Murder in Mystic Grove

by S F Bose

  Abbie smiled. “Your parents had the friendliest divorce ever. I saw them at dinner at the B&B once and the four of them were at the same table, laughing and having a good old time.”

  “Yeah, it’s weird sometimes,” I agreed.

  “How are Chloe and Olivia doing?”

  “They’re both good. The Herb Shop is doing well. Olivia is the herbalist and Chloe handles the business end. We all live in the coach house behind the B&B.”

  “And your sisters?” Abbie asked.

  “They’re good. Becky and Adam have the twins and are always busy. Katie is an artist and photographer. She’s normally the fourth roommate in the coach house but she’s been traveling down south with a friend, taking photographs.”

  “Artist and photographer. That’s wonderful! Katie was always creative,” Abbie said. Then she asked, “How’s Brian doing.” My big brother is still bossy as ever, I thought, but didn’t say that.

  “He’s okay,” I said. “Still teaching history at the University. He bought a farmhouse a couple of years ago and is constantly renovating it.”

  “I thought he’d be married with kids by now,” Abbie said and laughed.

  “Brian? Mom would love that but as far as I know he’s not dating anyone,” I replied.

  “Well tell him I said ‘Hey’ the next time you see him,” Abbie said with a smile. Something changed in her voice and her cheeks reddened.

  “I will,” I replied and she headed off to the kitchen. Does Abbie like my brother? I smiled at the thought.

  I slid into a seat at the first round table. A man in overalls sat in a back booth methodically eating pancakes and sausage. Three tables over from me, Mr. Burcott, the grade school principal, was reading his Kindle in one hand and forking eggs into his mouth with the other hand.

  It suddenly occurred to me that Abbie was the collector of all the gossip worth knowing in Mystic Grove. When she came back from the kitchen, I gave her a big smile and she headed over. When she stopped at my table, I said,

  “Hey, Abbie, can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure thing, Liz. What’s up?”

  I lowered my voice. “I saw Sherrie Fletcher the other day. It got me to thinking about Damian. Do you know the story about his divorce from Corrine?”

  Abbie stood up a little straighter and casually looked around us to see who was sitting nearby. Then she slid into the chair next to me and leaned closer. I leaned in too.

  “The story I heard was that Corrine wanted out of the marriage. They have some sort of legal agreement in place that bars them from talking about the details,” Abbie said and looked down. I remembered that look.

  “There’s something else?”

  Abbie looked me in the eyes. We were so close I could smell the Juicy Fruit gum she’d been chewing.

  “Don’t say you heard it from me,” she cautioned.

  “I swear I won’t.”

  Abbie lowered her voice even more. “Word on the street was that Corrine had something big on Damian. Something really bad. So bad that Damian’s father brokered a big settlement for her, contingent on a legal agreement to never talk about whatever she had on Damian.”

  My eyes popped wide in surprise. “Really? Martin Fletcher got involved?”

  “He did. Martin bought her silence,” Abbie said. Then she shook her head. “I can’t help thinking that keeping a secret like that just isn’t healthy.”

  “It must be hard,” I agreed. “You’d have to be on guard all the time.”

  “And worrying about other people somehow finding out your business,” Abbie said. I shot her a quick look, but she was sliding the pepper shaker back and forth.

  “Well, I like them both,” I said.

  “I do too. The divorce was a real shame. Some of the gossip was just horrible, Liz.”

  “Horrible how?”

  “There was constant speculation on the reason for the divorce. Damian was having an affair. Corrine was having an affair. Damian hit Corrine. Damian hit the kids. Damian was a drunk. It went on and on and it was all based on gossip not facts.”

  “I feel sorry for the kids. It had to be hard for them,” I said.

  Abbie nodded. “I’m sure it was. The oldest was just twelve when they divorced. All three turned out great though. Corrine did a wonderful job with them.”

  I looked down at the table and said, in almost a whisper, “I wonder what Corrine really has on Damian?”

  “I don’t know, but it must be a doozy. Corrine evidently got a great settlement and then there was child support, of course. After the divorce, she bought a brand new house for herself and the kids. She drives a beautiful Lexus and she takes the kids on nice vacations. Yet she’s still very down-to-earth, you know? She always stops in here for coffee and pie after she gets her hair done at Trixie’s. If things are slow, I’ll sit and chat with her a little.”

  “Does she work?”

  Abbie thought for a moment. “I think she does some sort of consulting, but I don’t know what kind. I heard she met the guy she’s dating through her work. He’s a lawyer in Madison.”

  “Does Damian ever come in?”

  “Sometimes with the kids. He’s really good with them,” Abbie said. “But Sherrie has never set foot in the place.”

  “What’s he like? I remember Damian as quiet and kind of shy.”

  “He was shy as a kid. I remember that too. But I wouldn’t call him shy now,” Abbie said, shaking her head. “He’s friendly and easy to talk to. A very warm guy. He has a good sense of humor too. I’ve heard him speak at Village Board meetings and he’s very well-spoken.”

  “It sounds like he blossomed,” I said.

  “He did,” Abbie agreed. When the front door chimes rang out, she jumped up to greet another customer.

  “Thanks, Abbie,” I said and she gave me her sunny smile.

  “My pleasure,” she replied, giving my shoulder a quick squeeze, and hurrying off.

  Abbie’s revelations about Damian’s divorce surprised me. Corrine had pursued the divorce after getting the goods on Damian for something bad. I had been leaning more toward a mid-life crisis scenario for Damian that involved divorcing his first wife, and then quickly marrying Sherrie, his trophy wife. Looks like I was wrong.

  Then I thought about Abbie’s comment about secrets. It was a sensitive subject for me. I’ve always had secrets and never really worried about them. Some of my secrets gave me power, in a way. Ever since I was a kid, I’ve had sporadic premonitions. Sometimes I could see in my mind that something specific was going to happen and it did. Other times I just had a strong feeling that something good or bad was about to happen. I never said a word to anyone about my premonitions.

  As an adult, I learned to listen for those alerts, because I knew they were often accurate and gave me an edge. It was my spidey sense and early warning system. It was exactly what put me on alert at the stakeout last week.

  Another secret involved the work I really did at Worldhead Global Security. While my main role in the field was as an interpreter and translator, I had also been a mission team member. I learned physical defense and weaponry skills that allowed me to defend myself and other team members. I also learned to assess situations and threat levels with the best of them. Those secrets and skills would help me as a PI.

  Because of the nondisclosure agreement I’d signed, I couldn’t tell anyone what I really did for a living out east. My family thought I had a safe, desk job in Virginia. In reality, I’d been on high-risk missions in the Middle East and Europe.

  My other secret was Nate Lee, a team leader at Worldhead. Nate had served as a Green Beret in the Special Forces. After a few years out of the service, he declared civilian life was “boring.” So he hired on with Worldhead. He was born and raised in Louisiana and had a voice that could melt butter. At first, we hung out with other team members at group get-togethers. Then we started having lunch together. We talked about everything under the sun. Eventually, we started hanging out together i
n our free time.

  Our friendship grew into love and we moved in together. He was my sweet, Southern boy. We kept our relationship a secret for a while, but it became increasingly difficult. Finally, we told Raven, who congratulated us and then informed us we couldn’t serve on the same mission team anymore. Nate volunteered to move to another team. Our friends and team members were happy for us and threw us a party. We planned to visit our parents at Christmas and surprise them with the news of our relationship. Until then, we kept them in the dark. Looking back on it, I don’t know why we didn’t just share the news earlier.

  Then I suddenly lost Nate. He and other team members were driving in a convoy of three SUVs south of Baghdad. A roadside bomb exploded, killing Nate and two other team members. What angered me the most was that Nate never should have been on that mission. He was still weak from a bout with the flu, but agreed to fill in for another team member who was ill. My spidey sense warned me something bad was going to happen. I tried to persuade Nate to back out of the mission, but he wouldn’t.

  I left Worldhead shortly after his death. I had yet to tell my family about Nate, and wasn’t sure I ever would.

  I saw Abbie exit the kitchen and smiled. She walked toward me, carrying my breakfast order in a heavy paper shopping bag with “Farmhouse Café” on the front. I stood, stretched, and followed her to the cash register.

  “I noticed the Emporium wasn’t open yet. I hope Peter and Martha are sleeping late,” I said, handing her a twenty-dollar bill. “They work so hard.”

  Abbie nodded. “They do. In fact, yesterday they went to Madison for some get together. They won’t be back until later today. I hope they have some fun and relaxation while they’re away.”

  “I hope so too. So Justin is in charge? Or did they decide to close the Emporium all day?”

  Abbie smiled. “Justin is in charge and it’s even money whether he’ll remember to open the Emporium up.” Peter and Martha’s son, Justin was in his forties and not always the most reliable person.

  We both laughed and I headed out. As I passed the Emporium, the “Closed” sign was still in the window. There was no sign of Laurent at the Saucy Shop.

  Chapter 5

  I hurried back across Bridge Road, the cold wind blowing at my back. Sam had parked his Jeep Cherokee Overland next to my Mini Cooper. Lola looked like a toy car next to the big Jeep. I went in the northwest door and hung a right to the stairwell. The Bowman Building didn’t have an elevator, so I counted my daily trips up and down the stairwell as aerobic exercise.

  After climbing the stairs two steps at a time, I went through the second floor access door and hurried down the long corridor. I was chilled to the bone and starving!

  I passed offices on both sides of the hallway, until I got to the third office on the left. Turning the knob, I pushed the office door open. The two-note chime went off. It sounded like an electronic “Ding-Dong” and repeated until I shut the door.

  “It’s me,” I called.

  “Morning,” Sam called back.

  The offices of Nolan Private Investigations screamed testosterone. The creamy white walls and ceiling contrasted with the masculine, amber-toned crown molding, dark oak trim, and warm oak floors. There was a complete lack of wall art, plants, and area rugs. If everything worked out and I stayed, I might suggest some gradual changes to warm the decor.

  Although a receptionist’s desk sat to the left, we didn’t have a receptionist yet. Since we didn’t usually get walk-ins, Sam didn’t think we needed another support employee. When we left the office, calls went to voicemail with an alert sent to our cellphones.

  The small waiting area across from the receptionist’s desk was all leather and dark wood. A brown leather love seat and two brown leather chairs formed a U-shape around a wooden coffee table. A stack of Field and Stream magazines sat on the table.

  I walked through the reception area to Sam’s office. He sat on his padded, big boss chair behind his desk with a curious look on his face. As usual, his gray, Irish tweed flat cap perched on his head.

  “Hungry?” I asked.

  “What is it?” he asked warily.

  “Plain bagel, green tea, and honey for you,” I replied. His dark brown eyes lit up and he gave me a thumbs-up.

  I added, “Real food for me.”

  Sam laughed and made room for the food bag on his desk. I went through the interior door that connected our offices and dropped my parka and bag in my office. He had the food unpacked by the time I got back. I was careful to shut the connecting door as Sam had requested in the past.

  I dragged one of the brown leather guest chairs closer to his desk. I noticed Sam had separate coasters for my orange juice and coffee. He used one for his tea too. First, I opened the cup of orange juice and took a long drink. Then I pried the top off the coffee cup and added cream and sugar. After the first couple of sips, I felt my body warm up again. Sam watched me while he munched on his bagel. He shook his head.

  “What?” I asked. After unwrapping the sandwich, I inhaled the wonderful smell of bacon and smiled. Then I picked up the bacon butty and took a big bite. This time I moaned. Farmhouse Cafe bacon butties were perfect. They stacked crispy, grilled back bacon on thick, buttered, farmhouse bread. Then they drizzled the sandwich with a spicy, fruity brown sauce. It smelled and tasted like heaven.

  “Nothing. I’ve just never seen anyone have such a passionate relationship with food,” Sam replied.

  I finished chewing and took a sip of coffee. “I guarantee if you had bacon butty, you’d moan too.”

  Sam made a face and drank some tea. He adjusted the Irish cap on his black hair, which was already unruly. Today, he wore a gray turtleneck sweater and black pants. Sam tended to dress in tones of black and gray. Then I looked down at my dark plum, crew neck sweater, and black jeans and realized I wasn’t very colorful either.

  As we ate in silence, I glanced at him periodically. Grandma Addie and Nana Anna were right. He really did look like a young John Cusack. Although I still saw traces of my ex-boyfriend, Joey Scanlon, around his eyes and in how Sam carried himself. I wondered what Joey was doing these days?

  I flinched when I suddenly realized Sam was looking right at me.

  “Why are you staring at me?” he asked.

  I stalled by taking a long sip of coffee. My face felt hot.

  “I wasn’t staring at you,” I said, throwing a little belligerence into my voice. “I was just wondering if you were related to John Cusack, the actor. Grandma and Nana Anna think you look like him. I don’t see it myself.”

  “No, no relation, although I’ve heard that before,” he said with a sigh. “We’re both from Chicago. That’s the only connection.”

  “I didn’t think so, but thought I’d ask.” I finished the last of the bacon butty and took a sip of coffee.

  Sam just grunted. He gave me a long look and polished off his bagel. Then he pushed his chair back, stretched out his long legs, and sipped his tea.

  I wiped my mouth with a paper napkin. “I’ve been thinking about the Damian Fletcher case,” I said, sitting back in my chair. I crossed my legs, and cradled my coffee cup in my hands.

  “What about it?”

  “It seems weird,” I said. “Damian bugged Sherrie’s car, but came to us to follow her. Then he gave us her complete schedule for a week. He could have easily followed her himself.”

  “I thought about that too,” said Sam. “The schedule I’ve seen before. Sometimes clients want to be helpful. Installing a tracking transmitter on her car was definitely different. It’s possible he wanted evidence from a neutral party. He can use that as leverage if they decide to divorce.”

  “That does make sense.”

  Sam rolled his chair forward and looked at me. “Okay, so let’s review the case. We know how the stakeout went. What were the pros and cons?” he asked.

  I thought about it. “Well, the pros were that we had the transmitter and schedule to rely on. It made following Sherrie eas
y. We also got photos of her and Finnegan Daley entering and leaving the motel room. We confirmed she’s having an affair, so we were able to give Damian the information he needed. Oh, and you also got information from the desk clerk that Finnegan and Sherrie visited the motel three to four times in a month and always on a Monday or Tuesday. So it’s an ongoing affair.”

  “Very good recall,” said Sam. “I agree. What were the cons?”

  I made a face. “Pulling my gun on the cowboys probably wasn’t the greatest moment. Then Sherrie’s lover turned out to be someone you knew, which complicated things.”

  “Yeah, I’d like to see you rely a little less on your firearm. Using people skills and persuasion to defuse situations would be my first choice,” said Sam. I flashed briefly on my morning adventure at the farm with my handgun and sighed.

  Then I decided to tell the truth. “Look, I know you think I shouldn’t have pulled my weapon. However, what I saw were two angry men bearing down on us from behind. If the one guy hadn’t put his hand in his pocket, I wouldn’t have drawn my gun. And he admitted he had a gun in his pocket.”

  “He did,” Sam agreed. “It’s a judgement call and hindsight is always 20/20. I just wonder what their reaction would have been if you had turned, waved, and approached them in a friendly way.”

  “I see your point, Sam. But I think the risk of letting someone get the drop on you is a lot more dangerous than being aggressive first.”

  “That’s why I’ll always encourage you to follow your gut. I’m just asking you to add people skills to your arsenal.”

  “I’m doomed,” I said with a groan and Sam laughed.

  “No, you’re not. You did three great things at the stakeout. Despite many distractions, you got the photos we needed and they were good photos. You were also alert enough to scan through the motel room. You also had my back when the cowboys showed up. Those were good instincts. You’re no shrinking violet,” Sam said and smiled.