Middy Brown Journal Iv: Cast Away Stones

By M. Louise Smith

Middy Brown Journal IV finds our spunky gal continuing to attract complicated adventures that transpire simply because she is such a dear and compassionate meddlerbut in a really good and sincere way. Long divorced from old George Brown, a domineering chauvinist, she has risen above his constant degradation and verbal abuse; but the damage does remain. We find her finally enjoying a beautiful and romantic marriage with her former cop and private investigator boss, Calvin Cleere, the dreamiest PI on the planet. Time is marching on, and when she unexpectedly inherits Mosscreeka beautiful, large, and gracious mountain estateshe and Cal agree that she should fulfill her dream and utilize a portion of this large estate as a guest house and event center. Her now-husband, Cal, closed his Denver office and was tapped by the Department of Homeland Security for a highly classified and often-covert position. The department moves in for this highly prized contractor, installing an impenetrable workspace with top-of-the-line surveillance equipment and a bulletproof coded entry door, all in an upstairs corner of Mosscreek. Middy has her own security clearance, so she does have access to the code and Cal if she knocks fist. From this austere location, he is somewhat able to monitor his deeply adored, classy but often error prone problem-magnet wife. Middy has become an astute businesswoman, but she simply cannot avoid involving Cal in her well-intended and often-disastrous activities. When she worked for him as his not-so-perfect assistant in his PI practice, on many occasions he had to extract her from the ER, when her very best intentions went astray and she didnt quite dodge the bullet. Now, in a new and happy marriage and enjoying her position as proprietress of the lovely Mosscreek Manor, very little has changed; Cal just cant seem to keep her away from her inclination to innocently make disastrous and sometimes hysterically funny decisions.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jun 22, 2018
• ISBN: 9781532051890

M. Louise Smith

M. Louise Smith is a native Texan, firmly believing that her family roots were nourished in the warm waters of the Gulf of Mexico. Born in Robstown, she has lived in Southern California, New Mexico, Houston, Austin, and accomplished many of her art and writing projects in a small weekend beach cottage on Matagorda Bay, just north of Corpus Christi. After spending numerous years in the corporate world with an international aviation brokerage firm in Houston, and then managed the marketing, writing and advertising for a large Austin insurance company, she diverted her attention to her love of writing novels and screenplays. Her Texas background is apparent in the locales and fond remembrances she often inserts. She has functioned as a panelist at writers conferences and visited remote locations with an Authors in the Bush program in Alaska. She is always writing something.

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Copyright © 2018 M. Louise Smith.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

King James Version (KJV)

Public Domain

English Standard Version (ESV)

The Holy Bible, English Standard Version. ESV® Text Edition: 2016. Copyright © 2001 by Crossway Bibles, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers.

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ISBN: 978-1-5320-5188-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-5189-0 (e)

iUniverse rev. date: 06/21/2018

There is an appointed time for everything,

And in due season, all things pass under heaven;

A time to be born and a time to die;

A time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;

A time to kill, and a time to heal;

A time to break down, and a time to build up;

A time to weep, and a time to laugh;

A time to mourn, and a time to dance;

A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;

A time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;

A time to get, and a time to lose;

A time to keep, and a time to cast away;

A time to rend, and a time to sew;

A time to keep silence and a time to speak;

A time to love, and a time to hate;

A time of war, and a time of peace,

He hath made everything beautiful in its time. He hath also set the world in every heart. No man can find out the work that God has made for him from the beginning unto the end. Wherefore, I perceive that there is nothing better than that a man should rejoice in his own works, for that is his portion.

Ecclesiastes: 3

KJV

CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-one

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Bio

Print and eBooks by M. Louise Smith

CHAPTER ONE

It’s snowing outside. It is a beautiful Colorado wintery day in late October, and I’m feeling melancholy. I just found among the gathering of detritus in the bottom drawer of my desk, a leather-bound, pristine book, its blank pages lying in wait for the recording of the musings of my mind and the joys of my heart. In checking the three completed MIDDY BROWN JOURNALS tucked in beside it, I can’t believe that it has been over three years since I took pen to page. Time is like toilet paper, says quipster Andy Rooney, the closer you get to the end, the faster it goes.

I feel as though I’ve been on a roller-coaster for the past eight years; not to give one the impression that I am near the end, for goodness sake, but just to illustrate how we let time fly right by in front of our noses. For those of you I have yet to meet; I have several names; I started out life as Madge Middleton. Then I married George; thus, I became Madge Middleton Brown. Unfortunately, I spent many years after those nuptials, which took place during a madness called ‘elopement,’ walking a tightrope; balancing precariously between meeting the needs of son Geo (Joe), George Jr. and Pamela; the golden girl child. To add a bit of mud to my lovely family strudel, we must stir in George Sr. himself; self-centered; opinionated, chauvinistic, and of course, vast procurer and retainer of all knowledge. (As they say ‘I got him, so I guess I was the winner.’) Said wife was not allowed to work outside the home; volunteering only would suit his pompous self; and give him adequate fodder for reminding his helpmate that she was a few tacos short of a Mexican combination plate. As it turned out, ‘ole Madge slammed him in the face with her own brand of guacamole…another metaphor, of course.

I believe, as I’ve often recounted, that one day God must have had a few moments to spare and so He tapped his electronic tablet musing, ‘I wonder what Madge is doing these days…she’s certainly been overloading my e-mails, and I haven’t heard a peep out of George. Let’s pull up the personal tracking monitors I keep on them." I’m certain he quickly perused the e-mail bank and made some drastic adjustments to my timeline once he read the details. Almost immediately, or so it seemed, I was tapped to become a StarWays’ beauty consultant. God certainly realized He couldn’t proceed with his plan with me looking like worn out, weary and woeful Madge. ZAP! Literally within weeks I was actually beautiful, very busy and startlingly successful, and making almost as much money as George! Then enter my opportunity to become the part-time-not-so-perfect-assistant to the most incredible P.I. on the planet! WOW! Of course, Calvin Cleere, P.I. (also Mister Wonderful) didn’t know I’d get smacked around, sucker-punched, and bloodied up by the Mob; kidnapped by a crazy nun, shoot and kill a criminal who’d been stalking Cal; or exonerate and rescue my priest friend who had been accused of murder. And then there was the deal with George. He flipped out when I inherited my wonderful estate, Mosscreek from a dear poetess who believed I was the only one left in the world who knew and loved her work; the proverbial final straw.

Anyway, I was bringing you up to date on my names. Once I signed into the StarWays’ meeting for the first time; Heavens! How could I be dull, dowdy Madge in a saggy knit church dress, clunky purse, and rubber soled flats; to say nothing about the baggy hose? I remember crinkling my nose like I had good sense after seeing the ‘with it’ gals meandering around, and quickly grabbed a hunk out of my maiden name, Middleton – and had it embellished on a blue rose trademark name card. I have kept that happy moniker: Middy. I think it suits me – although when my Mother decided that she too, wanted some fun after so many years of marriage; she reminded me that my ‘Middy’ persona gave her the license to add adventure to her life, leave my father in their retirement home in South Texas, and move in with me, and ‘date,’ with his permission of course. Oh, yeah, that got me involved up to my ears with a con man, and his scam. She dragged him home…yeah again…he was a turkey-necked old geezer – slick as they come.

Now is when it gets a little shaky. Back to God’s personal tracking system. He knew all along that George, pompous little ass…excuse me, but anyway, the jerk had met some structural engineer hot shot woman in an online chat room. Being a structural engineer himself; he quickly realized that there was a wonderful opportunity for sunshine, surf, and exponential happiness waiting in Florida, where she, her cash flow steadily increasing, and her brain matter superior to MENSA resided. Instead of the conferences he was supposed to be attending, he was innocently mystified that I had not taken into consideration that he had to get to know her better before leaving me and his current employer. He actually seemed to want my permission to fly back and forth, date her, and get to know her…I assumed it was in the Biblical sense. He had the audacity to remind me when I dared to question the entire situation that it would be difficult for me to understand, since I wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. I recall telling him that his Naomi must have been a real hedge trimmer!

Don’t ever think for a split second that God is snoozing when you become the brunt of someone slamming you while exercising his or her First Amendment’s ‘free speech bit’. It served my ex-husband well since he certainly used it frequently, always directed at his inept stupid wife, i.e. me. After all George put his little family through, while utilizing another gift, that being God’s gift of free will, I decided to let the Vengeance is Mine, Says the Lord, take care of it for me. More later.

Anyway, back to names. Madge Middleton – Madge Middleton Brown – Middy Brown….And Mrs. Calvin C. Cleere, a.k.a. Middy Brown Cleere; but due to the fact that prior to marrying Cal, most of my documents are in the name of Middy Brown; that’s still who I am as well. There is so much more to tell you, but right now, it’s important that you know that Cal and I have been living here at Mosscreek for about three or so years. We have accomplished extensive renovations, actually dividing this massive house, full of wonderful furnishings and treasures, into a smaller home for us; and an event venue as well as a Bed and Breakfast/Event Center. Actually, I have been busy earning my Associate in Hospitality Certification so I don’t screw up this venture like I have inadvertently done in the past. Oh, Cal has a top security clearance and works on something with Homeland Security. I used to assist him, but now with massive electronic innovations, his secretary is located in the Pentagon while he monitors the world from his soundproof, bug-proof office upstairs. Since I have retained my own security clearance, I actually am allowed by the US Government to pop into the sanctuary as needed, but I have to punch in a long numeric code before the door to his office will open. It’s a good thing I’m not dyslexic or he’d starve.

Now, I didn’t start out to have this life, obviously, I have had the constant support and damage control options that God gives to all of His offspring. I cannot claim to understand a bit of it. I have come to believe, however, that we make our own ‘devil’ or Satan, in spite of the religious boogie man we’ve been forced to fear. I don’t want to lose you right up front, but think about it. We spend our lives doing two things – what works, and what doesn’t work. In the end, we are our own monitors and what we end up with will actually become our own Hell…or hopefully Heaven. In reality, believing in a physical or ephemeral satanic personage is a cop-out. ‘The devil made me do it’ is a convenient pacifier, but pretty far from the honesty and logic of our God-given mentality. Of course I believe strongly in evil, and I have seen evil influences that are almost impossible to resist…but, it can and is done. ‘To thine own self be true and nothing will be able to pull you into unfathomable depths. And yes, I also believe in ‘karma’ or whatever the latest buzz word is that covers the topic. You spit in the wind, and you’ll get a splat back in your own face. Ask me about some of my former StarWays clients someday and you’ll see that I have some first-hand facts to support my thesis. Even old George and yours truly are living proof of the use of free will. Remember, free will can bite ‘ya. ‘Nuff said.

CHAPTER TWO

Satisfied that I had actually written a few pages to myself, I stopped to review and realize I sound a bit pompous, but believe me, I’ve had far more experience than your average woman when it comes to prying deeply into the lives and loves of others. I don’t wish to recall how many lessons I’ve learned the hard way…just saying. Anyway, early on Cal was the one who got me into journaling. He had scarcely hired me as his assistant when he said recording my thoughts and activities might help keep me aware enough to avoid lawsuit or prison…or words to that effect. He was also the one, a few months before we were married, to kindly but with consideration ask to finally be allowed to read them. He promptly had them published. In a way, I was embarrassed, but he said there were so many good lessons squeezed in between the pages, that not only were they extremely interesting and entertaining, but he was convinced that my actions and miss steps were excellent fodder for women possibly undergoing the same sorts of life’s challenges. (God forbid!)

I had just put Journal IV carefully on the top of my desk as a reminder when the phone rang. Now, running a B&B means that you never know what to expect when you open e-mails or answer the phone or read the mail. Since we offer our facility for small events, you’d be amazed what people think they need. We have to be selective, and often just feel it’s important to refuse due to our own levels of comfort. The summer nude weekend comes to mind. We declined.

The phone call was coming from my parents. Apparently they were using the land line since both began talking at once using their respective handsets. A few Christmases ago my sister, Matt, and I had purchased state of the art cell phones and electronic tablets designed especially to be user friendly and uncomplicated for the elderly. So far Mother had mastered using the memo app on the phone for shopping and birthday reminders. Dad was a whiz at games.

Madge…Madge, (My birth name) they both shouted at once, Madge, is that you…

The shouting startled me, Mom, Dad, what’s happened? Slow down, now, one at a time.

As always, Mother took the lead. Honey, we want to come for Christmas this year!

Dad stepped in. We miss our girls. I’m sick of it down here. I want a white Christmas again…turkey, dressing, sleigh rides…well, skip the sleigh rides…can you put us up? We just talked to Matt and she said it would be wonderful to have Christmas dinner at your place if you’re not booked up.

Mother cut him off, Of course, we’re happy to stay at a hotel. Matt said she’d pick us up at the airport, we’ve already called about tickets…

I cut them both off. First of all, ‘hello’ and second, I try not to book over the Holidays. We usually have a wonderful but quiet family time if possible, and even if we book someone, the downstairs room off the kitchen is a very nice guest suite and you’re always welcome to stay there.

Dad jumped in, Please roast a turkey. Down here they either smoke it which leaves the inside a scary pink color and then they claim that it’s not still raw, or they’ll drop it into a vat of hot peanut oil and serve it with Tex-Mex pinto beans with jalapeños, although that is pretty tasty. My question is, why eat fried turkey? That’s supposed what you do with chicken. Nobody does a traditional anything down here; I want a big turkey with stuffing, mashed potatoes and turkey gravy. Oh, and you can skip that slimy green bean casserole that’s floating in canned soup.

I laughed, Okay, Dad, I get the picture. In the background I could hear Mother scolding him; but Dad is his own mind and he speaks it freely. We talked about their trip and went over the details. When we rang off, we were all pretty happy campers. They hadn’t been here since we finished all the remodeling and I was anxious for them to spend time with us. I’d always worried about them as each new year rolled around. Dad often complained about the activities Mother wanted to stay up with when all he wanted to do was read and fish a little. They both had slowed down, and even though they lived in a very nice double wide mobile home with slide-outs and a nice screened front deck, they still mentioned how regularly they lost another friend to the grim reaper. Matt said she thought they both were sounding more depressed. We had worried that after leaving Denver where we’d lived all our family life, and taking such a drastic step by moving into a retirement park down in the Rio Grande Valley of Texas would have its drawbacks. It is natural for a new lifestyle to eventually become less enchanting as the years wear on. Matt wanted them back home, but looking out the window of my office at the heavy snow; I wondered if that would be wise. But again, they were both still strong and healthy; at least now….

Anyway, I got on with the day’s duties and after a call to Matt; I decided to go call the company that installed our Christmas Decorations every year and double check the date they would be coming. We had five events during the holidays; a large retirement dinner and celebration in mid-November, a December birthday party on the 1st that would be a one day affair, and three small winter weddings; one the last weekend in November and the others 7th and 15th of December. Normally, the bride and groom and a small family entourage arrive the day before the wedding and then stay on for two days or so afterwards. This time two of them are only one overnight for the bride and groom. That would leave the calendar clear after the 16th of December. I was getting excited that my parents would see Mosscreek Manor in all her glory. Every time I looked around this wonderful dwelling I said a prayer for my dear poetess-benefactress, Clarissa Bonforte.

My office was once part of our half of the upstairs area designated and appropriated as the Department of Homeland approved workplace for Cal and me. Everything installed has no other connection to the house and is now an island into itself. From time to time, Cal entertains one of his superiors or another business or security official when updates, or whatever are required. When they moved some of his work, i.e. secretarial and various other ancillary support requirements to D.C., I lost my job which had been fulfilling those requirements. So we remodeled and closed off my office area and now I can work freely and not worry about any overlap of functions. I have my own internet connections; and each of our guest rooms has a desk area with an Ethernet and Wireless set-up. Each guest room also has a sitting area for two and television set and sound system. We do not have a TV in any of the main areas. A small parlor was converted to a reading room downstairs, and the large common room, or Great Room is intended for receptions and gatherings. The dining room will accommodate up to forty guests by making a few adjustments here and there.

Off course we avail ourselves of all the spaces; it is our home after all, although we have a complete home of our own on the right side of the building that is completely private. I might add here that my benefactress, young Clarissa, was a free spirit and the only daughter of a Texas Rancher who was involved in many political arenas. His vast holdings passed on to the lovely Clarissa, and her trustees invested wisely. She was a child of the flapper generation and lived her long life without limitations…at least in the early years. When I inherited her incredible estate, needless to say, I had my attorney look into all the variables and we kept the line of trustees who had been managing her funds. As soon as I discovered ex-husband George’s penchant for his friend with benefits, I took care of legal matters so Naomi and the ex could never get their grubby hands on anything. Geo and Pam will receive what’s left when Cal and I are gone. Unfortunately, Wall Street has not been kind to stockholders and I now mostly operate Mosscreek through the income from various events. That’s not to say anything other than to borrow my daughter’s observation that I’m living the dream, and quite comfortably I might add.

Before I married Cal, who was a widower, I made absolutely certain that nothing about Mosscreek would ever cause him worry. He was a police officer in New York, became a NYPD detective, and finally moved on to open his own office as a Private Investigator. He said as his daughter began college he took a few years to decide if he wanted to continue in New York. Cal told me sometime after we met in Colorado that he’d grown weary of the vast amount of the violence and human misery he had to moderate or resolve, or ignore. He then moved to Colorado for a more peaceful life and to be closer to his daughter and her little family. Even though he had his P.I. business here in Denver (that’s how he innocently hired yours truly) the time came when a peaceful and meaningful life became a priority. He was approached by a former comrade in arms and took advantage of an offer to join the Office of Homeland Security. Cal is an exceptional asset to the government with the work he is now doing. He loves it, he is financially solid, and I will never, under any circumstances, give him the financial or personal agony of getting into another Middy Brown situation where he has to bail me out. Or so I pray.

I do seem to be some sort of magnet for the unusual, however. In Journal III, I go into detail about how I discovered that a big time Mobster from Pueblo built Mosscreek for his mistress; and then in a battle of ‘get even-ness’ his wife’s Mobster father took him out. Anyway, that’s why this is such a large and elaborate house. Apparently when Clarissa bought it from the estate, some of the treasures, many imported from Italy for the mistress and her/his children are still here…I’m sharing just a quick history lesson.

A few years ago, our dear friends Benny and Gracie Haggis, Clarissa’s remaining staff, retired and moved away from the little gatekeeper cottage that was Clarissa Bonforte’s legacy to them, along with a handsome trust fund for life. Benny had taken complete charge of the house and grounds and performed all duties to overseeing or completing repairs to donning his ‘duds’ and taking on the role of head butler or waiter. Gracie cooked, served, shopped, took charge of cleaning and coordinated all needs with Benny. She had spent her entire life looking after Clarissa, when the couple met Clarissa, in a completely serendipitous encounter; they were all in their early twenties. The faithful couple stayed with her until Clarissa’s failing health dictated her transfer to a long term care facility. I met Clarissa there in the facility during one of my deliveries of StarWays products to one of the other residents. Our bonding became a thing for story books. In addition to this fantastic house, out buildings, and a wonderful ancient Rolls Royce and a horse-drawn sleigh, she left a trust for its upkeep which will last long beyond my lifetime. I hope my two children will want to carry on here, but that’s probably not very realistic.

After Clarissa’s passing, the little gatekeeper’s cottage remained empty while I struggled to decide what to do with the legacy. Finally after many prayers, tears, and panic attacks. I decided to tackle moving out of my condo in downtown Denver, fifteen miles away, and rise to the challenge of managing the estate. Of course, marrying Cal had been the catalyst when he informed me that he would retire his P.I. business and accept an excellent opportunity with the DHS. I don’t deserve this fairytale! Anyway, the first order of business was to locate a niece of Gracie’s that we’d met over the years who indicated an interest in taking over when the Haggis’ retired. In the ensuing years, her husband, originally a chef in a classy restaurant in LoDo (Lower Denver) felt the call to join the forces in Afghanistan. During his third tour he left behind an amputated leg and a reasonable part of his sanity. I hoped we could offer the couple a place of peace and refuge by offering them the cottage if Sue was still interested and available. With overwhelming delight, the two of them were ready to take control of their own lives. Arney, the husband, was recovering well and she said when he felt his stress factor building, he would head to the kitchen and cook bake and clean by the hour until she would hear him whistle a happy tune and she would know that the darkness had lifted. She said she was happy and he kept the freezer filled. Cal and I swooned, and crossed our fingers for luck. Arney is a gift from Heaven. I’m certain he is the reason we have so many repeat customers. Often we’ll just put out a notice in the summer for an open dining for Saturday nights and we’ll be booked by the end of the day. Blessings, Blessings!

CHAPTER THREE

It’s difficult in Colorado to plan