Justice in Mystic Grove

by S F Bose

  “So how’d it go with the potential clients?” he asked, sitting down again. My eyes shifted back up to his face.

  “When you were a sheriff’s deputy, did you know Steven Meagher?” I asked.

  Sam frowned. “Steven Meagher. Rings a bell but I can’t remember any details.”

  I quickly filled Sam in on the meeting and Kerry Goodman’s suspicions about Meagher.

  “I remember him now. Short-tempered and hard to get along with. He’s still a deputy sheriff?”

  “He is. The problem is Kerry and Mac don’t have hard evidence that Meagher is involved in anything dirty. Kerry also won’t share the name of the sheriff who called to warn her.”

  Sam sipped his tea and twirled a pen in his right hand. “What’s your gut tell you?”

  “It tells me they were honest about everything that happened. I took the case but warned them there were no guarantees we could prove Meagher’s dirty,” I replied. I pulled out Kerry’s check and slid it across the desk to Sam. He looked at it and nodded.

  “What exactly do they want?”

  I felt the tickle of a headache behind my eyes. “They want him prosecuted for anything illegal he might have done.”

  Sam’s frowned. He sat back, his hands clasped behind his head and looked at me.

  “I’ll be honest. Investigating a sheriff’s deputy will be tricky. Law enforcement doesn’t always embrace private investigators. But if we investigate one of their own, it may lead to bad feelings or worse.”

  I nodded. “I understand. However, the deputy sheriff who called Kerry said most of the deputies hated Meagher.”

  “Good point,” he agreed. His eyes still locked on mine and his frown had deepened.

  The frown told me I needed to reassure Sam. “Okay, here’s my plan. I’ve already set expectations with Kerry and Mac. I committed to a maximum of forty hours of work for this phase of the investigation. I’ll ask Mitch for a long profile on Steven Meagher. I’d also like to get short profiles on Larissa Meagher, Sharon Hill Meagher, Dom Fontana, Dwight Reed, Rose O’Ryan, and Carol Robinson. After that, I’ll interview the two paramedics and Rose O’Ryan, the trustee. Once I have all of that information, I’ll give you an update. At that point, we can decide what we should recommend to Kerry and Mac Goodman.”

  Mitch Shepherd was an old friend of Sam’s. He owned a cybersecurity firm in Madison and ran background profiles for us. He was a research genius.

  With a grunt, Sam agreed. “Okay, that‘s a reasonable plan. Run with it. Bad guys are stupid and they usually screw up. Maybe we’ll get lucky with Meagher and find some solid evidence right away.”

  I jumped up before he changed his mind. “Thanks Boss,” I said as I took the shortcut to the connecting door between our offices.

  “Don’t call me ‘Boss,’” he shouted after me and I laughed as I closed the door.

  Chapter 2

  I spent the remainder of the morning in my office. After adding the Goodman case to our online case management system, I did some preliminary research. Nolan Private Investigations subscribed to a variety of subscription online databases, which were very helpful.

  First, I did a quick scan for Kerry and Mac Goodman and discovered they came from upstate Fish Creek. Their father, Simon, was a lawyer and their mother, Sylvie, owned a small antiques store. After working at some smaller newspapers, Kerry had been hired by the Wisconsin Daily Messenger. I found her article about community policing and skimmed through it. Very good writing, I thought. Then I verified that Mac attended the university as a graduate student and worked as an enterprise security consultant at Secure Tech. So far so good.

  After that, I added a summary of the case and known facts into the case file. I created entries for Steven Meagher, Larissa Meagher, Sharon Hill Meagher, Dwight Reed, Carol Robinson, Rose O’Ryan, and Dom Fontana. I used another database to get the Social Security number for each person and added that information to the file. I also scanned the photos Kerry had given me and added the digital images to the case file.

  Then I studied the originals. The work photos of Steven Meagher revealed a dour man wearing a deputy sheriff uniform. He stared darkly at the camera, unsmiling and with thumbs hooked in his belt. Meagher looked beefy and had a barrel chest and paunch. Thinning hair, high forehead, and a thick mustache completed the picture.

  He looked happier in the photos with his wife, Larissa. He stood straighter and smiled more. Larissa was younger than Meagher and attractive. She was a short, blonde, and fit woman with a dazzling smile. I wondered what she saw in Steven Meagher.

  I moved on to the photo of Rose O’Ryan. Someone had taken a group shot of Gil Steiner, village president, and the six village trustees. I recognized Angela Apstead, a young trustee I had met on a previous case. The caption identified the woman standing to the right of Angela as Rose O’Ryan.

  Rose was an attractive woman with short black hair. Her ramrod straight posture and steady look struck me as ex-military.

  The last photo was a headshot of Dom Fontana in a shirt and tie. He sported short-cropped black hair, a trimmed beard, and a mustache. He had a salesman’s smile. I did a Google search for his moving company and found the corporate website. There were a lot of posed photos with one of his moving crews. He wore blue jeans and a black polo shirt with “Fontana Movers and Storage” on it. Fontana had big shoulders and looked like he worked out. I also found a couple of photos of Fontana in a suit attending a conference.

  I double-checked the license plate number Mac had provided and confirmed it tracked back to Dom Fontana. Was he involved with Larissa Meagher in some way or was his attendance at the 11:00 Mass at St. Joe’s an innocent coincidence?

  With a grunt, I fired up my email program and composed a “High Priority” message to Mitch Shepherd. I copied Sam on the email. I asked for an in-depth profile for Steven Meagher. I also asked him to include any information from the official Ozaukee County sheriff’s report on the loss of his wife and children in 1995. I requested basic profiles for the others and asked that he research Rose O’Ryan, Dwight Reed, and Carol Robinson first. To give Mitch a head start, I included the Social Security numbers I’d researched and the license plate number Kerry had provided. Then I sent the email.

  When I checked my watch, I jumped. I texted my younger sister, Katie, that I’d be a little late for our lunch at our family’s bed and breakfast. Seconds later, she texted back, “No problem. I’m in the dining room.”

  I slid my laptop and notebook into my messenger bag. Before leaving, I scanned the desk to make sure I wasn’t forgetting anything. Satisfied, I exited the front door of my office and walked down the hall to Sam’s office.

  He hunched over his laptop and typed rapidly. Flip sprawled in front of the desk, his front paws, and nose twitching as he chased dream squirrels. When I knocked lightly on the doorframe, Sam’s head snapped up and he smiled.

  “Hey. I just wanted you to know I set up the Goodman case file and sent the profile requests to Mitch.”

  “Great. Are you going to lunch?”

  “Yes, but out at the B&B. I’m meeting Katie. Do you want to come?”

  He paused, looking at his laptop and then back at me. “I really want to get this proposal done today. It’s for Peabody Software Group. They called to ask that we bid on background checks and employee vetting.”

  “Really? That’s great!” Peabody was a well-known firm near Madison. “I planned to work remotely after lunch. Is that okay?”

  “Sure, but could you do me a favor and take Flip with you? Grace said he could spend tonight and tomorrow with her two dogs. I already walked him.”

  “No problem,” I agreed. My Aunt Grace ran the Bean Family Bed and Breakfast, with the help of my dad, Grandma Addie, and Great Aunt Anna. Grace had two Golden Retrievers, Max and Bella. Sometimes Sam dropped Flip off at the B&B for a doggy play date or overnight visit.

  In a slightly louder voice I asked, “Does Flip want to drive out to the farm with me?” Th
e dog’s eyes popped open. After jumping up and shaking his head, Flip trotted over to me.

  Sam and I exchanged a look. “He understands everything we say, you know,” I commented.

  “I know. It’s spooky. We need to be more careful.”

  I left the office laughing.

  Chapter 3

  On the drive out to the B&B, Flip stretched out on the back seat of Lulu, my red Mini Cooper S. When I turned up the winding B&B driveway, he jumped up with a “woof” and looked out the window at the passing trees. As I neared the house, I slowed to a stop. I loved the farm and the old house where I grew up.

  On the right, the B&B, a beautiful, double Victorian farmhouse, rose three stories. Some unknown ancestor had put in a pond near the front of the B&B. A path with benches circled the pond. Wildflowers bloomed everywhere.

  Various marked paths led into the forest to the north and northeast. One of the paths led to Mystic Bean Pond, which also had benches around it. Northeast of that pond, Magic Creek offered some of the best trout fishing in the area. However, most guests preferred hiking in the forest or birdwatching.

  According to family lore, deep in the forest, a “mystic grove” served as the namesake for the nearby village. Early family diaries spoke of finding and following the path marked by the “Shepherd’s Crook” through the forest to the mystic grove. Once there, they described mystical experiences, healing, and magic. However, no one ever bothered to draw a map! As a child, I explored the forest for the mystic grove many times and never found it.

  My family had owned and worked the land since 1839. After a fire destroyed the original homestead in 1864, Connal Bean and his sons built the existing Victorian house. We had no idea why they built such a large house.

  The last member of the Bean family to farm the land was Grandpa Pete, who died unexpectedly in a car crash in 1984. Eventually, my mom and dad moved back from Chicago to Mystic Grove to live with Grandma Addie and help her. They had just two toddlers then, Brian and Becky.

  Although Dad was Addie‘s eldest child and descended from a long line of farmers, he opted to be a lawyer. Neither his brother nor his sister wanted to farm either. Consequently, Addie expanded the lease agreements she had established with other farmers. They worked portions of our land and shared the profits with us. However, the lease agreements produced less income than we cleared from Grandpa’s farming.

  So around my second birthday, Grandma Addie, Mom, and Dad started the Bean Family Bed & Breakfast. They needed a new venture to supplement the income from the farm leases. The B&B didn’t really take off until Aunt Grace came on board and helped to make the B&B the success it is today.

  “Woof!”

  “Okay, okay,” I muttered. I pulled ahead, passing the B&B on the right, and the barn and other farm buildings on the left. A small stable and arena sat west of the barn.

  After parking near the coach house north of the B&B, I opened the car door and pushed my seat forward. Flip flew out of the car. Shaking himself, he ran around smelling everything. It was a sunny, spring day in the low seventies.

  Walking back toward the B&B, I noticed that Aunt Grace had started planting the herb and vegetable gardens. She started most seeds in our small greenhouse and transplanted the seedlings in the garden. For other veggies like beans and carrots, she planted the seeds directly in the garden soil.

  Ryan, her oldest child, usually tilled and prepared the soil. After that, her two daughters, Chloe and Olivia, helped with the planting. Cousin Chloe and Olivia were two of my roommates in the coach house. My sister, Katie, was my third roommate.

  As I walked, I also saw signs of a visit by Mom. Although my parents divorced four years ago, they remained good friends. Mom still contributed to the B&B by helping with the flower gardens and occasionally cooking a gourmet meal for the guests.

  She had positioned some large decorative pots filled with annual flowers around the outside of the B&B. She also tended the flower garden beds to the east of the herb and vegetable gardens. I stopped to admire white and yellow daffodils, mixed color tulips, dianthus, blue and yellow hostas, yellow iris, wild blue indigo, purple and white columbine, and purple peonies. Some of the fruit trees in the orchard east of the flower garden had bloomed too.

  I could smell lilacs on the warm air. Closing my eyes, I inhaled deeply and drifted to my happy place. It was a stone bench on the edge of a lake surrounded by trees. Birdsong filled the air and butterflies flitted by. The lake water lapped gently and …

  “Woof!”

  My eyes snapped open. The dog was definitely getting on my last nerve. Flip sat on the path to the B&B watching me. He whined. Resigned, I started walking toward him. Flip turned and ran to the porch. He waited there, tail wagging. After climbing the porch steps, I opened the mudroom door. Flip ran in ahead of me and turned left toward the closed kitchen door at the end of the hall. When we entered the kitchen, I paused.

  Years ago, we had installed a commercial kitchen for the B&B. White walls, stainless steel appliances, and a ceramic tile floor made the kitchen radiant. The brightness made me squint.

  Flip trotted over to greet Aunt Grace who stirred a pot on the stove.

  “Flip!” she exclaimed, clearly happy to see him. She bent down to scratch his ears.

  “Hi Aunt Grace,” I said, following Flip.

  “Lizzie Bean!” she exclaimed. When she looked up and turned her smile on me, it warmed me like the sun. Her crimson lipstick made her smile even brighter.

  Grace was in her late forties, tall, and full-figured. Her collar-length red hair swayed, as she stood straight again. When she spread her arms, I walked forward and hugged her. Her familiar vanilla and cinnamon scent washed over me.

  “Look at you all dressed up! Were you doing something special today?” she asked, holding my hands and stepping back to admire my outfit. After years of living in South Carolina for college and work, Aunt Grace retained a wonderful southern accent.

  “I met with a potential client today and wanted to dress up a bit.”

  Grace nodded and dropped my hands. “Dressing for success. That’s a good move. Did it go well?”

  “It did. The client signed a contract for a preliminary investigation,” I replied and smiled. It was sinking in that I had my first, official client.

  Grace beamed. “Wonderful! Are you hungry? I could make you a BLT. Extra bacon? It’s already broiled and nice and crispy.”

  Bacon was my weakness and Grace knew it. I salivated like Pavlov’s dog.

  “That sounds perfect, thanks. Is Katie still here? I’m late for a lunch with her.”

  “Yes, she’s at Addie and Anna’s table,” Grace replied with a smile and turned to make my sandwich.

  Addie Shaw Bean was Grace’s mom. She was seventy-two and helped to raise me in this very house. Anna Shaw Doyle, Addie’s younger sister by one year, moved to the B&B two decades ago, after her husband’s unexpected death. She had been in my daily life for as long as I could remember. All the kids in the family called her Nana Anna.

  After brewing a mug of coffee, I returned to the center island and watched Grace make my sandwich.

  “Sam said Flip could stay here tonight and tomorrow. That’s okay, right?” I asked.

  “Of course it is. I’m bringing sandwiches over to the stable for your father and Ryan in a few minutes. They’re working on some drainage problem. I’ll bring Flip over there and he can play with Max and Bella. Later, he can spend the night with my dogs upstairs.”

  “Thanks, Aunt Grace. Sam worries that Flip is cooped up too much. I hope it’s not a bother.”

  My aunt looked at me, her blue eyes wide. “Liz, Sam is like family. It’s no problem at all.” She handed me a large plate. “Here you go, sweetie. One monster BLT, coleslaw, and a dill pickle.”

  I thanked her and pushed through the swinging door into the B&B dining room. Several couples who were B&B guests sat at different tables eating lunch.

  My blue-haired cousin Chloe sat at one tabl
e with her boyfriend, Neville Greenwood. He had grown out his Mohawk haircut and had a full head of wavy black hair. He still wore a short beard and had small round plugs in his earlobes.

  Empty lunch plates and crumpled napkins sat in front of them. As I passed by, they both said, “Hi,” but I immediately sensed I had interrupted an argument of some sort. I greeted both of them.

  “You’re still starting in a week?” I asked Neville. He was going to work part-time for Nolan Private Investigations during the summer.

  He adjusted his glasses and smiled. “Yes I am. I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Great! See you then,” I replied. I noted Chloe’s sulky look and hurried off.

  Grandma Addie and Nana Anna sat at their usual table toward the back of the dining room. When they saw me, Addie and Anna’s mouths dropped open and their blue eyes widened. I realized they didn’t see me dressed up often. Next to them, Katie smiled and waved, her long hair swaying as she moved.

  Grandma Addie was tall, lean, and wore her wavy, red hair short. Nana Anna was an inch shorter and pleasingly plump. She also had short, wavy red hair. They both swore they didn’t dye their hair, which I took with a grain of salt.

  “Hi. I’m sorry I’m late,” I said, putting my plate and mug of coffee on the table. I kissed the cheek of my grandmother and great aunt. Katie and I did a fist bump.

  “Liz Bean, you look beautiful today. Are you dressed up for some special occasion?” asked Grandma. Her eyes twinkled behind her wire-rimmed glasses. I should have been happy at the compliment but it made me wonder how hideous I must normally look.

  I slid into the chair across from Grandma. Nana Anna sat to my left and Katie to my right. More than anything, I wanted to take a huge bite of my BLT.

  “I met with a possible client today and wanted to look professional,” I replied.

  “How’d it go?” asked Nana Anna. She squinted a bit because as usual she had pushed her glasses up on her head.