Since succeeding her dearly departed husband, Bill, to become Jasper County’s first female sheriff, Mary Beth Cain has closed more cases than any three of her male predecessors combined. But nobody bats a thousand in the cop game. Nobody. And, ovaries aside, Mary Beth knows she’s no different. There’d been a handful of unsolveds during her tenure, victims and families denied their justice, and each and every one of them gnaws at her soul. She thinks about them late at night as she sips her whiskey, counting regrets like sheep.
But the case that haunts Mary Beth most is one that went cold before she was even on the force: the long-ago disappearance of a family friend, named Maria Ruiz. So when a country psychic’s vision leads to the discovery of Maria’s body, Mary Beth isn’t willing to chalk it up as genuine clairvoyance and goes all in on an investigation that cuts close to home.
Since succeeding her dearly departed husband, Bill, to become Jasper County’s first female sheriff, Mary Beth Cain has closed more cases than any three of her male predecessors combined. But nobody bats a thousand in the cop game. Nobody. And, ovaries aside, Mary Beth knows she’s no different. There’d been a handful of unsolveds during her tenure, victims and families denied their justice, and each and every one of them gnaws at her soul. She thinks about them late at night as she sips her whiskey, counting regrets like sheep.
But the case that haunts Mary Beth most is one that went cold before she was even on the force: the long-ago disappearance of a family friend, named Maria Ruiz. So when a country psychic’s vision leads to the discovery of Maria’s body, Mary Beth isn’t willing to chalk it up as genuine clairvoyance and goes all in on an investigation that cuts close to home.
CHAPTER 1
Sheriff Mary Beth Cain was good—damn good—if she did say so, herself. Since succeeding her dearly departed husband, Bill, to become Jasper County’s first female sheriff, she’d closed more cases than any three of her male predecessors combined. But nobody bats a thousand in the cop game. Nobody. And, ovaries aside, Mary Beth knew she was no different. There’d been a handful of unsolveds during her tenure, victims and families denied their justice, and each and every one of them gnawed at her soul. Mary Beth thought about them late at night as she sipped her whiskey, counting her regrets like sheep. But what she realized on that sweltering June morning, as her college-age son, Sam, spread old newspaper articles across her usual table at the Waffle House, was that the case that haunted her most was one that went cold before she was even on the force—the unexplained disappearance of Maria Ruiz.
“Where’d you get all these?” Mary Beth asked as she ran her fingers across the yellowing news clippings.
“Saved them,” Sam said.
Mary Beth shook her head and a curl of strawberry blonde hair caught the corner of her mouth till she blew it away. Sam was just a kid when Maria disappeared. He was now nineteen, so he’d been hanging on to the clippings for more than a decade.
“You saved them all this time?”
Sam had his mom’s pale skin that concealed embarrassment about as well as a pair of chaps could cover your ass. When he turned red, Mary Beth thought, Well, there you go. Some detective. All these years she’d missed the fact that Sam must have had a super-major crush on Maria back in the day. But then again, who didn’t? A Mexican immigrant in their small, lilywhite, West Virginia town, Maria had been the kind of exotic beauty that reduced grown men into giggling idiots whenever she’d pass by.
“I’ll never know why Guadalupe gave the press that photo to use. She looks like a damn beer commercial,” Mary Beth said, staring at a picture of Maria seated on the hood of an old Ford, a denim shirt draped around a halter-top that barely contained her cleavage, wearing a skimpy pair of Daisy Duke cutoffs and laughing like she’d just heard a joke so funny she was about to pee what little there was of her pants. A yearbook photo would have been Mary Beth's choice but Maria’s grandmother, Guadalupe, who’d been the Cain’s housekeeper at the time, had chosen this one because it was the most recent.
JASPER CREEK JOURNAL
September 30, 2008
LOCAL WOMAN MISSING
Maria Ruiz, age 19, has been missing since last Thursday evening when she went for a jog at the Jasper Creek City Park around 7:00 pm. Her grandmother, Guadalupe Angeles, reported that Maria was wearing a black tracksuit and driving a red Chevrolet Cavalier. The vehicle was later discovered in the City Park’s visitor’s lot and did not reveal any signs of foul play.
Maria, pictured below, is five-feet-five-inches tall, with dark brown hair and brown eyes. Anyone who may have seen her or has information about her whereabouts should contact the Jasper County Sheriff’s Department.
As Mary Beth read, Ralph Sherman, the portly proprietor of the Waffle House waddled up to the table and reached to refill her coffee. “Well, I’ll be,” he said, flexing a furry forearm. “There’s a blast from the past. You reopening the case, Sheriff?”
“Nah. Just taking a trip down memory lane.”
Ralph made a move toward Sam’s cup and Mary Beth covered it. “Decaf for him,” she said, inviting an eye roll from her son who was manically fidgeting, tapping out a staccato rhythm against the Formica tabletop. Ralph gave Mary Beth a quizzical look, like decaf coffee didn’t make no sense. “Uh . . . gotta go brew a pot.” He turned to leave, apologizing about the air conditioning. “She’s just not kicking like she used to. Got a serviceman coming, should be here any minute.”
Sam wiped a sheen of sweat from his forehead. “That’s actually what I was wanting to talk to you about,” he said to his mother.
“What is?”
“Reopening the case.”
Mary Beth groaned. The last thing she had time for was a dusty old lost-cause investigation. “Sammy, baby. My deputies are stretched so thin right now. You know they annexed McCray County into Jasper, right? Now I’m responsible for all of McCray’s opioid addicted-nonsense and whatever backwoods bullshit they’ve got going in the old burned-out hollers of coal country–on top of everything else. I just can’t pile anything else on my guys right now.”
“But it would mean so much to Bela Lu.”
Bela Lu was Sam’s childhood nickname for Guadalupe, Maria’s grandmother, who’d graduated from the Cains’ housekeeper to Sam’s nanny when Bill died and Mary Beth stepped in to serve out the rest of his term as sheriff.
“Guadalupe understands that unless there’s some new evidence, there’s no justification for reopening the case. Why put her through all that heartbreak again?” Mary Beth said.
“Because she needs to know what happened.”
“Maybe she’s better off not knowing.”
Guadalupe might still cling to the possibility that Maria was alive, but, as a cop, Mary Beth knew the odds of that were about the same as hitting the lottery while getting struck by lightning.
“You think she’s dead, don’t you?” Sam said, his voice cracking a little.
He really was a sweet kid, Mary Beth thought. Frustrating as all get out—enough to make a preacher cuss—but sweet. “Sam,” she said, “your father worked Maria’s case hard. Left no stone unturned.”
“Sure, but he was only, what, like twenty-eight when he got killed? That’s not all that much older than me, and I know what a goofball I am.”
“Sam, your father was—”
“I know,” he interrupted. “Dad was a very different person than me.”
Mary Beth felt a pang of hurt over the truth of what Sam had said. There’d rarely been two men more different than the strong, silent, dutiful Bill Cain, whose idea of leisure was lifting weights or splitting logs, and the skinny little bookish Sam, who saw less sunshine than a vampire, and had worn his thumbs down to nubs from obsessive video gaming.
“Sometimes it’s better not to know the truth,” Mary Beth said.
Sam huffed. “I don’t believe that for a second.”
Spoken like a kid who’s lived a sheltered life, Mary Beth thought. “Sam, I–”
“Whatever. Listen, the reason I wanted to talk with you is that there is new evidence. Take a look at these.” Sam gestured to the newspaper clippings. “This is every story the Jasper Creek Journal ran about Maria.”
Mary Beth scanned them. Most did little more than repeat the original blurb, mixing in the occasional quote from Guadalupe or Sheriff Bill Cain. She detected little to no new information other than one report of a two-tone brown conversion van witnesses saw in the area, with the letters SXL in the license plate.
“I don’t get it. There’s nothing in here.”
Sam smiled like she’d proved his point. “Exactly. It’s not what’s in there. It’s what’s not in there.”
“Come again?”
“There’s nothing in there about the rosary beads Maria always carried with her, or the locket she wore.”
“What locket?” Mary Beth remembered Maria liked her rosary beads but didn’t recall anything about a locket.
“Bela Lu had just given it to her for her birthday. It was shaped like a ladybug and opened when you pressed the antenna. There was a picture of Maria’s parents inside.”
Mary Beth didn’t get the significance. “Sam, I’m sure Guadalupe told your dad all that. It’s common to hold back some details from the press so you can weed out the crackpots who call in with bogus leads and fake confessions.”
“That’s not the point,” Sam said. “The reason it’s important is because nobody else knew those details.”
Mary Beth shrugged. “So?”
“So, I went to see someone yesterday who did know about them.”
Now Mary Beth was mildly intrigued. “Who?” she asked.
Sam leaned back from the table like he feared his mother’s reaction to what he was about to say. “Okay, don’t get mad. I know how you feel about these things. But have you heard of that psychic who lives up on Scarbury Hill, out in McCray County–or what used to be McCray County?”
“Oh, Sam you didn’t.”
“It was just for fun—a goof. I just wanted to check it out.”
“Sammy, I’ve told you to stay away from that area. I grew up in McCray and I can tell you that half the folks out there are born scam artists.”
“I know,” Sam assured her. “But this lady really knew things about Maria. She knew about the rosary beads and the locket.”
Mary Beth sighed. She could tell from Sam’s longing expression he was expecting his mother to be impressed but she wasn’t. No doubt the fortune teller had tricked Sam into offering up those details himself. The kid might have a 140 I.Q. but he was as gullible as all-get-out. Believed in Santa Claus until he was twelve years old, and Mary Beth used to be able to pull her Jedi mind tricks on him all day long.
“Sammy, baby. She saw you coming.”
Ralph Sherman was back, carrying a pot of decaf so proudly you’d have thought it was an Olympic torch. “Found some in the back,” he explained, filling Sam’s cup on his way to take another order.
“I’m telling you,” Sam said. “This was real. I didn’t even say anything at all about Maria. But she got an image of her. And started describing her to a tee.”
“Has she ever talked to Guadalupe?”
“Of course not.”
“How do you know?”
“Because Guadalupe was with me.”
Pins pricked Mary Beth’s heart upon hearing this revelation. “What were you doing up there with Guadalupe?” she asked, trying not to sound agitated but unable to help feeling jealous. Sam and his Bela Lu had always possessed a bond that often left Mary Beth feeling like the third-wheel, especially now that Sam was grown and rarely had time for his mom.
Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat, aware of the precarious position he’d placed himself in. “I…got her the reading…as a birthday present.”
Well, look at Mr. Thoughtful. Mary Beth’s gifts usually consisted of a card and a bag of dirty laundry Sam expected her to wash when she wasn’t busy fighting crime.
Sam quickly continued his story. “When the fortune teller held Guadalupe’s hand, she got an image of Maria. Saw her wearing a black tracksuit—which was described in news reports, so I discounted that. But then she said, she was wearing the little locket and had rosary beads wrapped around her wrist.”
Mary Beth rolled her eyes. “This should be an easy case to crack then. I bet this lady was able to tell you exactly where Maria’s been all this time. Did she write down the address?”
“No, she lost connection after that.”
“I hate when that happens.”
“But,” Sam said, ignoring his mother’s sarcasm, “as we were leaving, she got an image of you. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I want you to go see her.”
A tiny snort escaped Mary Beth’s nostrils. “What on earth for?”
“The fortune teller said she had a strong maternal feeling when she looked at me. Like my mother was someone who could find lost people or right wrongs—a police officer perhaps. Those were her exact words.”
Mary Beth whistled. “Don’t suppose you having the same last name as the sheriff might have tipped her off, do you?”
Sam’s shoulders slumped. “Forget it,” he said, and started hastily folding up his newspapers and started stuffing them into his book bag. The threat here was obvious. Sam was in college now and living in the dorms while taking summer classes at the local Bible college. If his mom pissed him off, he could just head back there and deny her his company.
“Wait.” Sam paused. “I’m sorry,” Mary Beth said. “You were saying—”
Sam took a deep breath and continued. “I was saying, the fortune teller wanted to meet you. Said if she could feel your energy, she might get a better image of where Maria is.”
“And charge another fee for her services,” Mary Beth added.
“I’ll pay for it, okay?”
Mary Beth took a sip of her coffee, trying to think of a kind way of explaining to her precious son just how re-God-damn-diculous this all sounded. “How much was it, anyway?” she asked.
“Five hundred,” Sam said without batting an eye.
Mary Beth nearly lept out of her chair. “Five hundred! Dollars?”
Sam cowered and Mary Beth didn’t wait for him to answer. She was up on her feet so fast she nearly forgot her trademark floppy-brimmed Stetson hat. Mary Beth snatched it up and put it on her head.
“Where are you going?” Sam asked.
“I’m going to see this scam artist you just paid $500 to,” Mary Beth said. “And trust me, she won’t have any problems reading my energy.”
The Mountain Mystic by Russell Johnson
Mary Beth Cain is the new sheriff in town. She does everything within her power to put perpetrators behind bars. Her methods toe the line of being controversial and outside the confines of the law. An old case rears its ugly head, involving the very fabric of her family. Maria Ruiz was like a family member. Long ago, she went missing, and her remains still have not been found. Seeking answers, Mary Beth does the unconventional and visits a psychic to help with the investigation. Using some of those provided clues, she finally makes some headway on the crime, and a mad dash proceeds to find the murder suspect. Election time is coming, and the public will decide if Mary Beth's tenacity will allow her to proceed as Jasper County's sheriff. Will this case be closed in time to help her win the election, or will the accomplices in this atrocity walk free?
A cookie without chocolate chips. Potato chips without salt. Snickers packed without peanuts. The book has some of what I craved but just not everything. Author Russell Johnson has constructed a decent mystery novel with a shocker of an ending that I could appreciate. The style of writing flowed well, basic but to the point. I found the story enjoyable yet lacking certain ingredients I wanted from this book. The main protagonist, Mary Beth wore me out. I thought I would grow to like her, but in the end, I just thought of her as an emotionless person that elicited my ire on numerous occasions. Her childhood and family issues shaped her personality, and one would expect her to be hardened, but I found her to be simply over the top. Thus, I don't think this book will be especially memorable.
Winding things up, this was a book doused in grit and determination. It may be worth your time if you like novels with a strong female lead. While the author did a superb job of holding the suspense up until the end, I found myself wanting a bit more throughout. For these reasons, I am giving this 3 out of 5 stars⭐