Missing in Michigan Read online

  I finally lie down on the bed. I’m drifting when a hard pounding comes from my chest. My eyes fly open, and I jump out of bed. My nerve-endings sizzle with electricity, but I can’t find any reason for it. Then I realize what’s tipped off my fight or flight system; the front door isn’t as secure as I’d like. There aren’t many options, so I improvise by pushing a desk in front of it. This might not keep someone out forever, but it should at least give me a few extra seconds to adopt a defensive stance.

  With my fears somewhat allayed, my body melts into the mattress almost instantly. My grasp on the real world is tenuous at best. A tiny shred of my psyche digs its heels in with a desperate last attempt at keeping me awake, but it quickly loses the tug-of-war match.

  Chapter Ten

  My bleary eyes protest, but I push them open anyway. A beeping tone alerts me to the presence of a voicemail. It turns out, I actually have a couple of them, along with a few text messages. My pulse picks up as I scan through them, but this time, it’s not because of fear. Wayne is coming to town for the evening. Based on the initial time stamp, he might be here already. Without hesitation, I call him back, internally humming at the thought of seeing him again.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Wayne? It’s Alex. Um, Alexa Bentley.”

  “I’m glad you returned my call.” His happiness is obvious from his tone, but there’s an undercurrent of urgency, too. “Are you free for dinner?”

  “Yes!” I say, perhaps with a little too much enthusiasm. “When?”

  “How about in fifteen minutes?”

  “Can we make it twenty?”

  “No problem. Meet me at the café on East Munising Avenue?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  Excitement and surprise have carried me this far, but now it hits me – why is Wayne in Munising? It certainly seems like an unplanned, spur of the minute trip. Or else he didn’t think of me until the last minute. I hope it’s the former.

  As promised, I arrive exactly twenty minutes after we hung up. He’s waiting for me outside, despite the howling wind and biting cold that’s still laced with the occasional burst of sleet. Recognition brightens his features, and he opens the door for me.

  The delicious aroma of melting cheese, coffee, and books greets me. It’s not quite what I expected, but we’ve got everything we need. The café’s kitchen offers a nice variety of sandwiches. They also have handmade ice cream for dessert. Score! There’s an attached secondary room with some tables, games, and a small selection of books for sale. Wayne leads me to the most private table in the entire establishment, and we start demolishing our dinner.

  With half a grilled cheese and some chips in my system, I’m finally ready to slow down long enough to find out what’s brought him to town. “So, what brings you to Munising?”

  “This is the part where I’m supposed to say ‘you.’ And that was definitely an added incentive, but I was called down to discuss a police matter.”

  “What?” My eyes shoot open. Could he be involved in what happened to my room? Or even worse, is he somehow connected to the disappearances?

  As if he can read my mind, he lightly touches the top of my hand and sets the record straight. “There was an animal print Chad needed help with, and I’m pretty good at that. I’m a big cliché, right?”

  “Aren’t we all, in one way or another?”

  Appreciation replaces the sheepishness that had marred his gorgeous face. “Yes, I suppose we are,” he says. “Truthfully, though, I usually try to identify prints from a photo or video. But… well, I wanted to see you. And not just because I enjoyed your company so much the other day.”

  A hint of darkness befalls his eyes and mouth. “I believe you’re in trouble, Alex.”

  “Boy, you can say that again! You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had.”

  The darkness grows as I tell my story. “That’s exactly what I was afraid of. I shouldn’t have tried to be so coy when you asked about Isle Royale. You clearly need to know, and someone involved in that wretched place is clearly on to you.”

  “Wretched? Isn’t it one of the most beautiful, unspoiled areas in the Midwest?”

  “It used to be,” he says. Anger seeps from his pores. “Now, it’s not fit for anyone, especially during the off-season. See… well… small towns have a lot of secrets, and the U.P. is full of them. There’s also an extensive mining system beneath Isle Royale, and if my sources are correct, it’s being used for illegal purposes.”

  “Like what?” It’s probably not wise, but I’ve become completely enthralled by Wayne’s story. The storyteller has managed to catch quite a lot of my attention as well.

  His tall frame shifts awkwardly. “I think it’s drug smuggling. Could be some money laundering, too. It makes perfect sense considering how isolated the island is. People can’t legally go there from November 1 through April 15, and it’s not exactly a high priority for the National Park Service during that time.”

  The back of my mind is whirring faster than an overheated computer’s fan. Wayne’s words are stacking on top of each other, but I know there’s more to them than meets the eye. If only I could spread them out to see how they fit into the greater puzzle that is this entire area. I’m certain if I had enough uninterrupted time, I’d be able to solve the mystery they contain. And with any luck, it would help settle the mystery of what happened to Dustin and Mrs. Felton’s son, too.

  “Hey,” Wayne says, interrupting my train of thought. “What’s fun to do here in the evening? Want to go dancing?”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  We end up at the same bar where Chad and I pressed our bodies closely together. Years of social conditioning – plus my mother’s voice – keeps telling me it’s wrong to be out with another guy so soon after spending time with Chad. But why is that? I push back against this programming, making sure to focus on the fact that no one would call a guy out for dancing with two different women several days apart.

  Emboldened, I’m the one who makes the first move this time. Wayne might be just as handsome – or maybe even more so – than Chad, but he doesn’t intimidate me in the same way. Being around him is fun and natural. I’m definitely interested in him, but I could also see him becoming a close platonic friend.

  Our dancing is looser than my last time here. I can’t believe I’m on a dance floor again. Even crazier, I’m having a hoot! That can probably be at least partially attributed to our decision to stick mostly to faster songs. This isn’t the type of dancing that resembles sex with clothes on. It’s much more innocent, but it’s just as intoxicating.

  After several turns of the jukebox, we return to our seats. I’m a bit winded and sweat is trickling down my back. It seems so natural, though, like all is right with the universe. I realize I actually trust this man already. Lord help me, right?

  The clock at the bar strikes midnight. When did it get so late?

  “Oh, wow. It’s really late, and you’ve got, what, a two-hour drive back? I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” he smiles. Unlike Chad, his smile seems natural. It’s not a tool he uses to get the attention of women. It’s just Wayne being Wayne. “It’s sweet of you to be concerned, but I’m not going back tonight. I’m crashing at Chad’s place.”

  Oh no. My forehead explodes with tiny droplets of sweat. I don’t know if U.P. guys are as gossipy together as what I’ve experienced from Sally and Leslie, but if they are, I’m sunk. What will they do when they find out I’ve danced with both of them?

  “Who’s the better dancer, by the way?” His smile has widened into a grin so big it threatens to crack his face.

  “W-what?”

  “Between me and Chad? Who’s the better dancer? Unless you’ve been out dancing with someone else?” He’s only gently teasing me. That much is obvious from his tone. But I was already so worried about it, I’ve become instantly mortified.

  Seeing my panic, he reaches for my hand. “It’s nothing to worry about, Alex. We’re all adults, and we�
�re all just getting to know each other. Besides, you don’t live in the U.P., so we know the score. No matter how much fun we have, it’s going to come to an end eventually.”

  His rationalism and maturity are commendable. It also sours my mood. “So, you wouldn’t care if I danced with every guy in the U.P., then?”

  “Do you want to dance with every guy in the U.P.?”

  He can see I’m getting upset, but he doesn’t RSVP to my invitation to join me in the land of irrationality. At first, this irks me. However, after a few seconds, his steadfast approach calms me way easier than expected. Chad might be a walking billboard for male sexuality, but Wayne exudes a level of peacefulness that’s in rare supply. He’s right, though. Nothing permanent could ever come from any of this. I might as well keep sampling both local flavors.

  With that in mind, I decide to take control of the situation by avoiding any silly goodbye handshakes. Instead, we embrace, and the remnants of my previous reluctance to be involved with anyone starts melting away like a snowman on a sunny day.

  What happened to me in the past is never going to happen again. I’ve gained too much strength and independence to let it. This conviction echoes through my mind as our lips press together with a spark. I taste beer on his breath.

  Unwilling to let myself drop completely into the deep canyon of my repressed feelings, I pull away a couple of heartbeats later. I can tell I’ve managed to surprise him. I can also tell one kiss was enough to make Wayne question his former certainty that we’re all just having fun.

  Chapter Eleven

  Harsh sunlight bounces off the rental car’s windshield. I’m headed to breakfast with Leslie again, and I’m not sure how to handle my suspicions. I don’t believe she had anything to do with the hotel room break-in, but that doesn’t necessarily absolve her of guilt for the frozen car locks incident. She did have a motive – even if it’s shaky, at best – and the opportunity. All it would have taken to put these two things into a ball of trouble was enough maliciousness and the know-how to pull it off.

  We say hello right away, but not much else passes between us until we’ve put our orders in and each had a few sips of coffee. She looks at me with a hint of regret, but is it simply for speaking to me angrily yesterday? Or did she sabotage my car, thereby enabling the culprit to break into my room?

  She breaks the silence first while fidgeting in her seat.

  “Look, I’m sorry I was such a jerk yesterday.” Her tone is far from the most conciliatory one I’ve ever heard, but I don’t think that’s due to a lack of sincerity. I get the distinct impression that giving someone an apology is harder for her than facing a nearly empty bank account at the end of each week. I understand pride, so I decide to make this process a little easier on her.

  “It’s really nothing. Having a ghost in your studio scaring your customers away is tough.”

  She nods and rips open her third sugar packet. As the white crystals mellow her coffee’s bitterness, she speaks up again.

  “Yeah. Thanks. I don’t understand why she can’t leave already, you know? I even wrote you like she suggested…”

  “Wait, what?”

  She doesn’t seem too peeved by my interruption. It appears I’ve thrown her a bit off her mental track, though, and it takes a few seconds for her to get back on course.

  “Before she died, I mean.”

  The tension in my muscles abates some, but there’s still an unwelcome coil of energy inside each of them. “What do you mean?”

  “She’s been looking for Josh since last December. She died less than a month ago. So that was about ten months of trying anything she could think of to find him. Or to find someone else who stood a better chance of bringing him home.”

  Leslie stares at me like the rest of the story should be obvious, but I’m not sure I get it yet. “And… I’m sorry, that led to me how?”

  “She found a column about you in a New Age magazine. It said you were like the dog whisperer of the spirit world. She figured if that was true, maybe you could tap into the ghost network and find him. Or something like that. Anyway, she never relaxed for even a second while on my table. She told me all about her different plans instead, including contacting you.”

  “She didn’t…”

  “I know. She never got the chance. We talked about that the day she, well, you know.”

  I can’t believe it. Some random article I didn’t even know existed is responsible for my being here. I’m also stunned by the deceased woman’s plan to plug me into the spectral network in the hopes of rooting out her son. Does that mean she’d begun to declare him dead in her mind? Or did she truly think unconnected ghosts would possess, and freely offer, enough clues to unravel the mystery?

  I resolve to ask Mrs. Felton all of these questions. First things first, though. I mentally cross Leslie off my list of suspects. With that task completed, I dig into the most flavorful waffles of my life. The secret is a whisper of cinnamon that dances on my taste buds. I’ve been to many towns, both big and small, but nowhere else has impressed me quite as much with its selection of breakfast food.

  I promise Leslie I’ll talk to Mrs. Felton today, but first, I ask for two coffees to go and make the short drive to the police station. The piping hot paper cups keep my hands from freezing in the blustery wind as it practically picks me up and pushes me through the entrance. I notice my palms are sweating as I walk up the stairs, but I don’t think it’s because of the coffee.

  Will Chad be mad at me about last night? Will Wayne be here? Did Wayne tell Chad about our kiss? And how in the world did I get myself pulled into a love triangle?

  “Why, hello.” I almost drop the coffees. Chad’s voice comes from behind me, and I’m so preoccupied with my anxiety I had no idea he was there. He walks around me and into view. His face is scruffier than usual. This isn’t my preferred aesthetic, but on him, it looks surprisingly good.

  “Did you bring me coffee again?” A gleam enters his eyes. Flustered, I hand him a coffee instead of replying verbally. “Thank you, pretty lady. Who’s the other one for? Hoping to run into Wayne, too?”

  He winks as the familiar crimson response steals over my face. “Don’t be silly! I thought we could enjoy a nice cup of coffee together.” His expression makes it clear I chose my words wisely. I congratulate myself on such a nice save.

  “Come on in, then.” He motions toward his office, flashes me his dazzling grin, and turns around without waiting to see if I’m going to follow. I do, of course, and we fall into our routine of chatting about mostly nothing, while he somehow infuses as much flirtatiousness into his words as possible.

  A short time later, I announce my intention to leave. He crosses over to my side, gives me a hug, and whispers “it was nice to see you” in my ear. I reply in kind as I pull away, and I see disappointment flit through his eyes. Did he think he’d get a kiss just because Wayne did? Is he actually into me or is this just some type of macho thing? I don’t know, but it cinches my decision not to kiss him this morning.

  Frustrated by the end of our encounter, I wander into the downstairs bathroom without remembering what happened last time. Fortunately, the ghost of a man who can only be described as rough around the edges declares his presence before I get into a compromising position.

  “Still messing around with the sheriff, then? You ain’t got any sense, have ya?”

  I ignore the insult. This is the perfect opportunity to test Mrs. Felton’s theory.

  “Say, do you know anything about the missing Felton boy? He’s a teenager who vanished last December?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I’d be very much obliged if you told me what you know.”

  A cruel smile twists his already hardened features. “And I’d be much obliged if you sucked my…”

  If he had corporeal form, I’d slap him across the face. Since I don’t have this option, I try something new. All the anger and hurt feelings from the past twenty-four hours are rolled up into a big ball
of ugliness in my stomach. I mentally throw it in his pockmarked face.

  The emotions connect with their intended target. Most ghosts simply vanish when they no longer want to be seen. He appears to shatter into thousands of pieces, but it doesn’t last. Even worse, he’s become more distinct, and he’s wearing the most pissed off look I’ve ever seen.

  Before he can launch a full-scale attack, I jump to the bathroom door and throw myself free of his current home. The lobby floor ripples beneath my feet as I scramble for the building’s exit. The difference between making it out and ending up in a world of pain comes down to a fraction of a second. Luck is apparently on my side for once.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  “Mrs. Felton, I hate to sound insensitive, but what’s your plan if I can’t find your son?”

  Her sigh breaks my heart. “I know I can’t stay here forever, dear. If you give it all you’ve got and nothing comes of it, I’ll have to accept that it’s my fate not to know. But how can that be true?”

  “I don’t know,” I say, more to the ground than to Mrs. Felton. Her sorrow brings up feelings of inadequacy. I’ve been able to help more ghosts than not, but most of them merely needed someone to listen to their story. I’m completely out of my league here. But I can’t give up and walk away from everything. At least not yet.

  “I’ll keep looking.” My mind has been puzzling over every piece of information I’ve collected, and a couple of things have just snapped into place. With renewed vigor, I say, “I think I know the best place to check next.”

  Chapter Twelve

  The public library is even smaller than the one my underfunded high school had. Still, it has a collection of old newspapers and computer access, along with a charming relic: microfiche.

  I tap on the keys of the lone computer. My first search brings up one news article about Josh Felton’s disappearance.

  I decide to try a different track. It takes a little while, but my budding sleuthing skills bring me to a piece about Chad’s deceased wife. It’s dated three years ago tomorrow.