Final Call Read Online Free Page B

unlatched it and pulled out his combination radio/cell phone. Still
looking down at the imprint, he pressed a speed dial number and waited for a
moment.
    “Hello, Mary, it’s Bradley. I think I’m going to need your
help on a case.”

Chapter Four

 
    Mary was pounding on the back door of the theater within
fifteen minutes, stamping her feet against the sub-zero temperatures. Bradley
opened the door quickly and let her in.
    “I’m afraid it’s not a whole lot warmer inside,” he said,
moving up the stairs in front of her. “I really appreciate you getting here so
quickly.”
    She smiled at him. “Who ya gonna
call?”
    He laughed and nodded. “Yeah, I think I really am going to
need a ghostbuster on this one. Did you know Faye
McMullen?”
    “I met her a couple of times,” she said,
picturing the thin, pretentious woman in her mind, “mostly at community
functions. And since you mentioned her in the past tense, I have to assume she
is no longer with us.”
    “Yeah, Rosie and Stanley found her a couple of hours ago,”
he explained, “hanging about twenty feet up in the air.”
    “Oh, wow, not a pleasant way to die,” Mary said. “How’s
Rosie doing?”
    Bradley smiled, thinking of Stanley’s vow to not fuss over
Rosie. “I’m sure she is being bullied into sitting down and drinking tea with a
comforter on her lap. It would be great if you could stop by her place and talk
to her.”
    “Of course I will. Rosie is such a dear, I’m sure this is
very upsetting.”
    Nodding, he led Mary to the backstage door into the audience.
“They found her on the other side of the stage. The coroner left with her body
about thirty minutes ago. I think she must have been up there for at least twenty-four
hours, but they’ll send me their findings in the morning.”
    “So, what happened once they left?”
    The breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding released. She
knew him so well.
    He explained what had happened while he was alone at the
theater and then opened the door inviting her to follow him. They walked down
the stairs together and Mary touched his arm to stop him.
    “Sorry, but if I’m going to be able to see anything, you
have to stay here while I check out the crime scene.”
    While working on a case together in Chicago, they had
learned that Bradley’s presence blocked unknown spirits from contacting Mary.
While it was great for Mary not to be bombarded by hundreds of spirits seeking
resolution, it required Bradley to keep his distance until an initial
connection with the spirit was formed.
    Mary walked along the front of the stage and watched as
shadows of long-dead actors and actresses slowly appeared and performed their
favorite scenes. Acts from plays that were performed in the 1930s shared the
stage with acts from the following decades. All shared a love and connection
with the old theater.
    When she reached stage right, she saw the crime scene tape
lying underneath the crimson stage curtain, saw the rope and, instead of merely
the shape of a woman, saw the ghost of Faye McMullen.
    The ghost opened her eyes and stared malevolently at Mary.
“Who the hell are you?” she spat. “This is my scene. My death
scene.”
    “Oh, excuse me,” Mary answered simply. “Allow me to take a
seat so I can better observe your talent.”
    She moved back and sat in a seat directly in front of the
specter. The ghost, pacified, lay back on the curtains and continued. Mary
noted that her face was slightly disfigured from lying against the rope and her
head lay in a slight angle, probably from her broken neck.
    Throwing her arm back over her head she moaned. “Oh, what a
cold cruel world this is to cut down the life of such a promising, young
ingénue…”
    “Excuse me,” Mary interrupted, “but really, young ingénue? I
don’t think so.”
    The ghost turned, eyes blazing, and hissed at her. “This is
my scene; I can write it the way I want to!”
    “Well, fine, but I think you are pushing the