Free Madison Johns - Agnes Barton Paranormal 01 - Haunted Hijinks by Madison Johns Page B

in a hurry, no less.
    I pulled up next to his bike and made my way slowly, keeping an eye out for Stuart. Something told me he was doing something besides enjoying the view on Lake Huron.
    There was a yellow tarp fashioned into a tent with the word ‘danger’ printed on it, and that told me one of two things: there were either bare wires under that tarp, or it would be the perfect place to spy on someone. Since I believed Stuart’s absence from my life had nothing to do with him being a history major or even studying ancient civilizations, I took a look-see under that tent.
    I was quiet as a mouse, or so I thought, but Stuart’s body stiffened and he turned, his eyes widening upon locking eyes with me. One hand was still on a binocular-looking thing that was attached to a tripod, the other on a handle of a Glock pistol stuck into the waistband of his pants.
    He pulled me into the tent and before I had a chance to say anything, he hissed from between his teeth, “What are you doing here?”
    “I saw your bike and figured out this might be where you were hiding out. Who are you spying on?”
    “I can’t tell you. Go back to your car, slowly, and forget you ever saw me.”
    “What are you up to? This certainly doesn’t look like you’re studying ancient civilizations to me.”
    He shook his head, taking another look through the spyglass. That’s it, is he a— “Are you a spy, Stuart?”
    “Spy? No! You really need to get out of here before you blow my cover. Damn, he’s gone now.”
    “Who’s gone?”
    The flap of the tent came up and a man holding a revolver strode in, pointing the gun at me. “Who’s the dame?”
     I stared at the man who was about my age, his gray hair quite short, wire rimmed-glasses on his face. Not only was he thin, but muscular—and quite short in stature, too.
    “I don’t think I like the sound of that. Who uses names like dames these days? Who are you, anyway?”
    “The name’s Len McGroovy.”
    I laughed. “That’s one of the worst names I have ever heard in the whole creation of bad cover names.”
    “Put that gun down, Len. That’s my mother.”
    “Is she a special agent, too?”
    “No, and let’s keep this between us.”
    “I’ve been in retirement a whole two weeks and here you are ruining it.”
     Oh, wow. I have run smack dab into some real spy-level stuff here. Or whatever was going on. “I’ll be leaving now. You two can work out your differences after I leave.”
    “You should have thought about that before,” Len said. “Out, the both of you.” Stuart and I were led outside and into the back of a rustic black van where Stuart was relieved of his firearm.
    As the van backed up, I had to say, “Smart move about using an old van. A brand new one would be so much more suspect.”
    A woman climbed in behind us and laughed when she spotted me. “Still having problems with working with others, Stuart?”
    “I’m his mother,” I announced. I gripped my purse tightly. “I sure hope you can drop me off at the campground. My best friend is searching for me by now. Did I mention that my granddaughter is married to a state trooper? Stuart’s dad was also a—” 
    The woman covered her ears. “No wonder you joined the FBI. I would to get away from a mother like that, too.”
    I wanted to give her long black hair a hard yank. “I bet you never call your mother.”
    “Say one more word, Granny, and I’ll pop you.”
    I smiled and whipped her with my handbag, she then tumbled over and Stuart wrestled her gun from her hands. Len looked in the rearview mirror and stomped on the gas.
    Stuart opened the side door and gave me a gentle shove from the careening van. I tumbled to the soft grass since the van had only started to gain speed, and Stuart landed nearby.
    “What do you have in that bag of yours, Mother?”
    “Rolled change. I was planning to drop it off at the bank.”
    “Looks like you lost your bag.”
    “That’s okay.”
    “But now they’ll