Missing in Mystic Grove

by S F Bose

“You named your car?” His voice was filled with disbelief.

  “You didn’t?” I replied in shock. I could think of at least five good names for his Jeep. When I looked at him, he was shaking his head. I frowned and stretched my legs. We are as different as night and day, I thought.

  After a few minutes, Sam asked, “Are you carrying?”

  “Carrying?”

  He cut me a quick look. “A gun. Are you carrying a handgun?”

  “Yep. Glock 19. How’d you know?” With my sweater and hoodie, there was no way he’d seen a hint of my pistol in my waistband at the B&B.

  “Lucky guess. It seems like half the people I meet in Mystic Grove carry a gun. You have a concealed carry permit?”

  It was my turn to look at him. Did he think I’d break state law? “Of course, I do.”

  “Can you shoot?”

  I laughed. “Yes, I can shoot.” I didn’t tell him I was a crack shot, had qualified on a variety of military grade weapons at Worldhead, and was probably a better sharpshooter than he was.

  We drove in silence for a while. Then Sam asked, “So what exactly do you do for a living again?” He sounded…suspicious or wary.

  I took a slow, deep breath. I didn’t want to share that I had left Worldhead Global Security and was pretty much unemployed. It would just lead to questions I either couldn’t or wouldn’t answer.

  “I’m an interpreter and translator for a company out East. I work with a variety of clients and travel to a lot of countries. Sometimes I’m required to carry a gun.”

  Sam glanced at me. “Global security huh? Bodyguard?”

  I snorted. “Bodyguard? Do I look like a bodyguard?” His jaw clenched.

  “Seems unusual for an interpreter to be armed, especially abroad,” he said.

  I clicked my tongue. “It doesn’t happen all the time, just with certain clients.”

  He thought about that and sighed. “Okay. Well I’m going to take you at your word that you know how to use your pistol. However, my first weapon of choice in most situations is friendly persuasion, so guns are a last resort. Understood?”

  I gritted my teeth. I didn’t like his comment or patronizing tone. Fortunately, my phone beeped. Glancing down at the GPS map, I said,

  “Next intersection is Willow Road. Turn right when you get there.”

  It probably wasn’t the best time to tell Sam I was carrying two guns. A Kahr CM9 pistol sat snug in its holster in the right pocket of my jeans. It was my backup pocket gun and had once belonged to Nate. If I couldn’t reach my Glock in its waistband holster, I could always pull the Kahr. It was a comforting thought that made me smile.

  After he turned east on Willow Road, Sam and I rode in silence for a while. I looked out the passenger window at the cold, gray day. Without snow cover, the fields we passed looked barren and depressing. Most farmers had completed harvesting their corn and soybeans weeks ago. Now the fields were filled with the drying brown residue of corn cobs, husks, stalks, soybean hulls, and stems spit out by the combines the farmers used for harvesting. I didn’t see a single person outside at any of the farms we passed.

  “Tell me about Nick English,” Sam said, and I looked at him.

  “Nick? Not much to tell. Like I said, we went to the same high school, but he was two years younger. That’s like being on separate planets when you’re a teenager. I do remember he was a promising long-distance runner when he was a sophomore. He was also on the student council. You think Josh is after him?”

  “I don’t know. The Marine connection and that list of Josh’s makes me wonder if they crossed paths. According to Millie, the father didn’t serve in the military.”

  “Maybe Josh has some other beef with Dan English. Something unrelated to the military.”

  “Could be,” Sam agreed.

  Eventually, my phone beeped again. “Turn left up ahead. That’s Hicks Road. Millie said Dan’s place was the third house on the right,” I said.

  Sam slowed and made the turn. The houses on this stretch of Hicks Road had been built in the early 1900s. They were mostly two-story homes on heavily wooded lots. Some of the houses were showing their age. When Sam reached the third house, he slowed the Jeep, turned right, and slowly pulled up a driveway that took us past a stand of woods and then into a clearing. Sam stopped and turned off the Jeep.

  We faced a two-story, wooden frame farmhouse with white wood siding, and a small front porch. It had a black shingle roof and fireplace chimney.

  “Nice house,” Sam said.

  “It is,” I agreed. It was another older house, probably built in the 1900s, but was well-maintained.

  A blue Dodge Durango and red Chevy Malibu sat in front of a detached, two-car garage to the left. Beyond the garage, there was a very modern, lofted mini barn with double doors, windows, and a red metal roof.

  “Josh is here,” Sam said eyeing the Durango.

  I looked at the blue Durango and red Malibu. Then I unzipped my parka for better access to my guns. “Let’s go,” I replied opening my door and exiting the Jeep.

  ***

  As we approached, I swept the house from left to right. I didn’t hear any noise or see any movement. My foot was on the bottom porch step when gunshots rang out. Sam and I both spun away from the house and crouched. I pulled the Kahr free of the pocket holster and steadied it with a two-handed grip. Sam used the same grip for his Glock 22.

  After a short silence, more gunfire sounded from my left. I turned and moved forward cautiously until I reached the end of the house. Peeking around the corner, I saw woods, mostly oak, elm, and sugar maple trees. The ground was covered with dry, still-colorful leaves. Noisy, crunchy leaves. Terrific. Nature’s early warning system.

  The gunfire stopped. Sam joined me at the corner of the house and looked around me at the trees. He frowned. Then he exhaled and huffed out a small cloud of condensed vapor.

  He leaned toward me and whispered, “You go to the right and I’ll go to the left. Never lose sight of me. Try to shuffle through the leaves to keep the noise down.”

  I nodded and quickly unzipped my parka. I wanted quick access to my Glock if I needed it. We advanced toward the woods. When I reached the tree line, I slowed my pace and shuffled slowly through the leaves. I glanced to my left and saw Sam to the left, slightly ahead of me.

  Gunfire erupted ahead of us again and I moved more quickly. Surely, no one would hear crushed leaves over that racket. When the shooting stopped, both Sam and I slowed down. Then we reached a clearing and stopped.

  Someone had thinned out the trees well into the distance. You could see the cleared ground rise slowly to a hilltop. A homemade gun range sat in the middle of the clearing. There were paper targets, eight-inch swinging metal plates, bowling pins, metal pigs, metal buffalo, metal turkeys and rams, a variety of gongs, containers of colored water, armor-plated hanging shields, and more. Some targets were close in and others were spaced out all the way back to the top of the hill.

  Two men faced the outdoor range and started shooting their pistols again. There was the sound of metal bullets on metal targets, reverberating gongs, and spraying water. The older man standing on the left must be Dan English. Josh DeMarco fired from the right. As far as I could tell, neither one had eye or ear protection. Stupid is as stupid does.

  I glanced at Sam, who had slightly lowered his Glock. He was frowning, and his mouth hung open. His Irish flat cap angled forward on his black hair. When the shooting stopped, I looked back at the two men. Josh turned to say something to Dan and saw us.

  “Guns!” he shouted, and Dan swung around to face us. Sam and I raised our pistols with Sam targeting Dan English and me targeting Josh DeMarco. As we all breathed faster, our breath condensed into small puffs of distracting vapor.

  I glanced at English. He wore an unzipped parka, plaid shirt, and blue jeans. Dan was a barrel-chested man in his forties and had a small potbelly. He was close to six feet tall, wore his long blond hair tied back in a ponytail, had a bushy blond m
ustache, and slitted eyes. Without his gun, I wouldn’t have considered Dan English a threat at all. With the gun leveled at Sam, he was a major threat.

  “Easy now,” Sam called. Dan English didn’t say anything. Josh stared at me and frowned. He held his pistol aimed at me. For a second, I thought I saw him shiver. Was it the weather or nerves? Josh wore a short black jacket and black pants that didn’t look adequate for a cold, winter day in the woods.

  “You. You’re from the Bed and Breakfast. What are you doing here?” Josh shouted. He sounded angry, but he held his gun steady.

  “I’m Liz Bean, Josh. Your parents asked us to find you. They’re worried to death,” I replied.

  His face turned white. “Are they all right?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “Like I said, they’re worried about you. Especially your mother.” A cloud of concern passed over Josh’s face.

  “Bean? Any relation to Addie and Anna Bean?” asked Dan English, never taking his eyes off Sam.

  “Addie is my grandmother and Nana Anna is my great-aunt,” I replied, keeping my eyes on Josh.

  “No kidding. They’re both friends of my parents,” he said, glancing at me.

  I flicked a look at him. “Addie and Nana Anna did mention that. I was in high school with your son, Nick.”

  “It’s a small world isn’t it?” he asked and smiled. “Are you one of Grace’s kids?”

  “She’s my aunt. Andrew and Lilly are my parents,” I replied and Dan nodded.

  “Millie and Tillie said to say ‘Hello,’ Sam said to English.

  English’s eyes widened. “Millie Todd and Tillie Green?”

  Sam nodded. “Yes. They work at the Bed and Breakfast. They both speak highly of you.”

  “Millie and Tillie are old friends. Good people,” Dan replied.

  “They are indeed. Look, Liz and I are going to lower our weapons. We’d appreciate it if you both did the same. We heard shooting and thought someone was in trouble. That’s why we came back here,” said Sam.

  “Understandable,” Dan English agreed and lowered his weapon. When Josh did the same, I lowered the Kahr to my side. After Dan English and Sam holstered their guns, Josh still held his pistol at his side. I watched him closely. When he walked over and handed the gun to Dan English, I relaxed and returned my pistol to the small holster in my jeans pocket.

  “Nice gun range you have here,” Sam said. English turned back and looked at the range and the woods.

  “Thanks. It keeps me out of trouble…usually.”

  Sam laughed. “I’m Sam Nolan, a private investigator in Mystic Grove. You already know Liz.” Josh’s mouth dropped open when he heard Sam’s occupation.

  Dan smiled. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Dan English. This is Josh DeMarco. Let’s go inside and warm up.”

  Chapter 11

  We sat in Dan English’s living room drinking the herbal tea he had brought us. His home was very masculine. The living room had beige walls, exposed wooden beams, and chocolate rust tribal area rugs on the wooden floor. Rawhide shades topped table lamps that looked like small tree trunks with tiny branches. The lamps rested on rustic pine end tables.

  Sam and I sank into a brown leather couch that was perpendicular to the unlit stone fireplace to our left. Across the coffee table from us, Dan and Josh sat in brown leather easy chairs.

  “Nice coffee table,” Sam said, and I nodded.

  A Western coffee table, three feet square and eighteen inches high, rested on the rug. The wood was a beautiful golden amber. The table had four, square tile inserts in the center of the tabletop. Brass nail heads decorated the outer edge of the table. On the bottom, there was a drawer with a twig handle and an open shelf.

  “It’s beautiful. What kind of wood?” I asked.

  “Reclaimed barnwood. I milled it myself. When I first made the table, you could see more brown and gold streaks in the wood. Over time it aged to that golden color,” Dan replied and sipped his tea. Josh just stared at us.

  “You made this table?” Sam asked, surprise in his voice.

  Dan nodded and smiled. “Yeah, I have a workshop out back. I’m a finish carpenter by trade. In my free time I make and sell my own furniture.” The mini barn must be his workshop, I thought.

  “You’re very talented,” I said and meant it. The table was a work of art.

  “Thank you,” Dan replied; his face colored a bit at the praise. “So I can’t remember the last time I saw Addie and Anna. They’re doing well?”

  “They’re both doing great. They have more energy than I do,” I said and laughed.

  Dan smiled. “They haven’t changed then. They’ve always been energetic and hard workers. My dad and mom go to the B&B for dinner on their anniversary and for special occasions. Did you know my dad was close friends with your Grandpa Pete? His passing was a shock to everyone. He was a good man.”

  I smiled. I hadn’t known that Grandpa Peter had been friends with Louis English. My grandfather died unexpectedly in a car crash before I was born. He was only fifty-two when he passed.

  “Thank you for saying that. I never met Grandpa, but I feel like I know him because of all the stories Grandma has told us over the years.”

  Dan nodded. “Our memories and stories keep the loved ones we’ve lost alive,” he said.

  “That’s true,” I agreed and didn’t know what else to say.

  Then Dan cleared his throat and smiled. “Well, sorry for the trip down memory lane. So you came here looking for Josh?”

  “We did,” Sam replied. “How do you two know each other?”

  Dan pursed his lips. “That’s something Josh will have to share, if he wants to.”

  Josh shook his head. His eyes were dark. “I don’t. We have private business.”

  Sam and I stared at Josh for a beat. He stared back. Dan English looked down at his cup of tea.

  “Your parents are concerned about you, Josh,” Sam said.

  Josh sat back in his chair and looked at us. “Did they tell you I served in the Marines and was diagnosed with PTSD when I got back?” he asked. His right leg bounced up and down. He’s nervous, I thought.

  “They did,” Sam replied.

  Josh shook his head. “I know they’re concerned. I feel their concern every day.”

  I shifted on the couch. “I think you took them by surprise today. Your parents said you hadn’t driven a car in a while and you never mentioned you planned to go anywhere today. That scared them.”

  Josh huffed out a deep breath. “They worry a lot, so sometimes it’s easier to just do my thing and not let them know in advance. I did leave them a note,” he said, and I nodded.

  Josh leaned forward in his chair. His eyes flicked back and forth between Sam and me. “After the doctors diagnosed me, I went through a residential treatment program. Lots of therapy, learning about coping mechanisms, medications, and so on.”

  He paused, took a deep drink of tea, and sat back in his chair. Josh still bounced his right leg up and down nervously. After glancing at Dan, he looked back at us. “My folks think I’m a lot more…fragile than I am. If I drove their car at home, they’d be nervous wrecks. So sometimes I drive my sister’s car. Other times I drive one of my buddy’s cars. I go to the shooting range with some friends too so I can blow off steam. A year ago, I couldn’t drive or stand the sound of live gunfire. So I’m improving every day. My parents don’t always see that.”

  “Actually, they both said you were doing much better,” I replied, and he looked surprised. Then he smiled.

  “Well, that’s good to hear. I just wish they’d relax more. So you found me because I talked to that lady at the B&B about Dan?”

  “That was Millie. Yes, she helped us to find you,” I said.

  “Your folks also let us search your room,” Sam said, standing up and crossing the room. He pulled the folded sheet of paper and pocket calendar out of his parka pocket and handed them to Josh. Josh’s face turned red.

  “I know you’re probably a
ngry,” Sam said. “I’m sorry about the intrusion, but again they were very scared.”

  “Yeah, I should have taken these with me. I had other things on my mind when I left to come over here,” Josh replied. Sam returned to the couch and sat down.

  I looked at Dan and then back to Josh. I didn’t want to reveal things Josh wanted to keep to himself. “Frankly, the quotations on the sheet of paper worried us.”

  At first, Josh looked confused. His eyebrows darted up and he opened the paper. Then he nodded. “Oh yeah, I can see where they would have.” He reached over and handed the paper to Dan English.

  Dan set his mug of tea on the lamp table between the two chairs. After taking a pair of glasses out of his flannel shirt pocket and putting them on, he smoothed the paper and read it.

  “Those guys never made it back. They were all my friends,” Josh said quietly.

  Dan English turned to look at Josh over the top of his glasses. “Were you thinking of revenge?”

  Josh took a deep breath and turned toward him. “Two of those men died because other people made bad decisions. So when I first got back home, I was thinking of revenge. It wasn’t something I planned to do myself because I knew I couldn’t. However, I admit that I did think about vengeance a lot. I started out at “Revenge is a dish best served cold” and ended up at “Vengeance is mine sayeth the Lord.” Therapy helped me to let go of the anger and accept that revenge wasn’t up to me.”

  English grunted, nodded, and handed the paper back to Josh. “That’s a valuable realization. Sometimes bad things happen to people we love. As much as we might like to avenge them, it would only lead to more pain for yourself and everyone in your life.” He looked at Josh and Josh nodded. I knew Dan must have been thinking about Cynthia, his late wife.

  “Josh, another thing we noticed is that you marked tomorrow in your calendar as “B-day.” Is it someone’s birthday?”

  “No, it’s not anyone’s birthday. That’s a personal entry I don’t want to discuss,” Josh replied. He folded his arms and glowered at us.

  After a pause, I said, “Your family told us they called your cellphone and texted you, but you didn’t reply.”