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estate.  The real estate listing showed that it had only been sold a few months prior and had been on the market for quite a long time.  She glanced at the clock and wondered if she had enough time to swing by the newspaper before she drove over to meet with her new client.
    Grabbing her coat and purse, she hurried out the door to her car. The paper’s offices were only two blocks away, she had time for a quick stop and then she’d drive from the paper directly to her appointment.  After parking, she entered the building through the front door.  The receptionist was new, Mary hadn’t seen her before.
    “Hi, I was wondering if Jerry Wiley was in?” she asked.
    The receptionist snapped a piece of gum in her mouth and rolled her eyes. “Can I ask who wants to see him?” she asked slowly.
    “Yes, please tell him Mary O’Reilly is here,” she replied.
    The sullen eyes of the young woman snapped open. “You’re Mary O’Reilly?” the girl asked as she slid her chair back away from the desk.
    Mary nodded. “Yes, I am.”
    “Do you really see ghosts or are you crazy?”
    Mary bit back a grin. “I suppose that depends,” she said.
    “On what?” the girl asked.
    “On if you believe in ghosts or not,” Jerry Wiley responded from the door that led to the newsroom. “And since I don’t, she’s a nut.”
    Mary grinned. “Just don’t tell Anna Paxton you don’t believe,” she said, referring to the dead society columnist who haunted the building, and watched with delight as he turned and looked over his shoulder.
    “Anna isn’t here,” Jerry said firmly.
    Mary walked over to him and smiled. “That’s only because she’s out on the back dock taking a cigarette break,” she whispered to him. “So, can we talk?”
    He nodded and raised his arm in the direction of his office. “Sure, it’s not like I have to get a paper out every day or anything like that,” he growled. “You want me to send out for tea and cookies?”
    “No, sorry, I really don’t have time for that,” she replied with a smile.
    She sat down in the chair in front of his desk and waited until he sat seated himself. “So, O’Reilly, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” he asked, not trying to mask his irritation.
    “What do you know about the Foley mansion?” she asked.
    “It’s way above my pay grade,” he replied. “Hell, it’s above my pay grade to be their gardener.”
    “Someone seems to be able to afford it,” she said.
    “Yeah, I heard it finally sold,” he said, unwrapping a piece of gum and sticking it into his mouth.
    Mary glanced at the pile of gum wrappers heaped on his desk and then looked back at him.
    “Trying to quit smoking,” he explained. “Been chewing this crap for two weeks now.”
    “Is it working?”
    He grinned at her. “I learned I could smoke a cigarette and chew gum at the same time.”
    She laughed. “Throw in walking at the same time and I will be impressed.”
    He chuckled. “Funny, O’Reilly, funny. So, the only reasons I figured someone like you would be interested in the Foley mansion is that you and our illustrious Chief of Police are looking for a honeymoon cottage of your very own. But I know what his salary is, so you can’t afford it.  Or some poor misguided soul thinks there’s a ghost hanging out there, right?”
    Nodding, Mary leaned forward. “Off the record.”
    She waited for his acknowledgement.
    “I got a call from the new owners,” she explained. “They’ve been hearing strange sounds and they want me to check it out.  I just want to know what I’m walking into.”
    “Okay, well, it ain’t pretty,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “About twenty-ish years ago, you got the Foley family.  Dad’s a high-powered attorney, the mom’s a trophy wife and there’s two kids…daughters…twins. ‘Cept even though they’re supposed to be identical, not fraternal twins, something happens when they hit their teens. You know puberty ain’t