Bed & Breakfast Bedlam (A Logan Dickerson Cozy Mystery Book 1)

Bed
& Breakfast Bedlam Copyright © 2015 Shondra C. Longino

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rights reserved.

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the author.

Bed
& Breakfast Bedlam
is a work of fiction.
Any
references or similarities to actual events, organizations, real people -
living, or dead, or to real locales are intended to give the novel a sense of
reality.  All other events and characters portrayed are a product of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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more, visit my website:
www.abbylvandiver.com

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Cover Design by Shondra C. Longino

Prologue

Every day is the first day of the rest of
your life.

Or so the saying goes. But most times, I’d
say ninety-nine percent of the time, your life goes pretty much as you plan it
– or don’t plan it. Mundane everyday sort of stuff. You go to college, you get
married, have kids – or not. On a small scale the daily happenings in a
person’s life are pretty much inconsequential and certainly not leading to
anything monumental. But when viewed through the backdrop of history, sometimes,
some of those insignificant, trivial day-to-day kinds of things have colossal
after-effects.

For instance, the Archduke Ferdinand
deciding to visit injured patients at a local hospital, and Gravilo Princip
just happening to visit a certain café at the same time. Those innocuous
decisions ultimately led to Princip assassinating Ferdinand and the start of World
War I. Or, the small chunk of space debris innocently traveling through space
that found Planet Earth in its path a few million years ago. It, in a
one-in-four-hundred-billion chance, struck in the exact spot where its impact could
cause the extinction of all the dinosaurs (although my mother has a different
theory about that), making us have to spend tens of years and thousands of
dollars to dig them up just to find out what they look like.

Archaeologists, like me, mark time around
such events. Like BCE or AD (before the Common Era, although I prefer BC, and
Anno
Domini
). Or like denoting an age, or period (like Victorian and Jurassic).
Usually though, such history marking events happen over long periods, and are
not classified as distinct times in our history until long after they occur.

But for me, the mammoth event that completely
changed the course of my history, happened over the period of just one week.
And it only took me one day to realize it.

What marked the complete and utter change
in the course of my ordinary life? It was the death of a complete stranger.

Chapter One

Track
Rock Gap

Gainesville,
Georgia

Wednesday
Night, BGD (Before Gemma Died)

My heart was beating out of my chest.

I stood with my back against the outside
wall of a small wooden shed, sweat dripping down my face, and tried to slow
down my racing heart. I knew if I didn’t, the sound of it thumping would give
away my position.

“How am I going to get out of this?” I
muttered

I felt my legs trembling, my palms were
clammy, and my whole body was reeling in a flood of fear. I bent over, resting
my hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath, and prayed. It seemed as if I
could almost hear God saying in response, “That’s what you get, Logan.”

I should have listened to my mother.

My mother had told me not to go poking my
nose (or the rest of me for that matter) into federally protected lands. But
still, at nearly thirty, I had to rail against her advice just to prove I was
capable of managing my life without her interference.

Look where that got me.

I peeked my head around the shed and tried
to focus my eyes through the darkness.

Two U.S. Forest Service officers were
shining their flashlights on the metal heap I had upended. It seemed that I
didn’t have the criminal savvy or cat-like moves that I thought. Clumsy didn’t
even start to describe the maze of mishaps that led me to my current
predicament.

 I slid down the wall, crouching I swiped
the back of my hand across my forehead, and narrowed my eyes searching for a
way out.

Hopefully, there was one.

I was at the Track Rock Gap ruins in Gainesville,
Georgia. I had been here before – on the other side of the locked gate – as an
archaeologist looking for ancient Maya ruins with my mother.

At some point, thousands of years ago, the
Maya population disappeared from Central America. Many archaeologists believed
that they died
en masse
. But being more like my mother than I ever cared
to admit, I had a different theory. While excavating in Belize, my mother and I
discovered clues that lead us to believe that the Maya may have migrated to,
and lived in, Georgia. At Track Rock Gap to be exact.

When we checked it out, word had gotten
around the area that Maya ruins laid up the side of a steep mountainside inside
Track Rock Gap that was comprised of more than a hundred and fifty stone
masonry walls with Mayan-like inscriptions, evidence of agricultural terraces,
and remains of what could have been a sophisticated irrigation system. Just
like what was found in the jungles of Mesoamerica at every Maya site excavated.

But if the Maya had settled in America,
the U.S. government didn’t want anyone to know about it.

When my mother and I first arrived we
found Track Rock Gap locked tight with big “KEEP OUT” signs plastered
everywhere, so we left. My mother’s scientific need to know not even stirred,
mine, however, was screaming for answers. I just had to know why anyone would
keep possible proof of a Maya civilization in Georgia secret. So I decided to
come and check it out – trespassing laws be damned.

Now I was being chased by two federal
officers for my callous disregard of my government’s edicts. And to top it off
I still didn’t have any more information about the Maya-American occupation I
came to out. But, at this moment, I realized that I no longer had any interest
in where they lived, whatsoever.

I’m sure that had to do with the fact that
now my curiosity was going to get me thrown in jail. Or worse, a federal
prison.

My recon skills were nowhere as good as my
excavation ones. I hadn’t been able to get a map of the area, and I came armed
only with a flashlight and my iPhone 6. Neither one turned out to be any help.
Before I was more than a hundred yards into the site, I had knocked over the
shed. A metal one that creaked and clanked as it fell with a loud thud spitting
dirt everywhere. It scared me and I took off running. As it turned out, I ran
in the same direction the guards were emerging from. I did a one eighty and
slid the last few feet behind the shed where I now stood. Thank God they hadn’t
seen me.

I peered around the shed. The two guards
were still examining the metal pile of heap. They were kicking it with the toe
of their shoes.

Maybe they’d think some vermin knocked it
over. Or, maybe they’d think it fell by itself. It hadn’t been very sturdy. I
had barely touched it.

“Is anyone there? Show yourself,” one of
the guards yelled.

Crap.

I turned back around and closed my eyes. I
knew I couldn’t just stand still and let them catch me, I had to make a run for
it.

Plus, I had to pee.

That was going to make running anywhere pretty
difficult.

I opened my eyes and surveyed what was
close and spotted a trailer about thirty yards out. From the light that
emanated from the trailer, I could see that just beyond it was a tangle of
bushes and trees. A place I could escape in darkness and the noises of the
night, and through them, I hoped, was the road out.

But I needed to distract Uncle Sam’s
watchmen.

I closed my eyes and asked for strength.
Even though my mother was a lot closer to God then I was, and I was one to
always go against her, I was hoping He’d give me some slack.

Pulling in a quick breath and holding it,
I threw a rock as hard as I could in the opposite direction of where I needed
to go.

“Did you hear that?” one guard said to the
other.

“What?” the other said.

“Thought I heard something over there.” He
pointed in the direction where I threw the rock. “We’d better check it out.”
They took off in that direction and I took off running in the other.

I landed behind the small camper-like
building. There was a dim light on inside. I peeped through a window and discovered
that the place must be the guard station. There were two desks, some chairs, a
microwave and a coffeemaker. The light I’d seen was from a computer screen.

Yep. This was where they hung out when
vandals, like me, weren’t on the prowl in their protected lands.

I wonder what kind of jail time federal
trespassing carries?
 
I let out a sigh.

Looked like my recognition wasn’t going to
come from brilliant work in the field of Maya archaeology but from my stupid
mistakes off the grid. This was going to ruin my reputation as an
archaeologist. The small one that I had.

 I looked up at the darkened sky and
thanked God there was little moonlight. Darkness was a good cover. I spied the
start of the dense bushes that lined the perimeter only a few yards away, then
took one more look in the direction the guards had gone. After I felt I was
clear, I fell flat on my belly and slithered across the dirt and patches of
grass to the trees. I rolled over on my back once I reached them, I raised up
my hand at the pale moon and said softly, “I will, in no way, shape, or form,
ever break the law again. I absolutely and solemnly swear.”

Now to get out of Track Rock Gap and walk
–
nay
– run the mile and a half down the road to where I had parked my
car.

Chapter Two

Itza,
Georgia

Early
Thursday Morning, BGD

I had settled my bill at the small motel I
had stayed first thing. After nearly getting caught trespassing the night
before, I didn’t want to waste any time beating it out of town. Not that I
thought they knew who I was or that they could find me. Still it made me a
little nervous being so close to the memory of my illegal activities.

I headed out to the parking lot, knapsack
over my shoulder, pulling my luggage behind me, I walked at a brisk pace. I
slowed down as I passed the glass encased office. The door to the small room
was open. Eyes straightforward, I wanted to appear calm – normal. I’d smile and
wave if the clerk looked up at me. That’s when I heard “him.”

“Logan Dickerson,” he said. “You said her
name is Logan Dickerson?”

 I stopped dead in my tracks.

What the hey?

“That’s right. She came in last night.
Covered in dirt,” the woman at the counter was talking. “She looked real
suspicious like.”

My heart stopped. How did that woman see
me come in? That little . . . Toothless . . . Old snoop. She had a big mouth. Telling
this unknown man stuff about me. He could be a stalker. Someone out to kill me.
I tried to peek through the door and get a better look at him.

Who was he anyway?

My heart started beating again – pounding –
in my ears. It was so loud that I couldn’t hear a word they were saying. So I moved
in closer, stilled myself, and tilting my head I listened.

“Last night you say?” he asked.

I couldn’t hear her answer. But she must
have said, “Yes.”

“What does she look like?” he said.

Don’t tell him, big mouth. Don’t. Tell.
Him.

“She’s black, like you. Shoulder length
hair. Light skinned. Not skinny. Not fat.”

Crap.

“And how long has she been here?”

Was there no end to his questions?

“Two nights,” the woman blabbed.

Oh my goodness,
I thought.
She’s gotta be breaking some kind of privacy law telling that man all my
business.

“Did she kill somebody?” Blabbermouth
asked.

“No,” he said and chuckled.

“Then how come the FBI is looking for
her?”

FBI? Oh my God! I’m going to jail.

“Where is she now?” he asked, seemingly
ignoring her question.

“Don’t know. Still in her room I’m
guessing ‘cause that’s her jeep over there. The white one.”

I looked over at my car.

Now I’m going to have to dump it.

“Yes. I know that’s her vehicle,” he said.
“We have it on video. That’s how we found her.”

Video?

“Well, you better hurry up if’n you aim to
catch her.”

“Why is that ma’am?” he asked.

“She paid up her bill right before you
showed up. I think she’s getting ready to make a run for it.”

Oh, she was so right about that.

I couldn’t listen anymore. I had to get
out of there. But I wasn’t sure if I should run for the car – the one they had
on video – or just start running.

I saw a dumpster.

I could jump into it and hide.

I looked down at myself. I had on jeans, a
navy Polo jacket with a white shell underneath and tennis shoes.

Definitely dumpster diving clothes.

I put my knapsack on the ground and took
off my jacket. Using the sleeves, I tied it around my waist. I took the
ponytail holder off my wrist and pulled my long hair back, looping it around. I
needed to be aerodynamically poised to make my get away as fast as possible.

I was just going to run for it. Head to
the car I decided. He didn’t know what I looked like. Just that I was black. He
wouldn’t know it was me until I got into my car.

I stepped off the sidewalk onto the
asphalt of the blacktop parking lot. I was sure I could make it to my car before
he noticed me. I kept my eyes on my Jeep.

Why did I park so far?

I twisted my neck slightly to the left and
from the corner of my eye, I saw FBI guy come out of the office door. He headed
right, toward the room I had just vacated.

I picked up my pace.

Not much farther. I can do this.

I
can
do this.

I turned my neck to the right, looked over
my shoulder, and just then his gaze caught mine.

Crap.

“Logan Dickerson,” he shouted.

I started running.

Maybe he’ll think I’m hard of hearing.

Trying to break into federally guarded
lands had been a bad idea, just as my mother had warned. But who was she to
talk? She had probably broken all kinds of laws and been involved with federal
cover-ups and murders over the past few years.

I looked over my shoulder and there was
FBI guy gaining on me. Yep. My mother was certainly no shining example and, to
be honest, it was probably her fault that I had turned out to have these criminal
proclivities. Bad parenting.

“Hey! Stop!”

I ran toward my car, my luggage hitting
every bump and hole, turning over off its wheels. Fumbling, I pointed the
clicker and unlocked the door. I grabbed the door handle and turned to see that
he’d practically caught up with me.

Crap. Crap. Crap.

Before I could get my door open I felt his
hand on my arm. Even though I knew he had caught up with me it startled me and
I jumped.

“Hey. Didn’t you hear me calling you? he
asked.

I was breathing hard. He didn’t even seem
winded. “No,” I lied. My legs felt like they were going to buckle. I leaned up
against the car.

“You didn’t hear me?” He had an amused
look on his face.

“Well,” I started to stumble over my
words. “I-I did . . . Sort of . . . I guess. I mean. I did.” I swallowed hard.
“But I didn’t know who you were . . .”

Yeah, I’ll go with that . . .

“You frightened me,” I said with some
mustered up bravado.

He reached in his back pocket.

Lord, was he going for handcuffs?

I knew this was it for me.