Murder in Mystic Grove Read online

  MURDER IN MYSTIC GROVE

  A Liz Bean Mystery

  S.F. Bose

  Table of Contents

  Books in the Liz Bean Mystery Series

  Sign Up for Updates

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Epigraph

  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

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  A Message from S.F. Bose

  About S.F. Bose

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  Books in the Liz Bean Mystery Series

  by S.F. Bose

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  Copyright

  MURDER IN MYSTIC GROVE

  A Liz Bean Mystery

  Copyright @2018 by S.F. Bose

  First Edition | April 2018

  http://www.sfbose.com

  Cover art by San Coils at Coverkicks (https://www.coverkicks.com/ )

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner. The exception is the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. This includes references to the 6th Wisconsin infantry. Other names, characters, places, organizations, businesses, incidents and events portrayed in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN-13: 978-1986671378

  Printed in the United States of America

  Dedication

  For Jean and Peter Bose, my parents.

  You taught me to work hard and never give up. I love and miss you.

  For Rose Miksovsky, my oldest friend

  Who traded Trixie Belden and Nancy Drew books with me when we were kids and shared my love of mysteries.

  Acknowledgements

  I am incredibly thankful. All my life I wanted to be a storyteller and write mysteries. However, I put that dream on a back burner for many years. I worked in technology to earn a living, but the dream of being a published mystery writer was always in my heart. Years later, I joined a couple of online writers’ groups. Talking to other writers relit my determination to write my own book. It was definitely a roller coaster but after a year of writing and rewriting, I finished the book! I’m here to tell you I had a lot of inspiration, help, and encouragement!

  Now that I’ve completed Murder in Mystic Grove, my first mystery, I want to thank some of the people who helped and inspired me.

  Heartfelt thanks to:

  Terry and Charles Colquitt, my aunt and uncle, for their love and support

  Carmin Perry, my uncle, who never stops smiling

  All of my cousins in the Bosi and Kowalik families. A special shout out to Jean Goodell and Judy Sirokman.

  Anna ‘Nana’ Doyle, my third grandmother, who taught me about love, faith, and fun

  Chris Blidy, Patty Cox, Rekha Malaviya, Marcy Ferdinand Ruesch, and Christy Smidt for keeping me going through the peaks and valleys of writing this book

  Sister Ann Kelly O.P., a friend and constant inspiration to be a better person

  All of my family and friends who inspire me

  All of the Sinsinawan Dominican sisters who taught me how to write at Visitation grade school and high school

  Lucien Stryk who taught me to love words and writing

  Epigraph

  "Nothing makes us so lonely as our secrets"

  ~ Paul Tournier

  Chapter 1

  It was the first Monday of the New Year and I was running late. After only one month of working as a private investigator intern for Nolan Private Investigations, I was still trying to make a good impression with my boss, Sam Nolan, by being in the office by 8:00 a.m. sharp. Today, Sam and I were going to meet at 9:00 a.m. to do a case review of a stakeout we conducted last week. I also wanted to stop at the Farmhouse Cafe before work, so it was going to be close.

  I closed the front door of the coach house, trying to be quiet because Chloe and Olivia Sexton, my cousins and housemates, were still asleep inside.

  As I turned from the door, I heard a sharp report that echoed in the cold air, followed quickly by another sound I couldn’t identify. Despite wearing a fake fur-lined trapper hat that covered my head and ears, the sounds were loud. I froze in place, listening for more sounds. My spidey sense wasn’t alerting me to imminent danger, which was good.

  As usual, I wore all-weather shooting gloves. Sliding my right hand into the pocket of my parka, I closed my fingers around the grip of my Kahr CM9 pistol, but didn’t pull it out. I also carried a concealed Glock 19 in a holster on my right hip, but the Kahr was easier to reach quickly. I slowed my breathing and listened carefully.

  It was a frigid morning with occasional wind gusts and no snow on the ground. Sound traveled in the country. It traveled even farther in cold weather. I knew it was probably some critter that snapped a branch in the nearby forest. But the follow-up sound bothered me more. I unsnapped my trapper hat and pushed the earflaps away from my head, so I could hear more clearly. I also dropped my messenger bag by the door.

  Walking down the path, I stopped where it curved righ
t, toward the coach house garage. Straight ahead, the path continued and forked into two branches. To the left, it cut past the barren flower garden and orchard, disappearing into the northeast forest. On the right, the path looped around the dormant veggie garden and then straight toward the farmhouse.

  Scanning the family farm from left to right, I looked for movement in the distant forest, closer-in orchard, and gardens for movement in the morning shadows. Nothing. I studied the three story Victorian farmhouse that housed the Bean Family Bed and Breakfast. It rose in the distance directly in front of me. There were so many shadows to hide in there, but I didn't see any movement there either.

  The farm buildings stood to the right, across the driveway. I studied the wood shed, huge gambrel roof red barn, wood rack, workshop, and equipment shed. Nothing moved or looked out of place. I walked down the path to the right, toward the gravel parking area and coach house garage.

  At the end of the house, I looked right and saw the aspen, cottonwood, and white spruce trees in the distance that formed a windbreak. Someone could be lurking in those woods, hidden by the morning shadows. I strained to hear any more noises, but all I heard was the gusting wind. Walking past the gravel lot and coach house garage, I stopped at the edge of the driveway. The big family garage was to the northwest, across the driveway. Dad, Addie, Nana Anna, and Grace all parked their cars there. After staring at it for a minute looking for anything out of place, I gave up.

  I was about to open the door to the smaller coach house garage when I heard another sharp noise. Pulling the Kahr from my pocket, I crouched and swung the gun to the left using a two-handed grip. Then Max and Bella, Aunt Grace's Golden Retrievers, burst out between the workshop and equipment shed, and bolted down the driveway. They were in a full run, racing away from me, and both had small tree branches clamped between their jaws. They must have made the sounds I heard. I saw the dogs run back to the B&B where I knew Grace would let them in.

  Still, I waited for a count of ten to see if anyone came through the same gap, chasing them. When no one did, I took a deep, cold breath and exhaled.

  “You’re an idiot, Liz,” I muttered and came out of the crouch. I used to be a normal person, but thought my previous job had seriously ruined me.

  Four months ago, I left Virginia-based Worldhead Global Security International, where I served in the Covert Services Group. I had been the lead interpreter and translator on various operations in the Middle East and Europe. My team conducted surveillance, gathered intelligence, interviewed foreign informants, and assisted in hostage negotiations and retrievals. Because of their expertise, the government often hired Worldhead to assist in a wide variety of confidential missions worldwide.

  After four years at Worldhead, I learned to assess people and situations quickly. If necessary, I could then neutralize any critical threats. Those skills had saved my life more than once. However, since leaving Worldhead, I’d found it difficult to adjust to normal life. Too often, I overreacted and reached for my gun without fully assessing the risk. I knew I was skating on thin ice.

  I looked down at the Kahr CM9 in my hand. It had belonged to Nate Lee, a co-worker at Worldhead, and my late boyfriend. I took it with me when I returned to Mystic Grove. When I felt tears welling up, I swore and angrily wiped my eyes with my sleeve. I never used to cry. Not ever. Now it happened too frequently. Get a grip, Liz. You can’t fall apart now. I slid the Kahr back into my pocket holster. Feeling the cold, I snapped the ends of the trapper hat together for a snug fit.

  I jogged back to the coach house to retrieve my messenger bag. Then I hurried to the coach house garage. Lulu, my red Mini Cooper S, sat between Olivia's pick-up truck and Chloe's Mustang.

  After unlocking the car and pulling the door open, I tossed the messenger bag on the passenger seat. Then I slid into the driver's seat and pulled the door shut. "Good morning, Lulu," I said to the car.

  Suddenly, I was shivering and my teeth chattered. Was it the cold or my nerves? I was definitely dressed for cold weather survival. The lined trapper hat kept my head and ears warm. Then I wore a down storm parka, a fleece top, merino wool top, flannel-lined winter pants, cold weather shooting gloves, and winter boots. I was still cold and shivering! Nerves, I thought grimly.

  With my foot on the brake, I hit the starter toggle and Lulu fired right up. I let the engine run for a bit and turned on the heater, defroster, and lights. I slowly pulled out of the garage and stopped to hit the remote button again.

  I waited to make sure the garage door closed all the way. Then, I eased Lulu down the driveway, passing the barn, and farm buildings on the right and the large B&B on the left. Dad, Aunt Grace, Grandma Addie, Great-aunt Anna, aka Nana Anna, all helped with the B&B, but Grace really ran the show. I saw the lights on in the kitchen as I passed and knew that Grace was already up and working.

  I continued down the long driveway to Farm Road, resisting the urge to gun the engine. Soon, Lulu filled with heat and I was roaring toward Mystic Grove.

  Chapter 2

  Each morning, when I drove to work at Nolan Private Investigations, I felt thankful. After returning to Mystic Grove from Virginia, I wasn’t sure what I’d do for work. Technically, I was on an unpaid leave of absence from Worldhead Global Security, but in my heart, I knew I didn’t want to go back east again. When I searched online for jobs in the area, it was slim pickings. Every job I found looked tedious and humdrum. I wondered if I’d ever find challenging work again. When my anxiety spiked, I’d either run five miles or hit the heavy bag I’d hung in the coach house. Then Sam Nolan entered the picture.

  Sam was a semi-regular for dinner at the Bed & Breakfast, where Grace served meals to both B&B guests and local residents. Grandma Addie Bean and her sister, Anna Doyle aka Nana Anna, loved Sam. They were like two, redheaded fan girls in their seventies. They loved his boyish face, pale skin, thick black hair, nut-brown eyes, and straight-edged nose. They even admired the gray tweed, Irish flat cap he wore and the fact he was 6’2” tall. Grandma and Nana Anna thought he looked like a young John Cusack and even had the actor’s Cupid’s bow lips. While I could see the resemblance, Sam reminded me more of Joey Scanlon, one of my failed college relationships. Consequently, I avoided him.

  I didn’t talk to Sam until the week of Thanksgiving, when he helped us with a situation we needed to keep hush hush at the B&B. That was when I learned he was a private investigator and ran Nolan Private Investigations in Mystic Grove. After the situation was resolved, Sam and I sat in the almost empty B&B dining room talking.

  He asked good questions, was easy to talk to, and was an attentive listener. Sam also didn’t comment on my hair or give me sideways looks, which I appreciated.

  One of the first things I did when I returned to Mystic Grove was to book an appointment at Trixie’s beauty parlor. After a lengthy consultation, Trixie chopped off my longer, reddish brown hair, gave me a short pixie haircut, and dyed it silver-white. I loved it. Almost everyone else found it disturbing. Sam simply ignored my hair.

  When he realized I was unemployed, he asked me questions about my work at Worldhead Global Security. It was a tricky situation because my work at Worldhead was confidential and controlled by a strict non-disclosure agreement. My standard cover story was that as an interpreter and translator, I traveled a lot to international conferences, business meetings, and corporate functions. I said it was a popular service that Worldhead offered to clients. Sam listened closely and nodded. I smiled. He bought it.

  Then he asked if I had ever been convicted of a felony, Surprised, I shot back “No!” When he questioned whether I could shoot a gun, I thought before I answered. I had qualified in a wide variety of military grade weapons at Worldhead, but couldn’t tell him that.

  “I grew up on a farm and have been shooting forever. I’m probably a better shot than you are,” I replied. He laughed. He also seemed happy I had a concealed carry permit that had transferred from Virginia.

  Then Sam really surprised me. He ask
ed if I’d be interested in a position as a Private Investigator intern. He said I’d learn everything about being a PI. If it worked out and I liked it, he’d sponsor me for a permanent position. Then I could apply for my PI license, take the state exam, and if I passed, he’d hire me as a full-time PI. I pressed him on whether Grandma Addie had talked him into offering me a job and he emphatically said “No!”

  Liz Bean, Private Investigator had a nice ring to it. It certainly didn’t sound like boring or mundane work. I asked more questions about the responsibilities, growth opportunities, hours, and a dozen other things. During a lull, he officially offered me the position.

  ‘Sam, this is a pretty unorthodox way to hire an employee,” I said and laughed.

  Sam didn’t laugh or smile. He frowned, pursed his lips, and said, “Sometimes you have to go with your gut. I think it would be a good fit for you,” he said, studying me. “And I need the help.”

  I thought it would be a good fit too. It was the most interesting job I’d heard of since I returned home. After I confirmed I’d be getting paid actual money as an intern, I accepted. We fist bumped to seal the deal. Who wouldn’t get excited about a job that let you solve mysteries, and carry a gun? The next day I sent him my resume and references. I started work as a PI intern a week later.

  While I was sure that Worldhead Global Security would give me a good reference as an interpreter and translator and wouldn’t reveal the real nature of my work there, I did worry. My departure had been abrupt, filled with direct and colorful language. I had forcefully told Raven, my boss, that I quit. He calmly tried to get me to reconsider. When I refused, he revealed that my contract required an unpaid leave of absence and I couldn’t just quit. Something about a “cooling off period.”

  Without another word, I had stormed out of his office. That same week, I left the state of Virginia with my two cats and drove cross-country to my home in Mystic Grove. Now I was unsure of how Raven would react when he heard I was applying for another job.