Mind Your Own Beeswax

by Hannah Reed

  For all I knew, he was responsible for Lauren’s short stay in town. She could be staggering around on the shoulder of the interstate with lumps on her head from Johnny’s police baton, and tar and feathers plastered all over her body.

  “What’s going on here?” Johnny Jay wanted to know. I heard the menace in his tone.

  “We’re going out to search for Lauren,” Gus Kerrigan, her uncle, said. “And you know it.”

  “Maybe she snuck out of Moraine the same way she came in,” Johnny Jay said, really warming up the crowd.

  Everybody started talking at once. Some of the comments back and forth got too ugly to repeat. A few of the Kerrigan men looked angry enough to lose self-control and punch the police chief in the face. Especially Terry, Lauren’s younger brother, who was the tallest, bulkiest Kerrigan of the bunch. If he managed to dodge Johnny Jay’s assortment of weapons and got his hands on him, our police chief would end up ground dog meat.

  Some of the Kerrigans, including Robert Kerrigan, another of Lauren’s brothers, must have sensed that Terry was going off the deep end of reason, working himself into big trouble, because they moved between the two, blocking Terry’s path to Johnny Jay.

  Negative vibes bounced through the bar. Several tablefuls of customers scooted out the door.

  “We don’t need your help,” Rita called out to Johnny. “And there’s no law against looking for her. Unless you plan on making one up.”

  At this point, the uninitiated might wonder why the Kerrigans weren’t treating Johnny Jay with more respect given the circumstances, but the truth was the police chief had been taking out his hostile feelings on their family since the tragic night he lost his dad. The Kerrigan clan had paid enough bogus tickets to practically fund the new police and fire station, and when Rita’s dishwasher caught on fire, help didn’t arrive any too fast. The Kerrigan family’s patience with Johnny Jay had run thin long ago.

  “There’s no law against searching for someone,” Johnny admitted, grudgingly. “As long as you don’t trespass while you’re doing it. But she shouldn’t have come back in the first place, stirring up all this trouble.”

  By trouble, I figured he really meant Lauren Kerrigan’s appearance, no matter how brief, had stirred up a whole lot of emotions we’d rather have kept buried under the weight of time and distance. At least, that’s how I felt. But it was too late now.

  “There were gunshots,” I heard from the back of the room and groaned inwardly, recognizing Patti’s voice. “Two of them.”

  So much for reining in Patti. Now she was staring at me, waiting for me to back her up.

  “They came from the direction of The Lost Mile,” I added, ignoring the police chief’s glare when he realized who was speaking up. I glared right back.

  My confirmation of Patti’s statement, which on its own and without collaboration might not have meant quite as much, got everybody’s attention.

  Rita gave a little scream and her knees almost collapsed. “She went back to where it happened!” Rita bellowed, leaning on her brother Gus for support.

  “It didn’t happen there,” Gus said.

  We all knew Johnny Jay’s dad hadn’t been run down anywhere near The Lost Mile. It had happened right on Main Street almost in front of the Lutheran Church, which was now my grocery store. It had ended for Wayne Jay in the street next to the church cemetery, to be more exact.

  “Well, that’s where it started.” Rita meant the excessive drinking that had led up to the disaster.

  Patti spoke up. “Story, Holly, and I walked all of The Lost Mile after we heard the shots, and we didn’t find anybody, dead or alive. Isn’t that right?”

  “That isn’t exactly true about walking the whole thing,” Holly said, disagreeing with Patti over more than text-speak and chicken wings. “We only went partway.”

  “I went ahead of you.”

  “You would have been gone longer if you’d walked the entire way.” Holly didn’t back down. “Besides, it was getting dark. You could have missed somebody if they were . . .”

  Holly bit back the rest of her sentence, but we all filled in the blanks. We might have missed a body if it was dead on the ground off the old logging trail instead of right in the middle of it.

  “What did the shots sound like?” Gus wanted to know, fixing his gaze directly on me, as if I’d know. Despite what I’d told Holly and Patti, I certainly wasn’t a weapons expert just because I happened to be almost dating a cop.

  I gave everybody the palms up and shoulder shrug that meant I was clueless.

  “Did they sound like they came from a rifle?” Gus prompted me.

  When he saw my blank face, then Patti’s, he added more description. “Like a big explosion? Something that would cause you to flinch or cover your ears?”

  Holly pushed through to stand by me. “Sort of,” she said.

  “No way,” Patti said.

  “I don’t know,” I added.

  “Or like popping sounds?” Gus didn’t give up even though all of his witnesses were telling different stories.

  “Distance matters,” Terry piped up and said to Gus. “You and me, we can tell the difference no matter how far away those shots were fired. But these girls aren’t going to know. We’re wasting our time.”

  “They were real kabooms,” Patti said. She made an explosion with her mouth that didn’t sound anything like what we’d heard.

  Rita moaned again. The sound of those shots seemed to be growing faster than the size of the proverbial fish that got away.

  I jumped in to ease Rita’s mind. “I’m sure we heard shotgun shots.”

  Johnny Jay inserted himself into the conversation. “What kind of pistol was it, Rita?”

  Everybody turned to stare at him like they’d forgotten he was still part of the group.

  “She knows guns about as well as these girls,” Gus said. “But I can tell you. It was a short-barreled Sig Sauer.”

  That meant nothing to me but Johnny perked right up. “That’s a powerful little weapon. A lot of kick and a bunch of noise. What was Rita doing with something like that?”

  “I gave it to her,” Terry said, still sounding angry after the police chief’s rotten comments about his sister Lauren. “For protection against creeps who like to take matters into their own hands.” Implying that he might be talking about Johnny.

  “We have to find her,” Rita said.

  “We’ll need volunteers to go into The Lost Mile,” Robert Kerrigan said, which earned him a few dropouts from the search party. “Oh, come on,” he called to those who started for the door. “We’re fanning out in groups. Nothing’s going to happen to you.” But the ones leaving didn’t turn back.

  “What about out on the street where it happened?” Gus said. “We need some of you to comb through the cemetery and others to go house to house on the other side of The Lost Mile to find out who fired those shots Story and her friends heard. Terry and I will cover The Lost Mile.”

  “You’re wasting a good Saturday night,” Johnny Jay said. “She couldn’t handle coming back. It’s as simple as that. Lauren Kerrigan has left town for good.”

  He didn’t say, “Good riddance,” but we all heard it anyway.

  Johnny Jay must have been satisfied to get in the last word because he stalked out after that.

  Seven

  Most of Stu’s customers cleared out soon after, some walking through town to search for Lauren in the vicinity of the tiny white marker pointing out the exact location of Wayne Jay’s death. Others left to drive along the perimeter of The Lost Mile canvassing residents, hoping one of them had fired the shots we heard. Gus and Terry, true to their courageous words, went off to search The Lost Mile.

  Holly, not exactly the search-and-rescue type, felt she’d done her part—whatever that was—and went back to my house to settle in for the night. Patti joined one of the search parties just in case something big happened to give her the exclusive she needed to qualify as a real reporter.
r />   “Aren’t you going along with the masses?” Stu asked me from behind the bar. I looked around to discover I was the only local resident still there. A few tables had customers, but I didn’t recognize them.

  “No,” I said. “There are so many people running around in the dark, they’re going to start banging into each other.”

  “Except Gus and Terry in The Lost Mile. They could use some help.”

  “Count me out. I was in there earlier. Not only is it too dark to see much, thick fog is moving in. Visibility is going to be zero.”

  Behind the bar, Stu dipped drink glasses into soapy water. “But it’s Saturday night. Why are you all by yourself? Shouldn’t you be out with Hunter?”

  “It’s his weekend to work. Every other one,” I explained.

  “Well, I really think you need a strong man right about now.”

  I glanced sharply at Stu because that sounded like some kind of come-on to me, but Stu read my facial expression, laughed casually, and motioned toward the door where I saw Hunter Wallace coming at me.

  My pulse rate sped up a notch or two just looking at the man. He had on his black leather Harley jacket, tight jeans, and a gait filled with pure masculine confidence. He came up to my bar stool and wrapped his arms around me from behind, pulling me close.

  For the first time since the woods, I felt warm and protected, which, as any woman should know, is a completely false sense of security. No one else can fend off all those things that go bump in the night. But just for a few minutes, I believed it could happen in Hunter’s arms.

  “Where’s Ben?” I asked, hearing the eagerness in my question and realizing, not for the first time, how much I’d changed since I started seeing Hunter again. Ben was Hunter’s canine police partner, and until I met him, I’d been afraid of dogs, a fear I hadn’t managed to conquer since a vicious dog attack as a kid. After getting to know Ben, though, I discovered I kind of liked the big Belgian Malinois in spite of his four padded paws and intimidating size.

  “He’s in the truck,” Hunter said, giving me one final squeeze before sitting down next to me. “We’re here to assist with the search.”

  “Officially?”

  Hunter nodded.

  “Johnny Jay’s going to love that,” I said, grinning at the thought. Our police chief was very territorial about the town of Moraine and its business, but sometimes he was forced to work with the county sheriff’s department, which was where Hunter and his canine pal came in.

  “Where’s Gus Kerrigan?” Hunter asked.

  “Out searching.”

  “He was supposed to meet me here.”

  “He and Terry are over at The Lost Mile.”

  “Wish he’d taken the time to let me know that.”

  “He must have forgotten in all the excitement.”

  Hunter looked into my eyes, like he could read my mind. “How are you doing with all this?”

  “Lots of bad memories floating to the surface. Other than that, I’m fine.”

  Hunter nodded in understanding. He’d been right there with us and must have his own unpleasant memories.

  “Fill me in,” he said. “What’s happened so far?”

  That’s what I liked about Hunter. Unlike my ex-husband, he treated me like a thinking human being rather than some kind of toy. I wasn’t just eye candy to Hunter.

  I had just finished telling him about the gunshots, our adventure through the woods, and the scene at the bar with Johnny Jay, when T. J. Schmidt came in. He walked over to the bar and joined us.

  While he ordered a double shot of scotch, I studied him. He looked like his face had been bleached right along with his teeth.

  “This certainly is unpleasant,” he said. “It’s just like Lauren to leave town with her name on everybody’s lips and to return the exact same way. She always was nothing but trouble.”

  That last comment surprised me, since T. J. had been dating Lauren at the time. But then again, because of that he’d been forced to go through more legal hoops than the rest of us, and had even been accused of buying the booze that led to the tragedy. Eventually he’d been cleared of any responsibility, but still, I guess I could understand why he looked upset right now.

  T. J. polished off the scotch in one big gulp and ordered another.

  “Where’s Ali?” I asked him, thinking he needed his wife right now to keep him fit for work tomorrow morning.

  “She left a few hours ago to visit with her sister in Milwaukee. Chris and Ali get together once a month for a girls’ night out.”

  “Lucky her,” I said, really wishing I was someplace else, too. After that, we all went quiet in an awkward silence, not knowing what to say. Lauren hadn’t been around long enough to actually qualify as part of our group. If anything, she had come between us. Once I gave it more thought, I realized she really had been nothing but trouble.

  Then Carrie Ann’s ex, Gunnar Retzlaff, walked into the bar. He and my cousin had also been in the woods that night. “I’m looking for Carrie Ann,” he said. “Has anybody seen her?”

  Nobody had. Which I thought was pretty strange. Carrie Ann usually was in the thick of things. Gunnar looked worried.

  He had a dark complexion and always looked like he needed a shave, which instead of looking sloppy, gave him an attractively disheveled look. He was also one of those guys who really listened to a woman when she spoke, unlike most men, who don’t seem to listen any longer than they have to. Hunter and Gunnar were cut from the same kind of cloth. They actually absorbed and retained what we said. Too bad Gunnar’s relationship with Carrie Ann was so strained.

  “She hasn’t been in the bar since I came in,” I said. “We’re talking about Lauren. You know she’s back? Or rather was back and now is missing?”

  Gunnar nodded. “I heard.”

  “What if Lauren really killed herself?” I said. “Wouldn’t that be terrible?”

  “You are the sorriest bunch I’ve had in here so far tonight,” Stu said, looking us over. “And that’s saying a lot. It can’t be as bad as all that. The search party will find her safe, she’ll settle back in, and everybody will get used to the idea of having her around again.”

  Then I remembered what Holly said about Ali Schmidt being in The Wild Clover when Lauren and Rita came in for the candle-making class.

  “Did Ali recognize Lauren when she came into the store?” I asked T. J.

  He frowned, puzzled. “What are you talking about?”

  “Holly said Ali came because she forgot to buy sugar and was at the register when Lauren arrived. I thought she might have recognized her and mentioned it to you.”

  “She must not have noticed,” T. J. said. “Or believe me, she would have told me. What happened?”

  So I had to explain to everyone about Lauren joining the class at the last minute after walking right past Holly and Ali. And about the cancer and chemo and how I didn’t recognize her because she’d changed so much.

  “She looked ten years older. And way too thin.” I glanced at T. J. “I’m not surprised Ali didn’t know her when she came through. I was in the same room with her for the entire time and didn’t recognize her.”

  Hunter stood up and gave my arm a gentle squeeze, which meant he was taking off. “Ben and I need to get to work. Time is critical.”

  “I’ll help,” T. J. said.

  “I’m going through The Lost Mile,” Hunter warned him.

  “In that case, forget it,” T. J. said, putting up his hands like he was warding off evil.

  Hunter smiled. “Thought you’d change your mind.”

  “Why search there?” T. J. wanted to know.

  “Story heard shots from that direction. It’s as good a place to start as any.”

  “I still want to find Carrie Ann,” Gunnar said. “I’ll try to meet up with you later.”

  “I’ll help,” I said to Hunter, volunteering against my better judgment, partly because I didn’t want him to be alone if he found something awful. And partly be
cause, hey, I had the hots for him. That is to say, whenever I wasn’t considering running in the opposite direction. Call me conflicted. Right now I was in hot mode.

  He nodded. “Good.”

  Just then Hunter’s cell phone rang and he answered it. “I’m at Stu’s. Weren’t we supposed to meet here?” he said, while the rest of us were silent, trying to glean as much from the one-sided conversation as we could. But all he said was, “Right, I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  “Now what?” T. J. asked.

  “Gus, Rita, and the rest of them are waiting to get started on the north end of The Lost Mile. Let’s go, Story.”

  With that, he headed for the door. I scurried along behind. I loved a man on a mission, one who valued my opinion right along with the rest of me.

  “Keep me posted,” T. J. called out, ordering another drink. “I’ll be at the bar for a while.”

  Eight

  When Hunter pulled up on the side of the road on the north end of The Lost Mile, a small group of Lauren’s immediate family was waiting near their vehicles, which were lined up in an uneven row. Flashlights and headlights cast them in eerie, murky light. We jumped out of his sheriff’s SUV. Hunter went around to the back and reappeared with Ben harnessed and leashed at his side, two heavy-duty flashlights in his hand. He handed one to me.

  A Belgian Malinois looks a lot like a German shepherd. Ben had short, deep brown fur with black tips, a black face mask, and black ears. He gave me a curt tail wag in greeting, which I would have completely missed if I hadn’t been studying the big dog’s ways in the last few months as Hunter and I edged closer to an intimate relationship.