Missing: A Mason Gray Case

by William Markham

  It was a somber affair, with lots of tears. Seeing the girls crying broke my heart, and I thought long and hard about drinking away the pain, but I’d promised Nancy I’d stay away from the bottle. Several people got up and said kind words about Frank and all he’d done for them, which only made saying goodbye that much harder. Part of me wanted to get up in front and say something too, but I didn’t. The important people already knew how I felt.

  After the funeral, I went home with Nancy and the girls to help fill the emptiness. There were plenty of things to do around the house, she’d told me, and the girls would appreciate the distraction.

  When we pulled up in front, I noticed Frank's old Buick was parked in its usual spot. That got me thinking: how had those bastards gotten ahold of Frank in the first place? Then I remembered I’d never touched base with Brenda. I had no idea if Frank had gotten her to safety at the hotel. She could still be in trouble.

  “Nancy,” I said, then hesitated before finding the right words. “Where was Frank the night he was taken?”

  “I don’t know,” she answered. “He called from the office that evening and said he had to run an errand, but he wouldn’t say what it was.”

  “Did he take the car?”

  “I assume so, but it was parked here when you called.” Her breath caught. She waited until the girls got out, then whispered, “They were waiting for him, weren’t they? When he got home.”

  I grunted. I didn’t want to jump to any conclusions, but those were my thoughts as well. I’d check the car later.

  I got out and quickly caught up to the girls.

  “‘Scuse me, ladies. I gotta pee,” I lied.

  Nancy unlocked the door, and I pushed my way past and did a quick sweep of the house as I made my way to the bathroom. I doubted anyone would try anything at this point—my gut told me the danger was past—but I had to make sure. It turned out we were safe for now.

  Next, I called the hotel and asked if my room was still occupied. They said that it was, since I had never checked out, and that my credit card was being charged on a nightly basis. I assured them that that was as it should be and asked to be connected to the room. A few rings later, Brenda picked up.

  “Hello,” she said tentatively.

  “Brenda, it’s Gray. Are you all right?”

  “Yes. I was wondering when you’d be in touch. I haven’t heard anything since your partner dropped us off. What’s going on?” Her words ran together, she was talking so fast.

  I filled her in as best as I could, explaining that the data we got from her was being used as evidence and that she would likely be called in for questioning soon.

  “I think you should be safe to go back home now,” I told her. She sighed in relief. “Thank you. I really appreciate what you did. I don’t know how I can repay you. This room alone has to be costing you a fortune.”

  “Yeah, probably,” I laughed. “You can start by telling the police everything.” I gave her Detective Rowe’s number and said I’d be in touch.

  ***

  On Monday, I went to the office and sat in silence for a couple of hours. I wasn’t sure what to do. I flipped through some case files but found it hard to get motivated. The phone rang once or twice, but I let it go to voice-mail.

  I made coffee. I cleaned the kitchen. I stopped in Frank’s doorway a few times but couldn’t bring myself to go in. Not yet. I went for a walk. I called Mr. McCarthy to see how Ellie was doing. She was much better.

  It was too quiet in the office. I missed Frank’s annoying whistling. I found myself thinking about Brenda, wondering how she was doing in the aftermath of everything. Huh. There was a thought. She answered on the second ring.

  “Hello?”

  “Brenda, this is Gray. Do you need a job?” It turned out she did, so we made hasty arrangements for her to start working at the office the next day.

  That settled, I laid down on the couch to take a nap. Just as I was drifting off, I heard thunk, thunk. Ha, it was kind of fitting. I pulled the phone out of my pocket: one new email. I opened it.

  Mr. Gray, congratulations on your successful fishing trip. You landed a big one—it was quite entertaining to watch. But the waters you now travel are filled with even bigger ones. I advise against going out again. You would need a much bigger boat.

  Entertaining to watch? So Harrison had been there. Hmm, that would explain the other four bodies. Interesting. I had a fuzzy recollection of Death hovering over me during the final struggle, carrying a scoped rifle. Maybe I wasn’t that far off.

  Even bigger fish in the water? I didn’t like the sound of that.

  I stretched back out on the couch. I would take his advice. I was done fishing. Time to hang up the rod.

  I closed my eyes and went to sleep. I dreamt of very large boats.

  Epilogue

  Michael knocked on the heavy mahogany door. Even though he’d been summoned, manners were manners, and he would not enter without being personally invited.

  “Enter,” said Mr. Monday.

  Michael pushed the door open and crossed the ancient Persian rug to stand behind his master, who was again surveying his domain.

  “You have news?” Mr. Monday inquired.

  “Yes. The rebels have disbanded. Elijah was killed, and the others have rejoined the fold.”

  “Good. Were there any complications?”

  “None to speak of. The cattle were relocated successfully, and there are no connections outside of their limited business affairs.” Michael paused, and his master sensed it.

  “There is something else?”

  “There were cameras in the ballroom.”

  “Have the footage erased.”

  “Yes, sir. But... I think you should watch it first.”

  Mr. Monday turned from the glass and regarded Michael curiously. It wasn’t often someone gave him a suggestion. That could be... dangerous. He smiled, sending shivers down Michael’s spine.

  “Very well, then. Proceed.”

  Michael removed a small tablet from his jacket pocket and started the video. Mr. Monday watched without expression until Elijah was staggered by a punch. He arched an eyebrow. It remained that way until the video concluded.

  “Most interesting,” Mr. Monday remarked.

  “Is he a threat?” asked Michael.

  “Perhaps.”

  “Shall I have him removed?”

  “Not yet. He may prove to be useful in the future.” Mr. Monday turned back to the windows and returned a watchful eye to his realm.

  Acknowledgements

  Writing this book took a lot of time and I couldn't have done it without the help and support of some awesome people. I owe my beta readers a huge thanks who took something flawed and helped make it something I can be proud of. So... Erin Bradner, Christina Scott Sayer, and Sara Markham—thank you. I'd also like to thank my wife and four kids for putting up me; I'm sure it won't get any easier; and my mother, for being my cheerleader.

  Most of all I'd like to thank my good friend and fellow author, Keith Potempa. He helped me take an idea, a character, and turn it into a story. If it weren't for him, I never would have finished this book.

  About the Author

  William lives in the beautiful Shenandoah Valley of Virginia with his wife and four children. He is an elementary school teacher and actor. He performs regularly in a Murder Mystery Dinner Theatre at a local resort and owns a traveling theatre company, Impressions Theatre, that performs in libraries during the summer. He holds a B.S. In Fisheries Science from Virginia Tech and an M.A. In Teaching from Mary Baldwin.

  The idea for this novel came to him during a six-year period of time when he lived in Chicago pursuing a professional acting career.

  For more information and updates on the next MASON GRAY CASE, visit his website at williamcmarkham.weebly.com