Close to Home: A Bear and Mandy Logan Mystery (Bear & Mandy Logan Book 1)

by L. T. Ryan

  CLOSE TO HOME

  BEAR & MANDY BOOK ONE

  L.T. RYAN

  with

  K.M. ROUGHT

  Copyright © 2021 by L.T. Ryan, Liquid Mind Media, LLC, & K.M. Rought. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced in any format, by any means, electronic or otherwise, without prior consent from the copyright owner and publisher of this book. This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places and events are the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. For information contact:

  contact@ltryan.com

  http://LTRyan.com

  https://www.facebook.com/LTRyanAuthor

  CONTENTS

  Special Audible Deal

  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

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Also by L.T. Ryan

  About the Author

  Click Here to add Audible Narration of Close to Home and keep the story going!

  1

  Katie disappeared two days before our thirteenth birthday.

  It felt like such a significant number back then. Thirteen. We would finally be teenagers. Our parents would have to take us seriously. We were one step closer to adulthood, where we could make our own decisions. Stay up late and eat whatever we wanted for dinner.

  Those are the kinds of things you care about when you’re thirteen.

  And there was no better way to assert our independence than to run away. Neither of us enjoyed living at home. Katie’s father was always working, and her mother was absent, even when she was there physically. We couldn’t describe what was wrong with her back then, but now I know she was an addict. Alcohol. Pills. Daytime talk shows. She could function when friends and family were around, but when it was just her and Katie, she didn’t bother to pretend.

  Her mom kept up the act around me at first. But once she realized I had no one to tell her dirty little secrets to, she dropped the pleasantries, and I faded into the background along with her daughter. When you’re twelve, you’re still a child. Insignificant. As long as we didn’t interrupt her programs, she let us do whatever we wanted. And they had such a big house to explore.

  Or at least it felt that way to me. I lived in a trailer with my father, whichever girlfriend he was seeing at the time, and my two older brothers. Sometimes I got mad at Katie for hating her life because at least her parents loved her. There was no doubt in my mind that my dad hated me. He never missed an opportunity to say it to my face.

  But as angry as I got at Katie for not appreciating the life she had, I knew how she felt. The loneliness. The despair. An incessant need to disconnect your brain just to get through another day. It just eats at you. All we wanted was to leave home. Never look back. Katie looked young, but with some makeup, I could pass off as fifteen. Which was almost sixteen. I could start working, and we could build a life of our own.

  These were the demented dreams of a couple of twelve-year-old girls. It never would’ve worked, but back then, we had a secret that could change everything. The sort of thing that makes you feel powerful. It warps your sense of reality. You’re willing to take all sorts of risks just to see your dreams come true.

  When Katie didn’t show up at school, I thought maybe she had admitted she was sick. She never skipped school if she could help it, but she’d been sluggish and disoriented the last few weeks. I figured maybe she had asked her mom to stay home.

  But when I walked to her house after the final bell, there were two cop cars in her driveway. I could hear crying from the porch. This is how I knew her mother cared. My father wouldn’t have shed a tear.

  I knocked on the door, and a police officer opened it. He looked down at me, wondering for just a second if I were Katie. But we looked too different. Where she was fair, I was sallow. Where she was bright, I was dark. Where she giggled and danced, I turned inward with an anger no child should feel at that age.

  “Can I help you?” His voice was kind but firm, as though impressing upon me that this wasn’t an appropriate time and maybe I should turn around and run home.

  I stood firm. “Where’s Katie?”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Where’s Katie?” I asked again. “Why wasn’t she at school?”

  “Are you one of Katie’s friends?”

  “Yes.” I puffed up my chest. “I’m her best friend.”

  The man gestured for me to come inside. I kicked off my shoes like we were supposed to and glared at the officers who hadn’t bothered to follow the rules. I felt bigger than them. More responsible. More respectful of the mandates put in place by Katie’s father. Almost-thirteen was a hell of a drug.

  I sat down in a chair across from Katie’s mom. There was a half-empty wine glass next to an ashtray with a dying cigarette. I scrunched my nose. My father smoked, and I hated the smell. The way it wrapped its fingers around my lungs and squeezed. The way it choked the life out of you, one breath at a time.

  “Has Katie been feeling okay the last couple of days?” the police officer asked.

  I dragged my focus from the cigarette to look him in the eyes. “No. She’s been sick.”

  “I mean,” he said, “has she been feeling okay mentally?”

  Katie was always happy, even when she was sad. She turned her feelings outward to help people, where I turned them inward to hurt myself. “She’s been fine.” Somehow, it felt like a betrayal to tell this man that Katie wasn’t happy at home. “Normal.”

  “Has she ever talked about running away?”

  It was the last question I expected, and my face showcased my surprise. How did he know about our secret? There was no way Katie would ever tell someone, especially not a police officer. But what other explanation could there be? No one knew but us, and we never wrote our plans down. If she didn’t tell him, how could he have possibly found out?

  The officer knelt in front of me. My father had instilled a fearful respect for the police into me from a young age. This man’s eyes were kind. They say the eyes are the window to the soul. I wanted to trust him. And I desperately wanted to know what had happened to Katie.

  “You’re not in trouble,” he said.

  I hated the way my body flooded with relief.

  The officer continued. “But I need you to tell me whether Katie wanted to run away.”

  My eyes flicked to her mother. She wasn’t paying attention to us. She was too busy
feeling sorry for herself. When I looked back at the cop, he was staring expectantly at me. I swallowed the bile that had risen from my stomach.

  “She wouldn’t have left without me.”

  The officer blew out a breath. I had confirmed what he suspected, and that was all he needed to know. “Where were you going?”

  “Downtown.”

  “Anywhere specific downtown?”

  I shook my head. Those weren’t the kind of details we concerned ourselves with. The city’s center provided opportunity. That’s all we needed to know. But they wouldn’t find Katie there.

  “She wouldn’t have left without me.”

  He wasn’t listening. He and his partner exchanged glances, and I saw everything I needed to know in that moment. They thought Katie had run away, that she had hopped a bus, and gone downtown. It would be a race to get to her before something bad happened.

  I imagined Katie walking the streets of downtown without me, but it was impossible. We were a pair. Inseparable. And she’d been too sick the last few days. She’d stumble down the hallway, and I’d have to hook my arm through hers to keep her moving. She’d fall asleep in the middle of class, and I’d poke her with the end of my pencil to jolt her awake. She’d clutch her stomach and ask to be excused to the bathroom where she could throw up in relative privacy.

  Back then, we didn’t know what it meant. Did she eat something bad? Is this what getting your period feels like? Was it just a bug that needed to work its way through her system? Our secret kept us from telling anyone, for fear they would read our mind and discover what we were planning.

  Even at that moment with the cops there, I hesitated to tell them more. If she strolled through the door, and I had revealed our entire plan to the adults, then we’d never be able to live out our dreams. And it would upset Katie that I took that away from her.

  I jumped off the chair when the door opened, convinced this was Katie returning home. She could tell them it was just a joke, that she got a little lost, but she was home now, and we could go back to our daydreams.

  But it wasn’t Katie.

  It was her father.

  And when his gaze glossed over the officers in his living room, me standing there with wide eyes, and his wife crying, he didn’t look confused or startled or upset. He looked like a man who carried a lifetime of burdens on his shoulders.

  Two days later, when I turned thirteen, they still hadn’t found her. By then, I knew thirteen wasn’t a magical number that would fix all our problems. Being a teenager was worse than being a child. It came with higher expectations and more responsibilities, and still no one wanted to listen to what I had to say. They were convinced she had run away.

  But I knew better.

  She wouldn’t have left without me.

  2

  Bear stepped on the head of the shovel and dug it deeper into the earth. He pushed down on the handle and scooped up a pile of dirt, dumping it to the side. Rinse and repeat. The manual labor felt good, even if he was more used to digging graves than flower beds.

  He was grateful that his legs worked.

  Grateful that every day got easier.

  There were still moments when he found himself lost. Adrift in the sea of his own mind. He’d stumble over a word, or his knee would give out and he’d have to catch himself on whatever piece of furniture was close by. But those days happened less often now. He might not be as strong as he once was, but when it came down to it, there was no doubt in his mind he’d be able to defend himself or Mandy.

  The squeal of brakes made him turn. A bright yellow school bus sat at the end of the driveway. When the doors opened, Mandy bounded down the steps. She looked up, and Bear waved his whole arm over his head like it'd been years since they last saw each other instead of just a few hours. He could feel her eyes roll from where he stood. A smile crept across his face.

  “You’re so lame,” she said once she’d made it to the top of the driveway.

  “Lame?” He pretended to be affronted. “No one’s ever called me lame in my life.”

  “To your face.”

  “That hurts.” He pulled her in for a hug, and she didn’t resist. “How was school?”

  She shrugged when he finally let go of her. “School.”

  “Sounds about right.”

  Mandy pointed to the holes in the garden. “How are the peenies?”

  “Peonies.” He chuckled. “They’re fine. They won’t bloom till spring, though.”

  “Lame.”

  “Just like me.” He leveled her with a look. “Is that your new favorite word?”

  “Perhaps.”

  Bear eyed her sagging backpack. “Got a lot of homework?”

  “Just math and English.” She hung her head. “And history and biology.”

  “Better get to it then. You’re lucky. I was gonna make you help me.”

  Mandy held up her hands. Her fingertips were covered in alternating blue and purple nail polish. “I just did my nails this morning. No way I’m getting them dirty.”

  “Where did you get nail polish?”

  “At the grocery store.” She must’ve seen the scrutiny in his face, because the rest of her words tumbled out of her mouth. “They only cost, like, a dollar.”

  “It’s not the money.” They weren’t exactly hurting for it. “You could’ve asked if you wanted some.”

  “I know.” She said it too fast. “But you would’ve gotten the wrong kind.”

  “There are kinds?” He scratched his beard and remembered too late he was wearing dirty gloves. “I thought there were just colors.”

  Mandy rolled her eyes, bounced as she hitched her bag up on her shoulder, and reached for the front door. “Exactly my point.”

  “Do your homework,” he shouted after her. “You’re cooking dinner.” When she gave a muffled affirmative, he added, “And I’m not lame!”

  Bear stood there for a moment, but didn’t hear a response. He knelt to plant the peonies, his mind wandering to the nail polish. It wasn’t a big deal, and he was glad she’d bought them instead of stealing the items. But what else wasn’t she telling him? Maybe it was nail polish now, but tomorrow it could be something else. Something bigger.

  Sasha’s voice crept into his head as it often did when he panicked about Mandy. Don’t smother her. She’ll just resent you for it later. Easier said than done. Mandy had been to hell and back. He didn’t want to be the reason she returned. Then again, she was fourteen now. She wasn’t helpless. He had made sure of that. He doubted there was a kid in that school who could harm her. But that didn’t mean the idea of her not needing him didn’t hurt.

  When the peonies were planted, Bear brushed himself off, grabbed his shovel, and walked around to the backyard. They’d been there for a month, but he’d hesitated to make their house a home. He’d cut ties from everyone, including Jack. He didn’t delude himself into believing they wouldn’t know how to find him. Clive had his number, and it was only a matter of time before the phone would ring. Bear had been clear about his thoughts on any of them reaching out, but when did he ever get his way?

  He and Mandy had moved to a house just outside of Rochester, New York. It was more than big enough for the two of them. Living life out of hotel rooms meant it felt like a luxury to have a two-bedroom all to himself again. Fixing it up gave him something to do while Mandy was at school. And today’s project was the garden.

  Mandy had wanted him to plant the flowers in a rainbow, so he did. It didn’t matter what it looked like. He just wanted to keep his hands moving. Figured it would help with his recovery from having the brain tumor removed. Plus, the nicer the house appeared, the more his neighbors would think he was just a single dad raising his teenage daughter.

  Perception was everything if they were to survive Mandy’s teenage years.

  The backyard was another project altogether. That would be his domain. He wanted a vegetable garden so they wouldn’t have to go into town as often. Self-sustainment. He’d plan
t garlic and onions and tomatoes and cucumbers. Anything and everything to keep them fed. Plus, he could teach Mandy what the plants looked like in case she ever needed to forage for food.

  There was a strip along the right side of the backyard that butted up against the tree line. It’d be perfect for a vegetable garden. It’d get a good amount of both sun and shade, plus he had already measured the hose, and it’d reach to the very end. Now it was just a matter of digging up the earth and creating a bed for the vegetables to thrive.

  Bear’s muscles screamed in protest as he jammed the shovel into the earth again, but he ignored the pain. Sweat beaded along his forehead as he continued to outline the size and shape of the bed, then dig out the center so he could till the garden and add fertilizer. He’d be able to plant some vegetables in the fall, but the garden would really take shape in the spring. It was strange to think he’d be in the same place until then. How long had it been since he’d had a home address?

  It was unsettling to consider living in the same place for any length of time, but he had gotten the immunity they had promised him. Plus, they had wiped his records clean. And Mandy’s. She deserved to go to school and make friends and live life as a teenager. It was the best he could do for her, given the circumstances.