Free Mind Your Own Beeswax by Hannah Reed Page A

know she’s back? Or rather was back and now is missing?”
    Gunnar nodded. “I heard.”
    “What if Lauren really killed herself?” I said. “Wouldn’t that be terrible?”
    “You are the sorriest bunch I’ve had in here so far tonight,” Stu said, looking us over. “And that’s saying a lot. It can’t be as bad as all that. The search party will find her safe, she’ll settle back in, and everybody will get used to the idea of having her around again.”
    Then I remembered what Holly said about Ali Schmidt being in The Wild Clover when Lauren and Rita came in for the candle-making class.
    “Did Ali recognize Lauren when she came into the store?” I asked T. J.
    He frowned, puzzled. “What are you talking about?”
    “Holly said Ali came because she forgot to buy sugar and was at the register when Lauren arrived. I thought she might have recognized her and mentioned it to you.”
    “She must not have noticed,” T. J. said. “Or believe me, she would have told me. What happened?”
    So I had to explain to everyone about Lauren joining the class at the last minute after walking right past Holly and Ali. And about the cancer and chemo and how I didn’t recognize her because she’d changed so much.
    “She looked ten years older. And way too thin.” I glanced at T. J. “I’m not surprised Ali didn’t know her when she came through. I was in the same room with her for the entire time and didn’t recognize her.”
    Hunter stood up and gave my arm a gentle squeeze, which meant he was taking off. “Ben and I need to get to work. Time is critical.”
    “I’ll help,” T. J. said.
    “I’m going through The Lost Mile,” Hunter warned him.
    “In that case, forget it,” T. J. said, putting up his hands like he was warding off evil.
    Hunter smiled. “Thought you’d change your mind.”
    “Why search there?” T. J. wanted to know.
    “Story heard shots from that direction. It’s as good a place to start as any.”
    “I still want to find Carrie Ann,” Gunnar said. “I’ll try to meet up with you later.”
    “I’ll help,” I said to Hunter, volunteering against my better judgment, partly because I didn’t want him to be alone if he found something awful. And partly because, hey, I had the hots for him. That is to say, whenever I wasn’t considering running in the opposite direction. Call me conflicted. Right now I was in hot mode.
    He nodded. “Good.”
    Just then Hunter’s cell phone rang and he answered it. “I’m at Stu’s. Weren’t we supposed to meet here?” he said, while the rest of us were silent, trying to glean as much from the one-sided conversation as we could. But all he said was, “Right, I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
    “Now what?” T. J. asked.
    “Gus, Rita, and the rest of them are waiting to get started on the north end of The Lost Mile. Let’s go, Story.”
    With that, he headed for the door. I scurried along behind. I loved a man on a mission, one who valued my opinion right along with the rest of me.
    “Keep me posted,” T. J. called out, ordering another drink. “I’ll be at the bar for a while.”

Eight

    When Hunter pulled up on the side of the road on the north end of The Lost Mile, a small group of Lauren’s immediate family was waiting near their vehicles, which were lined up in an uneven row. Flashlights and headlights cast them in eerie, murky light. We jumped out of his sheriff’s SUV. Hunter went around to the back and reappeared with Ben harnessed and leashed at his side, two heavy-duty flashlights in his hand. He handed one to me.
    A Belgian Malinois looks a lot like a German shepherd. Ben had short, deep brown fur with black tips, a black face mask, and black ears. He gave me a curt tail wag in greeting, which I would have completely missed if I hadn’t been studying the big dog’s ways in the last few months as Hunter and I edged closer to an intimate relationship.
    I’d seen Ben in action when he responded to Hunter’s attack