Cantina Valley (A Ben Adler Mystery Book 1) (11 page)

“We don’t.
 
We fit in to the future.
 
Time for you to leave, Ben.”
 
This was not a suggestion.

“Roger that.”
 
Ben walked back to his truck and got behind the wheel.

“What did he say?” Maggi asked desperately.

“Hang on.”
 
Ben cranked over the engine and pulled around, turning back toward the way they had entered the Compound.

“Wait,” she said.
 
“I need to see my brother.”

Ben kept driving down the hill until Maggi pulled on his arm.
 
“Tavis is staying here,” he said, “but he’s not here at this time.”

“How do you know?”

“Because the guy told me.”

“And you believe him?”

“I told you I can tell when someone is lying,” Ben said.
 
“This guy is hiding something, but he was telling the truth about your brother.
 
He’s with some friends picking mushrooms in the Siuslaw.
 
They have no cell service, no land line and no internet.”

“Just like you.”

“Right.”

“What is wrong with you people?”
 
She stopped herself.
 
“Wait.
 
Mushrooms?
 
My brother doesn’t like those.
 
He ate a false Morel once and got really sick.”

“People can change, Maggi.
 
But I just heard your stomach growling.
 
You need to eat.
 
I know a little mom and pop place close to here.”

•

Kevin waited until the nosy neighbor had gone down the hill before heading back into the main lodge.
 
Once inside he met up with his partner, a former Marine.

“What was that about?” his partner asked.

“A guy named Ben Adler asking about Guff,” Kevin said.
 
“Guff’s sister was along for the ride.”

“You know this Adler?”

“Knew him.
 
He took over his parents’ place once they died.
 
Retired Air Force.”

“He didn’t look like a pilot.”

“No.
 
I heard he was a security policeman before becoming a special agent with their OSI.”

“Really?
 
Those guys were really helpful to us in the Gulf.
 
Decent interrogators.”

That’s exactly what Kevin remembered as well.
 
“He could be a problem or very helpful.”

“Which way will he go?”

“Hell if I know.
 
He’s off the grid like us.”

“Where’d you tell him Guff went?”

Kevin smiled.
 
“Mushroom picking.”

“That’s the truth.”

“I know.
 
I had a feeling Ben Adler would know a lie after everything he saw over there.
 
When Guff gets back, tell him to call his damn sister.”

11

The two of them ate at the Cozy Inn a half a mile off of U.S. Highway 99, the old main north/south highway from Canada to Mexico.
 
The place was technically outside of Cantina Valley, but not by much.
 
Once Interstate 5 was built, many of the smaller communities on 99 got smaller, and those lucky enough to be right off the interstate grew larger—the consequences of big government central planning.

After eating, Maggi was on her phone looking up something.
 
Ben wasn’t sure she had bought the mushroom picking story.
 
But at least she had seen her brother’s vehicle.
 
That was some consolation to her.

“This is interesting,” Maggi said.

Ben drank down the last of his Ninkasi Total Domination IPA.
 
“What’s that?”

“Tax records for the Compound.
 
They’ve had quite the past.
 
Do you know it’s six hundred and forty acres?”

“A full section?
 
No, I didn’t know that.
 
Who owns it?”

“Good question.
 
It’s held in a trust.
 
It has been since the nineties.
 
You think they might be squatting?”

“I doubt it.
 
Kevin and his sister Robin lived there in high school.
 
Any way to look into the trust?”

“Not easy,” she said.

“Does it matter?
 
We found your brother.”

Maggi shook her head vehemently.
 
“We didn’t see him.
 
Didn’t talk with him.”

“I don’t think he’s being held against his will, Maggi.”

“Maybe not.
 
But he could still be in trouble.”

“I told Kevin to have your brother call you.”

She put her phone away and set her hand onto his.
 
“Thank you for your help.”

“No problem.
 
Are you heading back to Portland?”

“Are you trying to get rid of me, Ben Adler?”

“We found Tavis.
 
What more can we do?
 
He’s a grown ass man.”

From the look on her face, though, this wasn’t over.
 
Something was bothering her.
 
And he had to admit that his stomach wasn’t exactly settled.
 
This had nothing to do with the greasy patty melt and IPA fighting it out in his gut.
 
No.
 
Something wasn’t right at that Compound.

By the time Ben drove back to his house it was late afternoon and they were both extremely tired.
 
He could tell that Maggi was still very distraught, and probably didn’t want to face driving back to Portland, only to end up in her townhome with a couple of cats.
 
So he let her lay down in his guest bedroom, which had been his bedroom throughout his youth.

While she slept, Ben rummaged through his vinyl record collection.
 
There had to be five hundred LPs in alphabetical order on the shelf next to the old stereo.
 
Most had been his parents’ collection, but some were his own from his high school years.
 
The collection included everything from classic rock to classical music.
 
He found a nice recording of Vivaldi’s
Four Seasons
and set it on the turntable.
 
Keeping the volume low, he sat down on the sofa and closed his eyes.
 
His mind reeled in dissonance with the soothing strings of the Italian master.
 
Maybe Maggi was right.
 
Although they had found her brother, they had not actually seen the man.
 
Was this still his problem?
 
Not really.
 
He had done as she asked.
 
Despite his angst, Ben managed to fall asleep.

A knock on the door startled Ben awake.
 
He glanced to the stereo turntable and saw that the first side had finished.
 
Then he turned to the front door and saw a smiling Sonya.
 
He jumped up and hurried to the door, finally remembering he had set up a dinner date with her.

He opened the door and said, “Sorry.
 
I dozed off.”

“You said six, right?” Sonya asked.
 
She was holding two bottles of wine, a white and a red.

“Yes, of course.
 
Come in.”

Sonya stepped in from the wetness, handed the wine bottles to Ben, and immediately took off her running shoes.
 
She wore those tight black yoga pants again, which drove Ben wild.
 
Unlike some who wore those, Sonya actually deserved them, since she did yoga daily, along with her running.
 
She took off her jacket and started to put it on the rack by the front door.

“That’s not your jacket,” Sonya said.
 
Then she looked out the front door and added, “And that’s not your BMW.”

Before Ben could explain, he saw a flash of movement to his side.
 
He turned and saw Maggi coming out of the spare bedroom.

Sonya looked confused.

Ben quickly introduced the two women, explaining each of their relationships.
 
Sonya was tough to describe.
 
He settled on friends, but he was sure that Maggi understood that Ben was understating the situation.

He smiled and said, “What say I open one of these bottles?”

“I’ll do it,” Sonya said, taking the bottles back and walking into the kitchen.

Maggi moved closer to Ben.
 
“I’m sorry.
 
I’ll take off immediately and drive back to Portland.”

“No, you won’t,” Sonya said from the kitchen.
 
“The temperature has dropped.
 
I’m driving an all-wheel-drive Subaru and nearly hit the ditch too many times to count.
 
You won’t make it a half mile with that Beemer.
 
It’s a skating rink out there.”

Ben and Maggi went into the kitchen and Sonya already had the Oregon pinot noir breathing.

“This is a reserve from Springdale,” Sonya said.

“She’s a sommelier,” Ben explained to Maggi.

“That’s great,” Maggi said.
 
“I’m afraid I don’t have a discerning tongue.”

Ben smiled.

“Get your mind out of the gutter,” Sonya said.

He went to the refrigerator and said, “All right.
 
I promised Sonya smoked fish.
 
I have cheese from two creameries on the Oregon Coast, along with a bunch of crackers.
 
Would that work?”

Both of the women agreed.

“Why don’t you find some music while I put this together,” Ben said.

Sonya poured Ben a glass of wine and then scooped up the bottle and two glasses, heading to the living room, followed closely by Maggi.

He pulled everything out of the refrigerator that he needed.
 
As he worked he kept glancing into the living room, watching the two women drink wine and talk.
 
Sonya had simply turned over the Vivaldi album and the soothing sound of strings filled the air.
 
He felt like a complete tool.
 
Somehow he had forgotten that Sonya was supposed to come over for dinner.
 
Maybe finding Tavis McGuffin had consumed him more today than he wanted to admit.

The women laughed and then looked at him in the kitchen.
 
What in the hell was so funny?
 
He took a significant sip of the pinot noir.
 
It was fantastic.
 
That was about the only way he could describe wine.
 
Either he liked it or he didn’t like it.
 
Price didn’t matter.

Finally, he brought a couple of platters out to the living room, setting them on the coffee table in front of the women.
 
Then he went back for napkins and his wine.
 
He sat on the floor across from Sonya and Maggi.

“What was so funny?” Ben asked them.

The women shared a glance, but Sonya responded.
 
“We were discussing your conspiratorial mind.”

Great.
 
“I’ve told you it’s only paranoia if you don’t know as much as I do about our government.”
 
He shifted his eyes from Sonya to Maggi, but he wasn’t sure if either of them were buying it.

“This smoked fish is excellent,” Maggi said.

“Have you tried any of his other meat?” Sonya asked.

Maggi held back a smile and said, “No, what’s it like?”

“His sausage is to die for,” Sonya said.

“All right,” Ben said.
 
“Now you’re just messing with me.”

“What?” Sonya said.
 
“Your sausage is good.
 
He also pickles just about everything, including eggs.
 
His pickles are amazing.
 
We use them at our winery.
 
We trade a lot of wine for his food.
 
Recently, we cooked his geese for our club members.”

“Fowl murder,” Ben said.
 
“Dinner and a mystery.”

“Really,” Maggi said.
 
“That sounds like fun.”

“Yeah, but their murders are too easy to figure out,” Ben said.

Sonya pointed at him.
 
“For you.
 
He’s been banned from participating for life.”

“I told them I would write a mystery for them to use, but they don’t seem to want my help.”

“It’s not up to me,” Sonya said.
 
“I think the owners are concerned it will be too difficult.”

“I could dumb it down,” he said.

“Ha, ha.”
 
Sonya poured more wine for each, finishing the first bottle.