Bones and Brew

by Alice Holladay

  Hostage

  “Please don’t.” Louise lay in a miserable heap on the rocky trail as Morton knelt next to her, binding her legs.

  “I can’t risk you pulling another stunt like you did with Hyrum and trying to run away.” He tightened the thick nylon towrope around each of her ankles, leaving about a foot of rope in between. “Now give me your hands.”

  Having no choice, Louise pushed herself into a seated position and surrendered her hands.

  Morton pulled the free end of the rope up from her legs. Leaving about a three-foot length from her legs, he wrapped the towrope around her wrists, binding them together.

  She recalled how Tom transported prisoners from the station holding cell to the Tumble City jail. He’d shackle them in metal hand and leg cuffs chained together. Given the time Morton had spent behind bars, she figured he was familiar with prisoner restraint methods and employed his firsthand knowledge to secure her.

  Her shin, already turning colors from where he had hit her with the tree branch, ached worse than any shin injury she remembered. The stiff threads of nylon cord dug into her ankles and wrists, creating raw rope burns.

  “Geez, Miss Louise.” Hunched over and resembling a question mark, Hyrum trudged up to her. “You fight like a she-grizzly.” He straightened a tad and massaged the back of his neck. “I guess that’s part of the reason Dad thought so highly of you.”

  “I’m sorry about your Dad.” Louise dipped her chin toward her chest for a moment before looking at the men. “Your father was a hero. He tried to rescue me, and Preston killed him for it.”

  “Don’t have to worry about Preston anymore.” Morton rose and dusted off the front of his pants.

  “I heard the gunshots and wondered if someone had been killed. I’m sorry you lost two members of your family today.”

  “Death is part of life,” Morton stated without emotion.

  His callous response surprised Louise. She ran her tongue over her parched lips and swallowed a gulp of air. “What do you want with me?”

  Morton wrapped the four-foot length of rope dangling from Louise’s bound wrists around his hand and tugged on it. “Get up.”

  Louise struggled to her feet. “Please, Morton. Why are you treating me like a prisoner.”

  “Not a prisoner. You’re our negotiating tool.”

  “In other words, I’m your hostage.”

  “Semantics.”

  “Semantics?” Louise’s eyebrows raised higher than her voice. “Preston said the same thing when I corrected him for saying your dad had died to rightly stating he had been murdered.”

  “Miss Louise, we don’t mean you any harm.” Hyrum shook his head. “But we still have an MTAF problem. You’re an upstanding citizen with political clout.”

  Morton bobbed his head in agreement “The MTAF is trigger happy. They shoot first and ask questions later. For us to survive, you’re our best shot,” he paused and chuckled, “no pun intended.”

  “You need a good criminal defense attorney. You’re putting way too much stock in my community value and my negotiating abilities.”

  “For your sake, you better pray you’re wrong.” Morton tugged on the rope. “Let’s go.”

  “I’m dehydrated. I need a sip of water.” She eyed her emergency duffle bag they had found and ransacked, using her own towrope to restrain her.

  Daniel, the youngest and most quiet of the brothers, hefted the emergency bag over his shoulder. “Miss Louise, we’ll give you water once we reach the cave.”

  “Cave?”

  “We’re less than half a mile away.” Morton yanked on the rope again.

  For every step he took, the makeshift hobbles forced her to take three short, fast ones.

  “About fifty yards ahead, we’ll have to veer off the trail and head up the mountainside.” He pointed to his right. “Since the terrain is so steep, I’ll have to carry you.”

  “Carry me? No, no, no. Not necessary. Except for arthritis in my knees, I’m in excellent physical condition. Untie my legs then I can climb wherever you want by myself. There’s no need to carry me.”

  “Oh, yes, there is.” Morton glimpsed over his shoulder at her and grinned. “Your legs should be registered lethal weapons.”

  “Come on, Morton. Seriously. You three are virile men, and I’m old enough to be your mother. I’m no threat to you. Besides, if I’m your bargaining chip with the MTAF, it will sound much better if I tell them how well you’re treating me.”

  “If I carry you, search and rescue dogs will lose your scent.”

  “You’ll be well taken care of, Miss Louise,” Hyrum assured, trailing a few steps behind her. “The cave doubles for a fallout shelter. It’s well-stocked with food, water, and all the necessities of life.”

  “If you didn’t know it was there,” Daniel chimed in, “you’d never see it. Don’t worry, Miss Louise. My brothers and I will take good care of you. Heck, we could live comfortably in secret for months.”

  Louise’s stomach dropped. Her mind clambered for options. If the tracking dogs lost her scent, she could be stuck in a cave for months. She had to do something. Fast.

  Just then, an idea, like a message straight from heaven, popped into her head. Without thinking twice, she acted upon it.

  Faking a trip, she let herself fall. On the way down, she raked her bound hands at her chest. The fingers of her right hand engulfed the precious necklace she never removed. Giving the treasured piece of jewelry a forceful yank, she broke the chain.

  As she hit the ground, her bound hands skidded across the forest floor, digging up pine needles, leaves, and dirt which created a shallow trench. Certain the necklace was buried from her captors’ sight, she pulled her hands to her chest and curled into a semi-fetal position. Her knees and elbows burned from the friction of the fall skinning off the first layer of flesh. The grit of dirt watered her eyes and peppered her lips and tongue.

  “Miss Louise!” Hyrum knelt at her side and brushed the hair from her face. “Are you okay?”

  Morton reached down and choked up on the rope dangling from Louise’s wrist. “I guess I carry you from here.” With one mighty jerk of the rope, he hoisted Louise off the ground and hefted her over his shoulder like a bag of livestock feed.

  Her head whiplashed into his thick back. Her chin clopped her jaws together, teeth nipping the side of her tongue. The tang of blood filled her mouth. A headache thundered in her skull. And she had to pee. Prayed she could control her bladder. Then again, maybe urinating on him would serve the bully right and leave a scent for the dogs to follow.

  “Woof-woof.”

  Louise jerked her head up at the distant sound of a dog’s bark. She wiggled in Morton’s grasp as an adrenaline spike invigorated her body. Giddy with hope, she shouted with as much volume as she could muster, “Ben!”

  Chapter Nineteen

  So Close

  Barking like mad, Ben struggled to escape the seat belt safety harness tethering him to the UTV seat.

  “Did you hear that?” Alton eyed Ruben and Milt.

  “Hear what?” Milt scowled. “Shhh, Ben. Settle down.” His attempt to calm the dog only provoked him to bark more and louder.

  “I heard it.” Ruben grinned. “We’re close. Mrs. T called Ben’s name.”

  “When? When did you hear Lou?”

  “Seconds ago.” Ruben tipped his head toward Ben, who continued to bark nonstop. “Without a doubt, he heard her too. That’s why he’s going nuts.”

  Milt nodded, the explanation made perfect sense. “I know we can’t keep up with his four legs, but maybe I should turn him loose and let him lead us to Lou.”

  Alton vigorously wagged his head. “The Barrs are armed. Shots have been fired. We know they killed Dot, so nothing’s stopping them from killing again. And I’m certain they wouldn’t hesitate a millisecond to shoot a dog.”

  Milt’s throat dried. Goosebumps, not from the cold, ravaged his body. “Back up a second. Let me guess how Lou became invol
ved in this mess. Either she and Ben witnessed the murder, or discovered the body.”

  “Bullseye,” Alton answered with a cluck of his tongue and a gesture at Milt with his finger as if it were a gun.

  “Lou wasn’t supposed to be at the cabins—” Ruben cut himself off.

  “How did you know that?” Milt felt his face drain of color as he answered his own question. “You have an informant. Someone’s spying in our little town for you.”

  “It’s not what you think.”

  “You have no idea what I think, but I’m going to tell you.”

  “Woof-woof.” Ben ceased struggling to escape but continued to offer a series of barks in protest.

  Milt narrowed his eyes. “I suspect you saw Lou and Ben at the cabins when they discovered Dot’s dead body. Furthermore, I suspect you two are the reason Lou’s in the clutches of those looney Barrs.” He let out a long sigh. “Tell me I’m wrong. And while you’re at it explain, if the Barrs are as trigger happy as you claim, why they didn’t shoot Ben when they had the chance.”

  “Milt, your suspicions are mostly correct, and we owe you a full explanation,” Alton conceded. “But right now, I think you’ll agree, we need to figure out how we’re going to rescue Lou.”

  Milt frowned. “I expected you’d offer some kind of a non-answer like that because you have no plan, do you? Worse yet, you never had any intention of rescuing Lou, did you?”

  Alton and Ruben gazed at their feet.

  “Well, I know how you two can save face with the MTAF and rescue Lou at the same time.”

  The men jerked their heads up. Intrigue on their faces.

  Milt twisted his body three-quarters to the side. He pointed to a large black case anchored down with bungee cords in the backseat. “Sanders will help.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Invasion

  The trading post windows rattled from the vibration of the string of military-style vehicles, resembling tanks with huge knobby tires, invading their tiny mountain town.

  Stella and Jen stood on the boardwalk. Speechless, they gawked.

  The unmarked armored black vehicles lined up like soldiers in the trailhead parking lot across the street.

  Moments later, a white Action 12 TV News van pulled into an empty parking space in front of the Tumble Lake Trading Post.

  “Uh-oh.” Jen nudged Stella with her elbow and tilted her head at the news crew. “Where there’s one, there’s bound to be more on the way. Looks like we could be in for a long and busy afternoon at the store.”

  “Amen to that,” Stella agreed with several stiff bobs of her head. “Good thing Rachel stocked snacks and cold drinks this morning.”

  “What’s going on?” Preacher Timothy strode across the boardwalk, urgency in his pace and concern on his face as he approached the women.

  “Lou’s missing.” Jen gestured cluelessness with a flick of her hands. “That’s all we know.”

  “Would that be the town’s mayor, Louise Tumble?” A man shoved a Channel 12 News microphone in Jen’s face.

  In his late twenties and dressed in a white button-down shirt tucked into dark blue jeans, she recognized the ambitious reporter as Spencer Dowdle. Jen blinked several times, surprised to see he was much shorter and skinnier in person than he appeared on TV.

  A long-haired man with a shoulder-mounted camera stepped closer, zeroing in on Jen.

  “Yes.” Stella barged in front of Jen and grabbed the microphone handle with both hands. “Our mayor is missing.”

  Spencer jerked his body rearward. He pulled back on the microphone, attempting to rip it from Stella’s hands, but she held on.

  “By the way, my name is Stella Morrow.” She batted her eyelashes and flashed a cheesy grin at the camera. “We don’t know if Louise has had an accident, been kidnapped, or if she’s involved in some sort of illegal operation.”

  “Quit making up stories!” Jen pursed her lips and smacked the back of her hand against Stella’s shoulder. She turned to the reporter. “All we know for sure is, Ben, that’s Lou’s dog, showed up here at the trading post without Lou.”

  “I assume that’s unusual,” the reporter said, having once again gained control of the microphone with Stella out of the picture.

  Jen nodded. “They’re inseparable. That’s why we knew something was wrong when Ben showed up barking and barking. He looked like he had been running for a while. Frothy saliva drooled from his jowls, his foot was bloody, and the poor dog collapsed around a bowl of water.”

  The clean-cut reporter cocked his head. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t Ben find that severed hand a few weeks ago?”

  “I’m Preacher Timothy,” he announced, wedging his gangly body between Jen and Spencer. “Right here,” he pointed to the book-sized cardboard box in his hand, “is Aubrey Witherspoon’s memorial plaque.” He turned his attention from the reporter to the camera. “Chainsaw carving is a hobby and passion of mine.” He thrust his chest out and gestured with his head at the box in his hand. “This plaque will be attached to the carving I made, which I’m donating in remembrance of Aubrey Witherspoon. The dedication will be this Saturday where I’ll have some of my chainsaw art available for purchase.”

  “You realize we’re not live and we greatly edit what actually gets shown on TV, right?” Spencer frowned and shook his head, disgust distorting his boyish features.

  Preacher Timothy’s face illuminated as brilliant red as his wife’s hooker-red lipstick.

  The reporter turned to Jen. “Miss, do you mind stepping over here,” he motioned to the street. “I’d like to talk to you more about the mayor and get the lineup of law enforcement vehicles in the background.”

  Jen raked her fingers through her bangs and fluffed her short sandy-blonde hair. “Uh, okay.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Breaking News

  Holding a lukewarm Coke in his hand, Jason Paxton mingled with the conference attendees. Gathered outside the River Oaks conference room, they waited for the lunch buffet to open.

  “What did you think of Chester’s lecture on using cloud-based audio-visual communications not just for business clients, but individuals?” a short, balding man asked Jason.

  “Technology is amazing, but I’m an old fashioned guy.” Jason smiled at the attendee. “There’s something special about meeting another human face-to-face.”

  “Yeah, but isn’t that the beauty of Skype and FaceTime?”

  “I equate those apps to the difference between watching an NFL game on TV and attending one in person.”

  The man nodded. “Football’s exciting and full of emotion and passion.” He wrinkled his broad nose. “But we’re talking about tax preparation and financial statements. Nothing too exciting there.”

  “Au contraire. We’ll have to agree to disagree on that point. Figuring taxes and working financial statements requires a game plan.” Jason chuckled before adding, “I enjoy the thrill of victory when a client keeps more of his or her hard-earned money rather than forking it over to the IRS. That’s a sweet win—”

  “Jason!” Valerie Simpson, his good friend and one of the conference organizers, rushed down the long hallway toward him as quickly as her high heels and pencil skirt allowed her legs to move.

  “Excuse me,” Jason said and jogged down the hall to meet Valerie. Worried understated the look on her face, which lurched Jason’s heart into overdrive.

  Valerie was a seasoned business professional. Nothing as trivial as a scrambled lunch menu or cancellation of a speaker would unravel her the way whatever news she was about to deliver had.

  “What is it? What’s happened?”

  “There’s breaking news at Tumble Lake.” She latched on to his arm and rapidly guided him toward the foyer where a small crowd stood staring up at the wall-mounted TV. “Lou’s missing.”

  “Missing?” Jason’s stomach dropped, his entire body almost dropping with it. He fought to stay calm and keep his knees from buckling. Holding his breath,
he fixated on the TV.

  The head and shoulders of the pretty blonde noon news anchor filled the screen. “Spencer, have you been able to confirm those military-style vehicles we see behind you belong to the MTAF? Or if, in fact, Mayor Tumble is missing?”

  Spencer shook his head. “Nothing formal from law enforcement.”

  The camera panned a small army of men dressed in black lingering around the black vehicles parked at the trailhead.

  “But a source verified those unmarked vehicles belong to the Militia Threat Assessment Force,” Spencer reported. “And we’ve confirmed Mayor Louise Tumble is missing. Some of the townspeople speculate she might have stumbled upon something she shouldn’t have involving a group of local survivalists.”

  A horrible numbness overcame Jason. The first and only Tumble Lake residents fitting the description of local survivalists that popped into his head were the Barrs. Had Porter kidnapped Louise?

  “That’s all we know right now.” The reporter tipped his head to the side. “We’re staying right here in Tumble Lake to keep you posted with updates on this developing story.”

  “Go. Don’t worry about the conference.” Valerie rubbed her hand in a circular motion between Jason’s shoulder blades. “It’s clear Lou means a lot to you.”

  It is? His face burned from the heat of a blush.

  “You light up when talking about Lou. I haven’t seen you that happy since before Martha became ill.”

  Valerie spoke the truth. Lou filled an emptiness in his heart and brightened his life in ways he had never felt. Not even with Martha.

  “Take whatever time you need.” Her pink lipstick-stained mouth curved upward slightly when she added, “If you can’t make it back for Friday’s closing dinner, Chester Reed would jump at the chance to fill in as the keynote speaker.”

  Jason hugged Valerie and deposited a peck of a kiss on her cheek. “You’re an angel. Thank you. I owe you. I’m gonna grab my things and be on my way.”

  “Be safe and give Lou a hug for me when you see her.”