe Michael had had enough of my conflicting feelings about Eric and had begun seeing Vanessa, his ex-wife, behind my back. This can’t be happening, I thought. I refuse to go through all this again!

Sean rubbed his eyes. “Mommy said that you’re leaving CeeCee because you don’t love her anymore, and that you still love Mommy, and that we’re gonna be a family again.” He sniffed and grabbed my hand. “But, Daddy, I don’t want to leave CeeCee!”

I stood, trying to sort out my feelings. There have been very few people in my life whom I’ve allowed myself to trust, and Michael was one of them. It had taken me a long time to begin to heal after Eric’s betrayal.

I had to admit that I was probably jumping to conclusions, but the thought of reliving another four- way relationship nightmare hammered my sense of logic. I felt a lump in my throat begin to swell, and the tears reached the corners of my eyes. Michael saw my distress, but he stayed focused on Sean.

“Sean, remember when we talked earlier about Mommy? Honey, I think this has something to do with that. Mommy and I are not getting back together, and I am not leaving CeeCee, okay? Mommy might want that, but I don’t.”

Still unsure where Sean’s announcement had come from, I gave him a kiss good night and walked toward our bedroom, dazed. Michael was behind me a few seconds later and closed the door behind us. I turned to face him, my chest heaving, and I felt short of breath. I struggled to keep my voice down.

“What the
fuck,
Michael?” I was trembling. “How can you accuse me of wanting to go back to Eric when you and your ex are in discussion about getting back together?” Despite my good intentions, I heard my voice rise.

“Please calm down and lower your voice,” he said, a frown beginning to appear on his usually calm face. He went to the bed and sat down, then fixed a steely gaze on me,

“Sean told me about this when I picked him up the other day, but I didn’t give it much thought. I figured his mother was just fantasizing again.”

“Told you what?” I crossed my arms in front of me and tried to calm down.

“He said his mom has been crying a lot. I know she hasn’t dated anyone seriously since our divorce, but I figured she just wasn’t ready.” He ran his fingers through his hair, and when he looked up, his face was drawn. Despite myself, I began to feel sorry for him.

“When I took Sean home the last weekend we had him, Vanessa acted odd. She was all dressed up as if she was going out, but she clearly wasn’t because she invited me to stay for dinner.” He paused. “Which of course, you know I didn’t.” He went on, “Before I left, she asked me if I regretted getting the divorce.”

“What did you say?”

“I told her I felt bad that Sean had to grow up without both parents in the same house, but she looked so fragile, I didn’t want to hurt her by going any further. She must’ve taken my answer and created a whole scenario—a faulty one—around it.”

“I’d say your answer left all kinds of room for interpretation,” I pointed out flatly.

“Maybe you’re right,” he sighed. “I had told her a couple of weeks ago that you and I were planning to get married, and she got really upset. She said when she left me, she thought she was losing me to you and hoped I’d get you out of my system and run back to her. When I called her bluff and filed, she decided to go along with it. Obviously, when I said I regretted that Sean wouldn’t grow up with both parents, she misinterpreted and thought I was implying that we might get back together for his sake.”

I stood there staring at him, trying to decide whether he was telling me the truth. Actually, it was pretty clear that he was. But I was still pissed off.

“May I ask why you never told me any of this until now?”

“Honestly, CeeCee, I never gave it much thought! Why this is coming from Vanessa now, I don’t understand. I mean, there was almost a year when I was on my own without you, and she never said a word.”

“If she had said something last year, would you have gone back?” I was almost afraid to hear the answer.

“Come on! You know I wasn’t in love with Vanessa for the last two years of my marriage, even before I even met you. The answer is no.” He held his hand out to me. I hesitated, then took it and sat next to him.

“I trust you, Michael,” I said softly. “You’ve never given me a reason not to. But when Sean told me what Vanessa had said, I got scared. The thought of going through the same garbage I did with Eric was too much. I’m sorry I blew up.” Hugging him fiercely, I let all the bad feelings evaporate. He felt good, and I was safe in his arms once again.

Michael nuzzled my neck. “Boy, the Irish in you really comes flying out when you’re pissed off, doesn’t it?”

I giggled as he brought his lips to mine, and when his hand moved to my hip, I moved closer and touched him where I knew he loved to be touched. Our lovemaking was different this time, and something inside me welcomed him in a whole new way. Afterward, we fell asleep holding each other, knowing that we were home together—and each other’s home.