The Message: The Mattie Mitchell Mystery Series, #3

By Mary A. Berger

The Internet can be a dangerous place. Mattie Mitchell and her pal, Clare Tibbits, two spunky mid-lifers, discover a mysterious message on a laptop. In The Message, a slick operator on an online dating site talks lonely widows into parting with their money for noble purposes—his. Mattie boldly makes contact with the predator, but how is she going to get him onto her turf? When he agrees to her terms, she fears she might be in over her head. Ultimately, fate works in her favor and Mattie shows what she's truly made of.

But there are a few surprises along the way: Mattie's perfect plan backfires, and she discovers new friend, Angela, isn't quite the person she appears to be. 

The Message is set against the backdrop of the western North Caroina mountains. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Escarpment Press
• Release date: Apr 24, 2016
• ISBN: 9781533708274

Book preview

Chapter 1

"Clare, put that back. You don’t need a thermos bottle and you know it."

But it might come in handy for some of my special four o’clock brew.

Mattie Mitchell and her pal Clare Tibbitts were rummaging through donations at Hastings House, a thrift shop where they volunteered. The women never knew what items might show up. Donations ranged from a size petite woman’s dress form to old clocks that hadn’t run since 1810. Once they even came across a set of dentures.

Nothing in today’s articles seemed out of the ordinary, until they noticed a laptop computer someone had dropped off. Unusual, Mattie thought. She knew most people ditched their computers at a recycling center or took them back to the shop for repair.

She considered taking a closer look. Except for shooting out e-mail messages with proficiency, she and Clare remained clueless about computers. However, Mattie’s curiosity got the best of her. To her surprise, when she plugged in the computer and lifted the lid, it actually came to life. After randomly tapping a couple of keys, the screen appeared clear.

Then she saw it. 

Hmm, what’s this? 

What is it, Matts? What’d you find?

I’m not sure but it seems odd. Something about getting in touch with someone right away. Could’ve been an e-mail.

Good thing you’re not nosy. Clare peered over her pal’s shoulder. Let’s have a look. Maybe I can help.

Now who’s being nosy? Well, go ahead, Einstein. I mean, you know as much about computers as—

As you do?

The message appeared again but was gone in an instant. Clare could only catch a quick glance at the screen. She made a face that lit up like a child getting an ice cream cone. There was definitely something there, she said. Probably a love letter for me.

Yeah, right. From one of your stud boyfriends.

Jealous? Clare said with a mocking sniff before turning back to the laptop. It’s probably only gibberish anyway. But this is what I like about you, Mrs. Mitchell. Can’t let anything slide by, can you?

Not if it’s for a good cause.

Everyone who knew Mattie knew she’d go to almost any length to do the right thing for the right reason—at times even risking her life. But she lived by her wits, somewhat like the proverbial cat with the nine lives. In fact, one day when Mattie was in her thirties and worked at a bank, she heard shouting in the lobby. It was near closing time. A man stood with a gun aimed at a teller.

The money! he demanded. "Gimme the money—now!" She was witnessing a robbery! Without thinking, she hoisted a fire extinguisher from the wall in her office, ran up behind the would-be robber, and doused him with foam. A teller called the police, and a late customer jumped the man and held him until the officers arrived. Mattie realized her actions were questionable. Brave, yes; smart, not so much.

Her later employment took her to a landscaping company where she spent years as a gardening consultant. She loved the work, and there’d been no reason for using a fire extinguisher.

Staring at the laptop, Mattie said, You’d think people would clear out a computer before ditching it. She glanced over at the woman who was in charge that day. Betty, know anything about this computer?

Oh, some woman dropped it off. Said it was broken and she didn’t want anything more to do with it. With a frown, Betty added, Kind of an odd acting woman too. She nodded toward the discard area. The owners told me to get rid of it. No one here wants to work on it. Besides, broken computers aren’t on anyone’s wish list. She returned to some filing.

My nephew’s a computer whiz, Mattie said. Why don’t I take this puppy home and see if he can bring it back to life?

Betty shrugged. Sure. Go ahead.

Mattie’s thought was if her nephew could repair the computer, she’d bring it back so the thrift shop could make some money. That way the whole thing would be a great surprise. She gave herself a mental pat on the back. Genius. Pure genius. In reality, she couldn’t see tossing away a computer.

By this time, Mattie was hooked . . . an odd acting woman and a computer with a mysterious message . . . the perfect combination for giving her goose bumps and stirring her curiosity like wild fire.

I’d be willing to bet Scotty can get this computer working, she told Clare, driving home in her little red Ford Fusion.

If anyone can make a computer sing, it’s your nephew.

Mattie and her adoring husband, Jed, lived in a gorgeous, sprawling home located in the rolling development of Ridge View just south of Hendersonville in the mountains of western North Carolina. They had moved into the home a short time after they were married. With its winding oak staircase leading to the loft, its huge picture window overlooking the distant Blue Ridge Mountains, and its sunny breakfast nook and sunroom, the home felt warm and inviting.

Clare previously had the misfortune of living in a dreadful housing center nearby. She had often referred to the place as The Den of Despair. After the two gals met and became the closest of friends, Mattie and Jed agreed to refurbish their little-used guest wing into an apartment that would become Clare’s home.

And all I have to do in return is pick up after myself and help you clean the house? Clare had blurted on hearing the news that the Mitchells wanted her to come live with them. Permanently. Sign me up! she’d squealed through happy tears. It was often necessary for Jed to be away on his legal consulting work for weeks at a time, so he felt having Clare around to keep Mattie company was a great setup. To no one’s surprise, the arrangement also provided Mattie with a perfect partner in crime.

Driving home, Mattie passed through the sleepy burg of Mountain Home, known for its rural atmosphere with cattle farms and country roads. Along the way, they passed a small diner that served some of the best pie the women had ever tasted.

If they were open, I’d stop for some of their mountain peach pie, Mattie said, glancing at the eatery.

We can come back, tomorrow, Clare was quick to add. 

The town of Hendersonville, conveniently located between Asheville, North Carolina, home of the famous Biltmore Estate, and Greenville, South Carolina, sat nestled in the quiet western North Carolina mountains. Known as the southern City of Four Seasons, the town was a short drive from the Blue Ridge Parkway and the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. As part of its appeal, Hendersonville offered travelers along the I-40 and I-26 corridors an attractive spot for sightseeing, as well as a summertime escape from the Florida heat.

Home at last, Mattie swung her little red Ford Fusion into the garage and shut off the engine. Want to go out for supper tonight? she asked Clare.

Sure.

Where could we go that’s different?

There’s a new place out on Greenville Highway. But they say if you’re over forty you’re not allowed in.

Why forty?

They don’t want to be responsible if anyone has a heart attack.

Hell’s bells. What would bring on a heart attack?

Clare kept a straight face. Actually, it’s a strip club.

What? A strip club here in the Bible Belt?

Don’t get your panties in a twist, Clare said, chuckling. I’m yanking your chain. It’s really a club for college kids. A place where they can get lubricated.

Mattie was accustomed to her pal’s teasing and took it in stride. Besides, she knew how to give it back, a fact to which Clare often fell victim. Let’s just eat in tonight, okay? I think there’s some fried chicken left from the other day.

Long as I get my orange juice.

After turning off the car engine, Mattie sat back, straightened her tank top, and smoothed her Bermuda shorts. Sliding her still attractive, near sixty-ish, petite frame from the front seat, she retrieved the computer.

Can’t forget this, she said, patting the laptop as she tucked it under one arm. Might put us in the computer salvage business.

Clare looked doubtful. With our talents, we’d be broke in a week.

Inside, the gals changed into their sweats and attacked the leftover chicken.

After a while, Clare went to the kitchen to get some of her special orange juice concoction: a screwdriver. What made it special was that Clare added almost as much vodka as juice.

Mattie stared out the bay window and watched the sun setting over the green blush that announced the arrival of spring. In the distance, she could see the distinctive profile of Mt. Pisgah. Her thoughts returned to the laptop.

Blowing a puff of air into a springy curl that fell down over her forehead, Mattie sighed. Maybe that computer’s useless, she said, glancing over at her pal. Why’d we even bother bringing it home?

It was your idea. And who knows, we might use it to find me a millionaire.

Whatever happened to Rocco? I thought you two were an item.

His mouth rings kept getting in the way. Ever try kissing a guy and tangling with those things?

Mattie gave a defiant huff. No. Not lately.

He has rings in other places, too, and when we’d make love—

Hold it right there, Mattie said, one hand slashing the air. I don’t need to hear any more.

Anyway, he has ‘em on his—

Clare.

And one on top of—

Clare.

There’s even one—

"All right, I get it! Now can we talk about something else?"

Clare shrugged and returned to her drink. As a young woman, Clare had been married to a useless jerk, as she told anyone who cared to listen. From that marriage, however, came the love of her life, Michelle, who lived in Ohio and was the mother of Adahlee, Clare’s adorable granddaughter. Clare and Michelle had lived in the suburbs of Detroit when Michelle was growing up. After Clare and her husband parted ways, she and Michelle moved to a small town in Ohio just outside of Columbus where Michelle got her teaching degree. From there, Clare wandered the country for a while with a group of bikers, working now and then in a paper mill, and ending up almost broke in North Carolina. 

As for Rocco, the big guy, Mattie didn’t really go for the idea of Clare dating him. She hadn’t expressed outward disapproval, though; she knew, or at least hoped Clare would come to her senses.

Rocco is his own kind of guy, Clare said, sipping her drink. He needs a certain type of woman.

Not you?

Nope. He’s got the hots for biker women, really.

Good. You had me scared there for a while when you two were dating. I had visions of you turning into a motorcycle mama.

Clare made a Vrrr-ooom sound.

Mattie turned the conversation back to the laptop. I can’t help wondering what that message we saw was all about. She decided it was time for some serious snooping and stood abruptly. Come on, let’s go have a look and see if we can find it again.

"Oh . . . man."

Pleeeze? Mattie begged, her brow arched, her bottom lip poked out.

Clare muttered objections but followed Mattie anyway. It was probably nothing, she moaned. Just a fluke.

Head held high, Mattie shifted into drill sergeant mode. Even so, I say we take another look.

Mattie had set the laptop alongside her own computer on her desk in the bedroom. Hers was a restored PC, which she used only for e-mail. It had been a recent gift from Scotty, one of his repair projects. She used it primarily to keep in touch with pals at the garden shop in her hometown, Cleveland, and with her current circle of friends in the South. In the time since she’d owned the PC, Mattie felt she had become quite proficient at using it . . . for sending e-mail, anyway.

She was actually brand new to the computer, preferring to send handwritten greetings from her vast collection of note cards for all occasions.  She caved in when Scotty gave her the machine.  All she had to do was click on the little compass at the bottom of her screen, and then hit the word Yahoo under the long white box at the top of the new screen, and she was into her e-mail.  Scotty showed her how to turn off the computer with a few clicks of the mouse before she went to bed each night, and that was that.  Mattie had no idea she was on the Internet.

She plugged in the laptop and waited. Nothing happened. They waited longer. Still no message.

Matts, didn’t you press some keys when we were at the shop?

Yep.

Why not try the same keys and see what happens.

I don’t remember which ones.

Well, duh. Do you remember which side of the keyboard it was? Just go there and poke around.

It might’ve been on the right. Clare rolled her eyes, while Mattie tapped a few keys. No response from the computer. Or maybe it was in the middle. Again, no success.

Here, let me try. But Clare also had no luck.

With a shrug, Mattie said, So much for our cyberspace talents.

Mattie, why is all this so important to you?

I don’t know. I’m just curious, that’s all.

You’re nosy.

Curious.

Nosy.

Mattie squinted and swatted her on the arm.

Abuse, abuse, Clare chirped, which led to one of the hand-spanking battles for which Mattie was famous with people she liked.

Laughing, they returned to the sunroom. Mattie flopped on the loveseat, again contemplating the laptop. I definitely need to get hold of Scotty.

You never quit, do you Madam Nosy-pants?

Just then, Mattie’s cell phone rang. She answered brightly, certain the call was from Jed. He’d been all over Ohio consulting on various legal cases and wasn’t due back for several weeks. She placed one hand over the mouthpiece. It’s Jed, she whispered to Clare before pumping her fist and turning away.

I’m jealous, Clare whispered back.

With cell in hand, Mattie strolled toward the bedroom. Talking to Jed, her smile was so radiant it could’ve melted an iceberg.

That night, after climbing into bed, Mattie’s thoughts turned to the elusive computer message. She sniffed at the absurdity of it. Stupid message, she thought. A bunch of words that meant zilch. More than likely some kid’s prank. Clare was probably right. It had been a worthless discovery and nothing more.

Chapter 2

"Down on the floor! Both of youse—now!" a big man shouted, exploding into the thrift shop.

Clare screamed and Mattie’s eyes popped open wide. They were in the shop alone. Normally, Mattie would’ve gotten right in the guy’s face and stood up to him. There was only one problem: he had a gun.

Petrified, the gals did as they were told. They watched as the man wearing dark glasses, black gloves, and a red hunting jacket with a hood tore through the place. He tossed things from one side to another as if a giant piñata was