Treasured Legacies (A Mary O'Reilly Paranormal Mystery)
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Authors: Terri Reid
Treasured Legacies
A MARY O’REILLY PARANORMAL MYSTERY
(Book Twelve)
by
Terri Reid
“…You
have crossed the chasm, deep and wide—
Why
build you the bridge at the eventide?”
The
builder lifted his old gray head:
“Good
friend, in the path I have come,” he said,
“There
followeth
after me today
A
youth whose feet must pass this way.
This
chasm that has been naught to me
To
that fair-haired youth may a pitfall be.
He,
too, must cross in the twilight dim;
Good
friend, I am building the bridge for him.”
The Bridge Builder - Will Allen
Dromgoole
This book is dedicated to my parents,
Richard and Virginia Onines, whose legacy of hard-work, compassion, love and
encouragement has touched countless lives.
And whose patient and tireless bridge-building has saved many weary
travelers.
I love you!
TREASURED LEGACIES – A MARY O’REILLY
PARANORMAL MYSTERY
by
Terri
Reid
Copyright
© 2014 by Terri Reid
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under
copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored
in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by
any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise)
without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above
publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places,
brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination
or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and
trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which
have been used without permission. The publication/ use of these trademarks is
not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
This
ebook
is licensed for your
personal enjoyment only. This
ebook
may not be resold
or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with
another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it
with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not
purchased for your use only, then you should purchase your own copy. Thank you
for respecting the author’s work.
The author
would like to thank all those who have contributed to the creation of this
book: Richard Reid, Sarah Powers, Richard Onines, Virginia Onines, Denise
Carpenter, Juliette Wilson
and
Cyndy
Ranzau
.
She would also like to thank all of
the wonderful readers who walk with her through Mary and Bradley’s adventures
and encourage her along the way. I hope we continue on this wonderful journey for
a long time.
Table of Contents
The wind rushed through the tops of the trees, sending a
shower of gold and red leaves down onto the driveway between the back porch and
the barnyard.
Dale Johnson mentally
added raking the back yard to his ever growing list of things to do as he lifted
the collar of his barn coat against the cold wind and made his way to the calf
pen.
His children, two sons and a daughter, had taken over most
of the running of the farm now that he was nearing retirement, but there were a
few things he still enjoyed doing and taking care of the calves was one of
them.
He turned on the spigot that
filled the trough with cold water and then walked over to the barn to scoop
grain into buckets.
He filled two five-gallon
pails and carried them back to the pen, letting himself into the fenced-in
area. He dumped the grain into the smaller buckets and then turned to greet the
curious animals. The calves came over to him, pushing their soft velvet noses
into his hand for the small pieces of apple he carried in his coat pocket. “Hey
there, Buster,” he laughed at a particularly aggressive bull calf. “How about
sharing with the others?”
The little calf just nosed in further, trying to investigate
Dale’s pocket, and left a smear of saliva across the front of the canvas coat.
“There you go, making a mess,” Dale laughed. “What in the world is the missus
going to say when she sees this?”
He patted the calf on the head, gently pushed it on its way,
picked up the empty buckets and moved to turn off the spigot.
As he shut off the water, he paused and
looked carefully at the grain bin across the yard from him.
The small door at the bottom of one of the
grain silos was open.
Shaking his head,
he let himself out of the pen, put the buckets on the ground and walked over to
the 80-foot-tall concrete silo.
The field corn harvest was just beginning; the combines were
out in the fields, harvesting the grain and dumping it into the backs of the
waiting trucks.
Most of the silos on the
farm were already filled with oats or silage, but the few remaining silos
closest to the barn were used for corn storage.
Dale grabbed hold of the iron hatch and pulled the door open
the rest of the way.
He peered inside,
not wanting to risk trapping someone inside the huge cylinder.
Stepping through the hatchway, about two feet
above the ground, he let his eyes adjust to the dimness of the interior and
then looked around.
The silo had been
recently cleaned and now awaited the new harvest’s bounty.
The silo was made up of layers of cement
tiles and steel hoops stacked one above the other, to the height needed for
storage. He looked up and could only see a pinpoint of light where the top of
the silo opened for the grain to be poured in through a series of augers on the
outside of the building.
“I’ll have to have a talk with the kids,” he muttered. “Be a
damn shame if part of the harvest came spilling out all over the ground because
someone was careless. They should know better.”
He grabbed hold of the silo wall and bent over to exit the
hatchway.
Hearing a noise just outside,
he started to turn, but a solid blow to the back of his head had him reeling
and falling back into the interior of the silo.
He looked up and once again could see the pinpoint of light, but then
everything went black.
Was it raining
outside?
Dale wondered as he woke up.
It was dark and he could hear the sound of rain hitting the roof.
Suddenly, he was pelted with something small
and hard.
He opened his eyes and sat up,
nearly fainting in the process.
His head
was pounding.
What the hell happened?
He was pelted again and realized he was being hit with small
pieces of corn.
His stomach twisted and
his heart pounded.
He wasn’t in his
house; he was in the grain silo!
Struggling to his feet, he lurched to the wall and found the
hatch.
He found the latch and pushed,
but it was stuck fast.
Pounding on it,
bloodying his hands, he tried again and again to unlatch the door.
The grain was now being emptied into the silo at a rapid
rate.
Dust from the corn was filling the
interior and Dale coughed as he continued to fight with the door.
“Help me,” he yelled, “I’m caught in here!”
The roar of the auger and the dump truck drowned out his
voice, but he kept calling out and pounding on the metal door. “I’m in here,”
he screamed, as the grain filled the bottom of the silo, first covering his
feet, then his knees, his hips and finally, it was waist high.
He thought about his family, especially his wife, who would
be waiting supper for him.
He thought
about his grandkids, who he’d never see grow up.
He thought about his kids and prayed they
wouldn’t blame themselves for the accident. Finally, as the grain moved up past
his chin, he took a final deep breath and thought about dying.
