Macchiato mayhem, p.1
Macchiato Mayhem, page 1
Macchiato Mayhem
A Brown’s Ground Mystery
Book 5
Wendy Meadows
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Also by Wendy Meadows
About Wendy Meadows
Copyright © 2026 by Wendy Meadows
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Chapter One
Nothing strikes fear into the hearts of people more than driving along, busy with daily events, and suddenly seeing the check engine light on their dashboard pop on. It is even more awful for those whose vehicle is their business. Monica Brown was no exception.
"Does it have oil in it?" Nathan Thomas asked from the order window where the sheriff of Millpond almost always got his morning coffee.
"Yes. I just checked the other day, and it was good," Monica replied.
"Has it been making any strange noises? Running sluggish?" Nate asked.
"No. I paid extra close attention this morning, listening and paying attention to how she drove. I didn't notice anything different. But what do I know? I just make coffee. Oh, why didn't I take shop class in high school?" Monica said and huffed, flipping her hair off her face.
"Hey, there is no use getting all riled up. You don't know what's wrong. It could be something simple," Nate said, but he could tell by her expression she was going to fret over everything until she got her truck to the mechanic.
"I know. It's just that I was really pulling ahead. I thought I might cross that imaginary line that would really set me in the black. Then this happens. Nate, why don't you go try and strike oil so that you can pay all my bills for me, and I can just sell my coffee and read my books and not have to worry about anything. Is that too much to ask?"
"I'll get right on that," Nate laughed. "In the meantime, keep me posted about your truck. If there is anything I can do to help, you know where to find me."
"Thanks, Nate. I appreciate that," Monica replied with a smile. Nate was the first person she'd met in Millpond on a rainy day like today. When he first approached her, she was sure he was nothing but trouble. She had no idea a sheriff could look like he did: blue jeans and boots in a rickety old truck. Handsome as any hero in the trashy romance novels she loved to read.
She shook her head. "I shouldn't say anything bad about Nate's truck. It runs like new in every kind of weather, and even though it isn't nearly as pretty as mine, its check engine light isn't on."
She checked her coffee levels, restocked her cups, straightened out the napkins, and wished she had some music to distract her. A little café music, or maybe even the soundtrack to a good movie, would have drowned out her thoughts a little. Instead, she took a couple of deep breaths and resigned herself to the fact that no matter what, she was going to have to take her truck in and let them inspect it. It was already a done deal. No use worrying or complaining. That would accomplish nothing except drive her crazy.
"If the truck is beyond repair, I'll just trade it in for a new one and start from scratch. That's all. Easy peasy," she assured herself. Still, she loved her food truck, and everyone had gotten used to seeing it in its usual place. What would her "regulars" think if she didn't show up and park in downtown Millpond in between the park bench and the crane statue in front of the Leech family monument?
Just as a new set of worries formed in her mind, a group of people crossing the street started heading in her direction. Some of the faces were familiar and reminded Monica that she was a businesswoman. There would be bumps in the road. If she fell apart and panicked whenever there was a problem, she might as well hang up her apron for good. Instead, she smoothed out the wrinkles, smiled, and decided no matter what, today was going to be a good day. As it turned out, it really was.
After shutting the window at the end of the day and cleaning up the inside of the truck, Monica drove it to the mechanic's shop. She explained the situation clearly and without emotion to keep her professional composure and keep her nerves in check.
"So, would you have any idea what the problem might be?" she asked.
"I won't know until I get under the hood. You said the truck is a couple years old. It could be anything. But there is one problem," Mike Kowski, the mechanic, said. Kowski's was the name of the garage. It was a big place, dirty and gray, with three huge garage doors all open and trucks like hers up on lifts. Rock music emanated from inside. Occasionally, the sound of a drill or a clang of metal on metal could be heard, as well as the voices of Mike's employees. Mike specialized in fixing the local food trucks, and his garage had a 5-star rating online. He had a habit of shifting from his right leg to his left and then back again like he was in the middle of a slow dance.
"What's that?" Monica bit her lip.
"I've got about three trucks ahead of you. It will take me about a week to get to it," Mike said with an apology in his eyes.
"Should I just bring it back?" Monica asked, hopeful she wouldn't have to be closed for any length of time.
"I wouldn't recommend that. Your best bet is to leave it with me. Driving with the check engine light on could cause more damage. I'd err on the side of caution," Mike said, still doing his dance to music no one could hear.
She knew he was right. Besides, what if something happened and she couldn't get the thing moving? Or what if it died on the road? She nodded her head while still biting her lip.
"Look, I can see you're worried. I'll try to get a peek under the hood and let you know if I see anything right off the bat," Mike said.
"That would be great," Monica let out a breath she didn't even realize she was holding. She left the garage on her bike that she had stowed in the back of the truck. Something had told her to bring it in case the vehicle broke down on the side of the road. Now she was grateful she'd listened to her gut. As she pedaled to the house she'd inherited from her grandfather on Cherry Tree Lane, she thought of her situation. After talking with Mike, she was not nearly as anxious. Still, she wished she'd gotten an answer right away. Sometimes things had to unfold in their own time to work out right.
"Well, you've got a couple of days off. What to do?" she said as she turned into her driveway. The thought of getting the yard ready for fall immediately came to mind. It wasn't jacket weather yet; however, thick sweaters were definitely a good idea at night. Although her newfound passion for working in her yard was there, her heart just wasn't ready to pull weeds or clean gutters. One thing was for sure, she was not going to waste the days away. She needed a plan of action so solid she'd almost welcome a catastrophic diagnosis from the mechanic. Then she'd be able to tend to her yard with a content heart.
No sooner had she sat down in front of the television with a bologna sandwich and dill pickle on a plate than her phone rang. It was Mike from the garage.
"Oh, gosh. Is it bad news? What is that thing that if it breaks you might as well just push it off a cliff?" she babbled.
"The transmission?"
"Yeah. Is it the transmission? Is my truck totally broken?"
The laughing she heard on the other end of the phone didn't put her mind at ease. "No, Miss Brown. You've got a faulty CO2 sensor."
"Oh my gosh!" she gasped.
"Now I've got good news and bad news. What do you want first?" Mike asked.
"Bad! Bad. Give me the bad news," she said, her stomach tying itself into knots.
"The bad news is, for this truck, I don't have the parts. I've got to order them, and it will take about 7–10 days. So, unless you have another truck, you won't be able to conduct business." Mike went on to explain why he was unwilling to let her continue to drive the truck with the engine light on. It was a safety issue—could result in the truck running sluggish, not to mention the damage it could cause to the catalytic converter.
"That's bad?" Monica chirped.
"Right now, you are looking at a $200–$500 repair. If you drive it and damage is done to the converter, it will run you about $2,000. Take your pick," he said.
"Okay. Can you really try to get it do ne in no more than 10 days? I've got to eat, just like you," she replied sheepishly.
"That's why I specialize in these trucks. I know how to get the job done as quickly as possible. I promise it won't be more than 10 days, Miss Brown," Mike said, his voice full of understanding. Monica swallowed hard and nodded her head even though he couldn't see her.
"Okay. I'll wait to hear from you," she said.
"I'll be in touch," he replied before hanging up.
Monica slouched in her chair. The cost of the repair itself was nothing. But how much was she going to lose being out of commission for 10 days?
"The first thing I'll lose is my mind. What am I supposed to do for 10 days? How much weed-pulling can one girl do?" she asked the walls of her kitchen. They had no answer. She sat down at the kitchen table next to the window looking out on her front yard. She could see across the street to her friend Carol Hamilton's house. It was littered with bikes and plastic baseball bats and a stroller and kiddie pool. There was a giant welcome sign on the porch.
After Monica finished eating, she decided a little self-pity and wine might be a temporary Band-Aid for her situation. She grabbed a bottle of cheap chardonnay and headed across the street.
Carol had been a blessing since Monica moved in. Her house was like a zoo with three boys and one girl, all under the age of 10. Plus, her husband, who was always there with a joke and a smile—it was a fun place to be. A tad exhausting. But sometimes that was exactly what Monica needed. That was part of the reason she babysat for them. The kids were no trouble and did all the silly and sometimes daring things children who had no fear did. They reminded Monica not to be so serious. She felt it did her good.
Just as she got to the porch, Carol pulled the front door open. "You were reading my mind! I was just about to pack up the baby and head to your house."
"Is everything okay?" Monica asked as she got to the top of the porch and gave Carol a hug before offering her the wine bottle.
"Yes, especially now that you brought wine. But I wanted to know if you could get some time away from work," Carol smiled wide. "Please tell me you can, and you aren't one of those annoying career-driven women."
"Funny you should say that," Monica replied and gave a quick synopsis of her truck troubles. "So, I've got the next 10 days off, whether I like it or not."
"This is perfect! We're going up to the Lake Canopy Cabins. Dud and I haven't been since we were first married. It's beautiful. You'll be in a fully loaded cabin, so roughing it isn't really part of the trip. Well, the kids get put out to pasture in the tents, but the adults sleep inside in beds. There is plenty of room."
"Are you sure you don't want to have some alone time with Dud?" Monica asked as she watched Carol open the bottle of wine and retrieve two wine glasses from the cupboard.
"Wasn't there some trouble up there at one time? I remember my grandfather telling me something about a hunter going missing or getting accidentally shot by another hunter," Monica asked as she took one of the glasses of wine.
"Come on, Monica. Don't you know? Where there are forests, cabins, and bonfires, there are always stories about people going missing, Bigfoot sightings, UFO abductions. Please say you'll come. It will be so much more fun with you there," Carol pleaded.
"How can I say no to all that?" Monica said. They clinked their glasses together and discussed the trip.
Chapter Two
After the hour-long drive and fourth bathroom break for the boys—Dud included, marking their territory in the woods and tall weeds—the Hamiltons and Monica arrived at Lake Canopy Cabins.
Monica was not prepared for the scene that unfolded as the car crept along the gravel road at 10 miles an hour toward the lake. Lush green trees, peppered wildflowers, and a perfectly smooth lake reflecting the sun spread out in front of her. The gravel road turned to the left, and suddenly rustic cabins popped up. Finally, they pulled in front of a duplex cabin that appeared to be in the center of all the other single cabins. There was a wooden cutout of a rooster nailed into a post.
"We're at the rooster!" the kids all chimed in excitedly.
"The campground owners found people sometimes didn't remember what number they were in, so they added animal symbols. There's an eagle cabin, a bear cabin, a moose cabin. You get the idea," Carol chirped as she got out of the car. As soon as Monica did the same and took a deep breath, her lungs filled with the cleanest, dewiest, most fragrant air she thought she'd ever inhaled. There was a hint of lilac that came from the bushes growing along the sides of all the cabins as far as she could see. The birds sang happily, undisturbed in the trees, high overhead. Even the squirrels could be heard acting squirrely as they chased each other up and down trees and through the thick grass.
"This is breathtaking," Monica said.
"Isn't it? I knew you'd like it. Come on, let's get you settled inside. We always have the right side of the duplex. These units have more space than the single cabins, although we've stayed in those before, too, and they are nice. But if the weather changes, the kids have to sleep like bulldogs piled on top of each other in the living room. This is a two-bedroom unit, and it makes a huge difference."
"Hey, I'll be just as happy on the couch," Monica replied.
"Nonsense. The kids love not sleeping in their beds. They get to revert back to their primitive selves. Savages. Every one of them," Carol replied with love as she counted the heads of her four children and ordered the three older kids to help their dad bring everything into the cabin while she hoisted the baby and diaper bag. Monica carried her own duffle bag that she'd managed to stuff a week's worth of casual clothes inside: sweatpants, sweatshirts, jeans, flannels, oversized T-shirts, and thick socks, along with a pair of gym shoes in case anything happened to the boots she was wearing. There was no need for shorts or a bathing suit since the weather was too cool for that. There was only the slightest hint of the trees changing their colors, with a scattering of oranges and golds at the tips of the branches, like Mother Nature had frosted the tips.
Once inside, Monica was shocked at how modern the important things were. There was a wood-burning fireplace and a kitchen decked out with stainless steel appliances. Every light switch had a dimmer to adjust the Tiffany lamps and antlered chandeliers that miraculously worked together in the same space. The sofa was a sleeper, and so was the armchair.
"This is your room. It's small but nice," Carol said.
Monica tossed her duffle bag on the bed and smiled. "It's perfect," she said as she pulled the curtains aside to see a beautiful partial view of the lake and lots of trees.
"Dud and I are here," she said, opening the door to a bigger room with a potbelly stove in the corner, a king-size bed, and an attached bathroom that was all done in stone. It wasn't huge, but it was private.
"Very nice," Monica smiled. "I really can't thank you enough for inviting me. I'm sure if I were home, I'd be climbing the walls after one day of daytime television."
"You might be climbing the walls after one day of daytime kids," Carol said and chuckled.
"You know that's not true. I love your kids. Where are they? It's quiet. Aren't you worried?" Monica teased.
"No. There is one more thing you might like to check out." She led Monica through the house to the back door, which led to a closed-in porch where Dud, Chuck, Hank, and Sissy were busy laying sleeping bags in a pop-up tent that would accommodate all three of them come nightfall.
"Look, Miss Monica. We are camping out," Hank shouted.
"You sure are. Is there room in there for me?"
"No."
"No?" Monica replied and got down on her hands and knees, peeking inside. "Sure there is. In fact, there is just enough." She climbed inside and took up all the space as the kids squealed and laughed, piling on top of her, making her laugh.
Carol took the baby, who had fallen asleep in her arms, and placed him in the playpen in the master bedroom before closing the door halfway. Monica unpacked her duffel bag, then joined her friend on the back porch as the kids played and Dud finished unloading the car. A gray ceiling of clouds had rolled in, bringing a cool breeze. Monica inhaled deeply.
