Better Gnomes & Gardens: Mysty Haven Mysteries

By Casey Cardel

Welcome to Mysty Haven, a charming, lovely, and safe place for anyone who isn't human. Let's face it, anyone could turn up missing or dead in this paranoid, er-um... we mean paranormal town. No that's not it. It's a mystical town!

Bob McLarney moved to the hidden town of Mysty Haven with a fresh degree in journalism. Bob's passion for the unusual led him on a trail in search of the legendary Bigfoot. Not everyone agreed with Bob's first article and his bright future as a reporter for the Mysty Haven Weekender ended abruptly.

When a local elderly man approaches Bob to find a missing gnome, Bob agrees to help. His good intentions don't waver when the local sheriff believes Bob is the thief. Not entirely sure how to find the gnome, Bob fumbles his way through suspects and uncovers a sinister plot and the mystical secrets of Mysty Haven's good folk.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mentha Press, LLC
• Release date: Mar 2, 2024
• ISBN: 9781937629632

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

YOU ARE FIRED.

Monday 8:05 AM, the unholiest of hours, my boss Tony, greeted me with three paltry words I'd never expected nor desired to hear. Those three damning words carried enough venom of a scorned deity to shatter the fragile tranquility I had foolishly hoped to savor with my morning coffee. Tony's reputation as a hothead preceded him inside and outside the office. Any attempts to reason with him or shed light on the rationale behind my decisions would only fuel his simmering rage.

There's no such thing as a Bigfoot! I specifically told you not to send this article to the printer. What did you do, Bob? You sent it to the printers. We get enough flak about printing fake news from the public, and now this?

Oh, come on, Tony, it's a good story, and you know it. The information I got was a first-hand sighting. I picked up the paper and pointed to my first newspaper article, Bigfoot Sightings Confirmed in Las Vegas.

Bob— Tony warned between clenched teeth.

Tony, you told me when you hired me to make this job my own, I said. 'Take the initiative,' you said. That's what I did, Tony. Eyewitness."

The moment Tony's face turned blood red, like a warning beacon amidst the stormy seas, should have been my cue to beat a hasty retreat from his office. But no, not Bob McLarney, the best investigative reporter in Mysty Haven. I stood my ground, unwavering and fueled by the fact-finding evidence that Bigfoot was not a myth.

I gave you a chance and paid— He inhaled deeply, snapped the black rim glasses from his face, and stood abruptly. Tony's green eyes went from a happy cat-eye green to a dark, menacing green that pierced straight into my soul. Paid for your trip to Las Vegas to write a story on Elvis impersonators. People love Elvis.

Yes—yes, they do. People love Bigfoot too.

Elvis was real, Bob.

And so is Bigfoot. I inhaled a quick breath, ready for my speech. Remember the FBI file on Bigfoot? They've been investigating since 1976. In 2019, they analyzed hair samples sent in by a researcher. You know what they found?

Tony raised an eyebrow. Deer hair, probably.

I grinned, knowing I had Tony's full attention. Exactly! But that's not the point. The FBI took it seriously—that's something.

Tony scoffed and shook his head. The FBI investigates all sorts of weird stuff. That doesn't mean Bigfoot is real.

But there's more, I insisted. The Patterson-Gimlin film from 1967 shows Bigfoot in Northern California. Sure, skeptics call it a hoax, but I've studied every frame. That creature moves like no man in a costume ever could.

Tony leaned back in his chair. And the oversized footprints from 1958? Ray L. Wallace's prank?

Frantically, I shook my head. That was debunked, Tony. But other prints—genuine ones—have surfaced. And eyewitness accounts? People who've seen Bigfoot up close, trembling in fear. You can't dismiss them all.

Bob — Tony warned again as his right eye twitched.

What if Bigfoot is our last great mystery, waiting to be unraveled? The excitement in my voice didn't seem to coincide with the malcontent look on Tony's face.

Tony's right eye, now in a quivering spastic stage, didn't make me leave his office. I left because he lifted a crooked finger and thrust it towards the door.

I didn't bother cleaning out my desk because there wasn't anything valuable after one week. With my dignity intact, I waltzed out the front door with my head held high, like a matador who'd won the greatest bullfight.

The job, my first since I'd graduated from college a month before, was a surprise. A master's degree in journalism looked good on paper but meant little to an employer who wanted experience. Tony gave me the chance to prove my worth by assigning me a lead story straight off the bat. My ambition led me to provide him with the best story the Mysty Haven Weekender ever ran—a real scoop. Within my first week!

Okay, so he disagreed with me. Now, I was back to square one. Nothing a good cup of joe couldn't fix, and I knew just the place: Maddie B's, a simple, cozy little diner on the west side of town that served the best coffee I'd ever had.

Maddie B's had become my favorite spot for coffee and catty conversation with the locals in the short week since I took the reporter's job. At the tender age of twenty-three, I fancied myself a paragon of clean-cut charm, towering at six-foot-four, though the court and field held little allure for a man whose passions lay elsewhere. Books, news, and food reigned supreme in the hierarchy of my interests. Some may brand me a nerd, a label worn with pride as I kept informed of the latest discoveries while enjoying savory delicacies.

Mythical creatures, the stuff of bedtime tales and whispered legends—Bigfoot, faeries, leprechauns, vampires, and werewolves—had ensnared my imagination since childhood. I grew up with sound-minded parents who encouraged reading and exploring one's imagination. So it's no surprise that my imagination ran wild, then turned into a hobby, and had now led me to become an investigative reporter.

I needed a good lead on another job, and luckily, I lived in a small town where gossip flowed as freely as the morning coffee. Unfortunately, the town had only one local newspaper, and the morning cuppers had long left the café, taking any possible good leads with them.

Mysty Haven, nestled in the northeastern corner of Wisconsin, remained a hidden gem, defying the prying eyes of Google Maps. In my case, it didn't even register until I was right in the village.

Once I took the newspaper job, finding an apartment had been difficult. The only cheap place I could find fully furnished was a loft apartment over an empty store building in town. The rental agent stated the location was once a shoe store. That explained the leather smell. He'd also mentioned the previous tenant had left abruptly but paid the apartment and store lease three months in advance. The owner passed the free months on to me. I'd never believed in luck, but believed that perfect timing and good fortune were best friends.

An added perk of my ideal abode was its proximity to Maddie B's Café, a mere stone's throw away. The aroma of fresh-brewed coffee drew me like a vampire to a single drop of blood. Maddie wasn't bad on the eyes, either. Her looks could make a man howl at the moon on a lonely night. Those deep brown eyes behind her luscious black eyelashes conveyed a sense of mystery.

At precisely 8:35 AM, as indicated by the crimson hands of the vintage Coca-Cola wall clock that adorned the café's weathered walls, I stepped across the threshold, a silent observer amidst the bustling morning rituals. Maddie B's exuded a rustic charm reminiscent of a bygone era. Sepia-toned photographs of local history and faded posters advertising long-forgotten events adorned the walls, invoking a sense of nostalgia that permeated the space.

Freshly ground coffee scented the air, intermingling seamlessly with the tantalizing scents from sizzling bacon and warm pastries. The comforting ambiance wrapped around me like a familiar blanket, drawing me deeper into this cozy sanctuary.

Tables with gleaming chrome legs stood proudly in the center, their red tops reflecting the diner's neon lights from above. Beneath the tables, red vinyl-topped chairs invited customers to take a load off, promising comfort and conversation in equal measure.

The jukebox in the corner hummed with rock 'n' roll legends, added to the nostalgic air inside the place. Maddie B's wasn't just a diner but a sanctuary where place and time stood still, and customers made unforgettable memories.

My gaze fell upon a motley crew to my left, a towering, broad-shouldered figure occupying a quaint table in the center. Seated across from him, his beautiful companion. She wasn't just beautiful—she was dangerously gorgeous. Her charm emanated from every pore, from the silky blonde hair that feathered lightly on her shoulders to the navy-blue double-breasted suit that clung to her form like a second skin. Like porcelain, her complexion whispered elegance and refinement, starkly contrasting the rugged charm of the café's regular cuppers. She reminded me of a living doll, a beauty that captured any man's attention by simply walking into a room. A woman of her caliber didn't look like a regular cupper, but an iced coffee drinker or a tea sipper.

To my right, partway along the counter, sat a dusty-looking elderly gentleman nursing a cup of coffee and indulging in a sugary delight. A light coating of dust, or a yellow-grayish powder, covered his dark grey cardigan. It seemed like a moth had waged war against him or a giant flower had launched its assault. The victor of this peculiar skirmish remained a mystery, though I wagered it wasn't him.

Behind the antique counter stood Maddie, a vision with dark red hair meticulously styled in a classic 50s pin-up fashion, the epitome of timeless elegance. Brown eyes held a depth of warmth, mystery, and wisdom, inviting patrons into her world with a welcoming smile.

Her slender hands moved with practiced ease as she prepared steaming cups of coffee, the rich aroma enveloping the air in a comforting embrace. Maddie possessed an uncanny knack for deciphering the unspoken desires of her patrons. As she poured each cup, she tailored it to perfection. I liked my coffee fresh, with a hint of cream and a sprinkle of sugar. Each sip carried with it a sense of belonging, a reminder that in Maddie's café, I was more than just a customer; I was family.

Hiya, Bob. Back so soon? Did you forget something? Maddie's voice, blended with familiarity and genuine interest, added a personal touch that made her customers feel right at home. She effortlessly prepared my coffee with a quick glance before I reached the counter, a testament to her keen attention to detail and commitment to customer satisfaction.

Thanks, Maddie, I hoisted my hip and slid onto a red leather barstool, leaving a couple of seats between Dusty and me. I didn't want any of what he had in my precious cup of joe.

Having a rough morning? Soothing yet compassionate, like butter spreading over toast. Her voice warmed my heart to a melting point.

Did that also make it into today's headlines? Investigative news reporter fired over fact-finding evidence that Bigfoot is real? I mused aloud, savoring the rich aroma and flavor of the coffee before finally opening my eyes.

Maddie's soft, inviting smile faltered, replaced by a look of genuine concern. I'm sorry to hear about your job, she offered softly, her voice carrying a warmth that belied the gravity of the situation. Honestly, I don't read the newspaper.

The surprise hit me like a ton of bricks, the weight of Maddie's words sinking in with each passing moment. Then, like a bolt from the blue, it occurred to me—Maddie didn't need to read the newspaper.

Of course, you probably hear enough news from your customers. I took another sip, allowing the robust flavors to awaken each of my senses. I'd never experienced coffee as magical as Maddie's.

As I savored the rich blend, Maddie pursed her alluring red lips together and leaned in closer, her gaze unwavering. No, that's not it at all, Bob, she confessed, her voice a whisper against the backdrop of the bustling café. I don't read the newspapers because of all the fake news.

And that's when the ginger dame shattered my heart into a million pieces. The fun didn't seem like it would ever let up today. At least the coffee was still good.