by S F Bose
MISSING IN MYSTIC GROVE
A Liz Bean Mystery
S.F. BOSE
Table of Contents
Books in the Liz Bean Mystery Series
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Epigraph
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
About the Author
The Liz Bean Mystery Series
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Books in the Liz Bean Mystery Series
by S.F. Bose
MISSING IN MYSTIC GROVE (#1)
MURDER IN MYSTIC GROVE (#2)
Copyright
MISSING IN MYSTIC GROVE
A Liz Bean Mystery
Copyright ©2018 by S.F. Bose
First Edition | June 2018
http://www.sfbose.com/
Cover art by San Coils at Coverkicks:
https://www.coverkicks.com/
Editor: M. Bonvolanta
[email protected]
All rights reserved. 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 the copyright owner. The exception is the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, organizations, businesses, incidents and events portrayed in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 9781719935173
Printed in the United States of America
Dedication
For my family ~ I love you now and forever.
Acknowledgements
Heartfelt gratitude to M. Bonvolanta who edited Missing in Mystic Grove. Your corrections, suggestions, and insights made the book a million times better! Thank you!
Epigraph
Family. A little bit of crazy, a little bit of loud, and a whole lot of love.
~ Unknown
Chapter 1
It was the Tuesday evening before Thanksgiving and the kitchen at the Bean Family Bed and Breakfast was running like a well-oiled machine. Three families staying at the B&B had just eaten dinner and were now playing cards and board games in the dining room. Diners from Mystic Grove and some nearby communities had also eaten dinner at the B&B. All of them had left except for David and Nancy Blackwell, our neighbors, who lingered over coffee.
I had cleared the last of the tables, bringing the dinnerware back to the kitchen. Millie Todd and her sister, Tillie Green, loaded the commercial dishwasher and glasswasher. They had worked at the B&B as cooks for years and were helping us out with serving and cleaning during the holiday. The three of us worked methodically and in comfortable silence.
On the other side of the large kitchen, Aunt Grace stood near the Viking double oven range and reviewed a notebook with Thanksgiving dinner recipes. She was in her late forties, 5’6” tall, and full-figured. Grace Bean Sexton was the picture of confidence and command. It was no secret that she was the B&B’s secret weapon.
After attending college in South Carolina, she married and helped run a B&B in Charleston. Years later, she returned from the South with a pending divorce, three kids, a strong southern drawl, and a lot of experience in running a B&B. Addie Bean, her mother, immediately offered Grace the position of manager of our family’s B&B.
Grace jumped in with both feet. She renovated, innovated, and was the undisputed brains behind the Bean Family Bed and Breakfast. She transformed us from a struggling hobby business into a popular tourist destination. Thanks to her, we had a restaurant and liquor license, which allowed us to serve meals and alcohol to both B&B guests and the public. That alone attracted many people from Mystic Grove for evening dinner. Grace then suggested that we offer dinner on selected major holidays, and our customers loved it. Thanksgiving was one of our more popular dinners.
As always, Grace had a plan of attack for the holiday dinner. She assigned the cooking or baking of different items on the Thanksgiving menu to a member of the family or staff. We had everything covered from soup to nuts.
Me? I wouldn’t cook a thing, because we all knew poisoning a paying guest would be very bad for business. Besides, I had been away working at Worldhead Global Security in Virginia for four years and any cooking skills I had were long gone.
After a bad experience there, I’d quit my job and returned home two months ago. Well, technically, I was on an unpaid leave of absence, but Hell would freeze over before I went back East. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do for a living, but I was certain that cooking or returning to Worldhead Global Security weren’t on my short list.
“A penny for your thoughts,” a voice said. I jumped and turned to find Grandma Addie and her sister, Nana Anna, looking at me quizzically. I hadn’t heard them enter through the hallway kitchen door. They must have taken a walk around the B&B after dinner ended. Max and Bella, Grace’s two golden retrievers, had trotted in with them and were attacking their bowls of kibble by the windows.
“Not worth that much, Grandma,” I replied and smiled. I hugged her and then Nana. Grandma smelled like lavender and Nana smelled like clover.
Grandma Addie was seventy-two and sharp as a tack. She stood 5’5” tall and wore her wavy red hair short. Nana Anna was a year younger, one inch shorter, and a few pounds heavier. Her short red hair had a bit more curl to it than Grandma’s. Grace swore their hair was still naturally red, but that seemed impossible. Both sisters had baby blue eyes behind wire rim glasses. Today they wore blue jeans and sweaters.
“Are the guests all settled after dinner?” Nana asked.
“Yes, they’re playing games. The Blackwells are still here having coffee.”
Grandma smiled. “Oh good. We’ll go chat with them after we talk to Grace. Right now, I need a strong cup of coffee.”
“Me too,” Nana echoed.
“Liz, would you go do a walk-through just to make sure everyone’s happy?” Grandma asked.
“You bet.”
I walked to the front of the kitchen and through the swinging doors into the dining room. I stopped to scan the large room.
We had a mixture of round, square, and rectangular wooden plank tables that would seat two, four, six, and eight people. For larger groups we just pushed square or rectangular tables together. The seating was a mixture of wooden spindle back, ladder-back, Windsor, and schoolhouse chairs.
The Blackwells sat at their favorite spot to my left. Straight ahead, two couples staying at the B&B had taken over a round six-top to play cards. Several tables down from them to the right, a family of four played a board game. The dinner dishes had been cleared, and a fire snapped in the fireplace. All was well.
Nancy and David Blackwell waved, and I went over to their table. I had known them my entire life and loved them both. The sixtyish couple lived on a neighboring farm and were frequent dinner guest
s.
Nancy was a former writer who now raised and trained Great Danes to be service dogs. As a funded charity, she was able to give dogs away for free to veterans with PTSD and to people with diseases that affected their balance. David was still a practicing psychiatrist and worked out of his home office. “Liz Bean, I cannot get used to that hair of yours,” Nancy stated. She was a stocky woman and had a commanding voice that carried.
My hand went up to my hair. When I returned to Mystic Grove, one of the first things I did was stop at Trixie’s Beauty Parlor. After a chat and my request for radical change, a gleam came into Trixie’s eyes. She cut and styled my longer red hair into a short pixie and dyed it silver-white. While I loved the cut and color, most people seemed disturbed by it.
“You’ll get used to it in time,” I assured her and smiled.
“It’s a stylish, young person thing. We’re old fogies,” David Blackwell said and winked at me. I laughed.
Nancy darted a look at him. “You may be an old fogey, but I am not,” she replied. Her eyes slid back to me. “You’ve never told us exactly what you did for a living out East, Liz.”
I made a face. “Very boring stuff. I worked as an interpreter and translator at Worldhead Global Security. I traveled to different countries with clients where I’d interpret at meetings or translate documents. Sometimes I went on my own. Other times I worked as part of a team.”
“That doesn’t sound boring at all. It sounds like an amazing job. Why did you leave?” Nancy asked.
“I needed a change. It was four years of almost constant travel that wore me down.” I noticed that David nodded at my explanation.
My answer was partially true. However, what I couldn’t share is that I had worked as an interpreter and translator for the Covert Services Group, which was part of the military contractor arm of Worldhead. The U.S. government hired us for a variety of work in the Middle East, Europe, and elsewhere. We assisted with surveillance, interviewing foreign contacts, hostage negotiation, hostage extraction, intelligence gathering, and more. The government often hired Worldhead to assist in a wide variety of confidential missions worldwide.
A strict nondisclosure agreement prevented me from ever talking about my real responsibilities there. My family had no idea what I really did at Worldhead and I would never put them at risk by revealing any details. We sometimes have to hide the truth to protect the people we love, I thought. When I realized Nancy was still staring at me, I smiled. After a few beats, she nodded.
“You always had gumption, Liz, but I think your work out East made you stronger. You seem more…confident.”
“Thanks, Nancy. I hope I am. Can I get you more coffee?” I asked.
When they both declined, I told them Grandma Addie and Nana Anna would be out to chat with them. They looked happy at that and I gave a little wave as I turned back to the dining room.
But my mind was still on the secrets I’d kept. What I really regretted was not telling my family about Nate Lee, the man I had fallen in love with. Nate was a former Green Beret and a team leader at Worldhead. After falling in love and moving in together, we decided to delay telling our families about our relationship until Christmas. We wanted to let them know in person.
Then Nate was killed on a mission south of Baghdad. I left Worldhead Global Security and returned home to Mystic Grove. I couldn’t think or talk about Nate without crying. So I decided to keep him a secret, until I could talk about him without losing control. But the longer I kept that secret, the harder it would be to share.
“Are you all right, Liz?” asked Nancy and I jumped. I looked back at her and smiled.
“Lost in thought,” I replied.
Turning back, I scanned the room again. Everyone seemed to be having fun. We had a game room and several parlors, but guests often gravitated back to the dining room to play cards or other board games after dinner. The wood fire crackling in the fieldstone fireplace made it a warm and inviting space. We also had a single-serve coffee maker on a table with a wide variety of coffee, tea, and hot chocolate pods for the guests.
My eyes shifted to the first table. Ray and Marie Wescott, a cheerful couple in their sixties, played cards with Dante and Shelly Cloutier, a young couple in their thirties.
Ray and Marie were retired schoolteachers from Chicago. They reminded me of Jack Spratt and his wife in the nursery rhyme. Ray was tall and thin, while Marie was pleasingly plump. Dante Cloutier was a photographer and filmmaker. His wife, Shelly, was a fabric artist and teacher. Their two daughters, Holly and Jade, sat at the next table working on their coloring books and chattering back and forth. Holly was seven and Jade was five.
I stopped at the Wescott and Cloutier table. They were playing Texas Hold’em.
“Who’s winning?” I asked.
Ray Wescott chuckled. “My wife. She cheats.”
Marie tried to swat him with her cards and Dante and Shelly laughed.
“I do not cheat,” Marie replied and then laughed. She suddenly sat up straighter and looked excited. “I forgot!” Grabbing her cellphone, she swiped some screens and handed the phone to me.
“The latest photos,” she said with a smile.
We all replied, “Ah!” and laughed.
I swiped through five new photos of two smiling toddlers playing in a garden. Marie and Ray were doting grandparents.
“Oh Marie, they’re so cute! You must miss them,” I said.
“We do. But the kids are with in-laws for the holiday. You know how that goes,” she replied and looked sad.
Marie watched Shelly, Ray, and Dante take turns at scrolling through the photos until she had the phone again. With a sigh, she set the phone down on the table.
Dante stretched and ran a hand through his hair. He had a trendy haircut with a lot of hair on top that faded into shaved sides and back. He also sported a full beard.
“They grow up so fast. I remember when our girls were that little. Remember, hon?” He looked across the table at Shelly and gave her his megawatt smile.
“I do,” she replied, looking wistful. “It seems like just yesterday.” As she shook her head, her long black hair swung back and forth.
“Can I get you all anything?” I asked. When they all shook their heads, I said, “Okay, have fun.”
I moved to the next table where the Cloutier kids worked on their coloring books.
“Hi girls,” I said. They both chorused “Hi” back to me and grinned. Holly had lost two of her lower baby teeth, while Jade had a full set of baby teeth. They were both very cute. I leaned over and admired their coloring.
“You’re both very talented artists,” I said.
Holly turned serious. “Thank you. Mama and Daddy are artists. We get it from them.” Jade nodded solemnly.
“I understand,” I replied. “Apples don’t fall far from the tree.”
They both frowned. “What does that mean?” asked Holly.
“It means children get some of their talents from their moms and dads,” I explained and smiled.
“Oh! That’s us for sure,” Holly said and grinned at Jade. Jade made a funny face and laughed.
“Okay, have fun,” I said. “Bye now.”
“Bye,” they both said and went back to their coloring.
I angled to my right toward the DeMarco family who played Monopoly two tables away and one aisle over. Tony and Susan DeMarco were in their late forties. Tony was a muscular guy who worked as a firefighter near Milwaukee.
Susan was an attractive woman with honey blond hair in a chin-length bob. This morning, I’d seen her on the running trail that circled the B&B and family farm. She had great form and ran with intensity. Although she was friendly, she sometimes looked sad in unguarded moments.
The DeMarco’s two children had joined them for their Thanksgiving holiday. Josh DeMarco was in his mid-twenties, fit, and had a military buzz cut. He was a nervous young man who rarely smiled. His sister, Megan, was in her early twenties, warm, and friendly. Her blond hair w
as styled in a short pixie with bangs. They both had their mother’s dark blue eyes.
“How’s it going?” I asked when I reached their table.
“Good, good,” Tony DeMarco replied, and he and Megan smiled broadly. Susan gave me a brief smile and Josh nodded. Then Susan moved her left hand and knocked the top hat game piece toward Josh. He tried to catch it and missed. The top hat bounced on the floor. Susan and Josh both laughed. I smiled because I hadn’t seen either Susan or Josh laugh very much. Jumping up, Josh went to retrieve the bouncing game piece.
A part of my training at Worldhead included learning to assess the risk level of people I met. Were they a physical threat? Were they armed? What would I need to do to beat them in a fight?
The first time I met Josh, I sized him up as a physical threat because of his build and fitness. The buzz cut suggested he might be current or ex-military. However, his demeanor was almost shy and he was very jittery. When he was with his family, he relaxed more. I concluded Josh wasn’t much of a threat.
Josh returned the top hat to the table, sat down, and smiled at his mother.
“I’m such a klutz,” Susan said and smiled back at Josh.
“Don’t be silly. Those game pieces always spend more time on the floor than on the game board,” I replied and they all laughed. Josh reached over and patted Susan’s hand.
“The B&B is beautiful. How old is it?” Megan asked.
I smiled because I loved talking about the old house. “Well, our ancestors, Connall and Moira Bean, settled here in 1839 and built a small house on this site. Later, in the 1840s, Connall expanded that original house. But in 1864, the house burned down. Nobody was hurt, thank goodness. So Connall built a small, temporary house for his family to live in, a little northwest of here.”
“Is that house still standing?” Susan asked.
I shook my head. “No, they must have torn it down later. So Connall, other family members, and neighbors built this house, which is on the original 1839 site. They started building in 1864 and didn’t complete it until 1866 because it was so big. Also, several of his sons and other men in the area were off fighting in the Civil War until 1865, so there were fewer people to help with the construction. The short answer to your question is that the Bean family has been on this site since 1839, but the actual house goes back to the 1860s.”
