Ozark Retreat Page 2

  “Hello,” he said as he got out of the Suburban. “I’m Brady Collingsworth.”

  “Sam Fellows,” said what was obviously the leader of the clan. He just had that look about him, to Brady. “Excuse me if I don’t shake hands.” Sam crossed his arms when Brady held out his hand for a handshake.

  Brady shrugged. “Can’t really blame you. Am I going to be allowed to talk to LaRhonda?”

  “She said she would,” came a voice from the back of the small crowd. “That means she will.” The voice was tinged with anger.

  “Come on in to the house,” Sam said. The group parted and Sam led Brady to the closest of the six houses. He had to force himself to turn his attention back to the matter at hand. The construction features of the house had caught his eye.

  Brady saw LaRhonda sitting stiffly in an upholstered chair in the small living room of the house when they entered. He recognized her from the photos her father had given him. “Hello, LaRhonda,” Brady said. He didn’t even try to shake hands with her.

  “I’m not leaving,” she said, staring at him. “I’m safe here. Safer than out there. She made a vague motion, indicating the world outside the compound. “Don’t you watch the news?”

  “Mind if I sit down?” He didn’t move until LaRhonda finally nodded. Sam silently left the room; going into what Brady figured was the kitchen. No doors opened and closed so Brady assumed Sam was hanging close, to lend a hand, if need be.

  “Would you expand on that a little? Tell me not only why you want to stay, but also why you don’t want to go back. I think there are several different issues here.”

  He almost wished he hadn’t asked. Brady got LaRhonda’s life history. And quite a bit of world history and especially US history. She was lucid and forceful in her speech. No signs of it being by rote, like she would have if she had been programmed. It was all by her own design. By the time she finished, Brady felt like he’d just attended a cross between an Oprah show and a seminar on preparedness.

  Quietly Brady said, “I’ll tell your father you are where you want to be. You aren’t under any constraints and you could leave whenever you wanted. You just choose not to go back to your father’s home.”

  LaRhonda’s eyes widened. “That’s it? You’ll tell him to leave me alone?”

  “I can’t tell him that. That’s his decision. But it will be a strongly voiced report that he shouldn’t pursue trying to get you to go back.”

  “You sound honest. You aren’t just telling me this to get my guard down so you can take me by force?”

  “No, I’m not. You’ll only be convinced after enough time passes with nothing happening. Then again, I can’t say what your father will do after he gets my report. He may hire someone else to try. I would stay on my guard, if I was you.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’ll keep my eyes and ears open. If he indicates to me that he will do that, I’ll let you know. A letter might be too slow. Can I call?”

  “I don’t want to give you our phone number. You might give it to him.”

  Brady reeled off two of the phone numbers the compound had.

  “You already have it,” LaRhonda said, disappointed. “Well, I guess you can call. But it’s hard to get through sometimes. Be better if you send me an e-mail. We have satellite internet service here. I’m the computer person for the group so I’m online quite a bit.”

  “Very good. I’ll do that. I think I’d better be going. I don’t want to cause any more commotion than I already have.”

  Sam immediately came out of the kitchen. He walked with Brady back to the Suburban. There were three men checking it out. “Nice truck,” one said.

  “Too bad it won’t run after an EMP attack,” said another.

  “How’s that?” Brady asked, intrigued.

  “EMP will probably fry the computers. These new Suburbans are nice, but I’ll take my old model,” Sam said. “No computer or engine electronics to fry.”

  The third man spoke. “Be a sweet rig though, with a non-electronic turbo diesel. Where did you get the snorkel?”

  “Came with it,” Brady said. “I bought it at a government auction. It was a drug mule’s border crossing vehicle.”

  “Sweet,” said the first man. “Hope he got life.”

  “Actually,” Brady said, rather grimly, “He got death. Tried to fight it out with the Border Patrol.”

  Brady started to get into the Suburban, but hesitated, one foot still on the ground. “Any chance, under the circumstances, of getting a tour of the place? I’m curious about…”

  “No way,” chorused the three men.

  Sam was shaking his head. “We keep to ourselves. Visitors aren’t all that welcome. And we don’t give away our secrets.”

  “I understand,” Brady said. He climbed the rest of the way into the Suburban, buckled up, and started the engine. “Non-electronic diesel, huh?” he said softly as he backed up and turned around to leave. He saw Sam take a radio from a belt pouch and speak into it.

  The man at the gate had it open already. He did do a small wave as Brady passed. Brady waved back. When he got back into Branson he contacted the Branson police and county sheriff’s offices that his business was concluded and he would be leaving the area.

  He decided to stay one more night and catch another show.

  After he had returned to the city and given LaRhonda’s father his report, he e-mailed LaRhonda with the message, “Stay on guard.” Her father wasn’t going to give up yet.

  Brady had a high profile courier case waiting on him when he returned. While he was doing that, he had Barbara checking on engine swap specialists, on a whim. She found three and had reports on each of them when he completed the delivery and returned.

  “I’ve been wondering all week.” Barbara handed Brady the files. “Is something wrong with the Suburban? I drove it this week and everything seemed all right.”

  “Nothing wrong,” Brady replied. “Just an idea prompted by the research on the cult case.” He started to turn away, but stopped and asked Barbara. “You’re always on the ball. What do you do when the power goes out?”

  “Oh, I’ve got plenty of candles. Why? You thinking about becoming a survivalist?”

  Brady grinned. “Definitely not one like the media portrays them.”

  “Of course not. But I’ve heard you say you don’t keep much in the fridge, much less the pantry. You eat out all the time. What would you do if the power went out? Or the stores ran out of food?”

  Brady realized she was quite serious. She’d never broached the subject with him before. “I don’t really know,” he said slowly, staring off into the distance.

  “You should think about it,” Barbara replied. “Just listen to the news.”

  “LaRhonda said essentially the same thing.” Brady’s eyes refocused on Barbara. “Are you a survivalist?” When Barbara looked a little sour, Brady added, “Or whatever the term is for people that prepare, but aren’t wackos?”

  “Preppers. That’s what I consider myself. Someone who prepares for the worst, but hopes for the best.”

  “Prepper, huh? That does sound better. I’ll give it some thought.” And he did. A lot of thought. When he wasn’t actively working on a case he continued the research he’d started doing during LaRhonda’s case. He found the more he learned, the more he wanted to learn. He was a good detective. He learned much.

  Brady began to watch the news with a different eye. He also looked for alternate sources of news. He began visiting several preparedness related websites and forums, including those that FEMA sponsored.

  Then one day one of the real estate agents he’d contacted in and around Branson called him. She had found a piece of property in which he might be interested. Brady didn’t tell her he was no longer in the market. He decided on the spur of the moment to go look at it.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The real estate agent rode with Brady. It was a hot, muggy day. Brady had the air conditioner full on. Julia directed Brady down
the state road for just a short way, and then onto a county road. Soon Brady noted they were climbing in altitude. The road twisted and turned quite a bit. They’d gone almost twenty miles on the road. Brady figured it was less than fifteen as the crow flies back to Branson when Julia indicated a steep dirt track.

  He turned onto it and they climbed the sharp grade. The road finally leveled off and then quickly petered out. It was forest all around, except for the dirt road. Brady had to jockey the Suburban around some in the trees to get it turned around to head back down the track.

  Brady and Julia got out of the Suburban. Julia handed Brady a topographical map. “Here is the map you requested. We’re… right here.” She put her finger on a point on the map after Brady unfolded it.

  They couldn’t see more than twenty or thirty yards in any direction, except down the road, so Brady began walking along, map in hand. Julia stayed where she was. Brady had spotted key points on the map and checked each one out in person. He was trying not to grin when he returned to the Suburban and Julia. It was everything he’d asked for and Julia had told him about. Plus.

  All the real estate agents had said that properties with water sources were rare and costly. They did exist, but most of them had been bought up years before, by the earliest settlers, and seldom came onto the market.

  What Julia had missed on the map, if she had even looked at it, was a tiny blue mark. Barely more than a tic. It was a spring. A very small one, but a spring never-the-less. He’d been tempted to check how it tasted, but remembered in time that he’d read that even in remote areas the water was often contaminated. He’d have the water tested professionally before he tried to drink any of it.

  He didn’t mention the spring to Julia. He did ask, “How did this piece of property come to be on the market?”

  “A group of doctors had bought it, intending to put in a small spa resort. They bought the property three years ago, based on some very tentative county plans to extend and improve the roads up here. That project fell through. They decided to cut their losses while they could. They are quite eager to sell.” Julia quoted a price.

  “Doesn’t sound too eager to me.” He made a counter, and she re-countered. Brady made his do or die offer.

  “I… I’ll have to check with them,” Julia said. “I just don’t know. I’ve gone as low as they would let me.”

  Brady shrugged. “It’s a take it or leave it offer. And it will be cash. See if that makes any difference to them.

  Julia looked delighted. “Oh, I think it will. Can’t make promises, but I think they’ll take it. They were grumbling about having to finance it.”

  When Brady dropped Julia off at her office he said, “If they accept the offer, push the paperwork through as fast as you can. I’d like to take possession as soon as possible.”

  “Are you planning a resort, too, Mr. Collingsworth?”

  “No,” Brady replied. “A retirement home.” He suddenly realized he meant it.

  After he dropped Julia off, Brady went to a hardware store and picked up a few things and then went back up to the property. He dug out the wet spot that was the source of the spring and made a small pool. He scooped up water in three zip-lock bags to take back to the city for testing.

  He filled half-way full four 5-gallon plastic buckets with topsoil from four different spots on the property. Then he dug down in another spot as deep as he could without making a huge hole and put a sample of the sub-soil in another bucket. He’d take them all in for testing by the county extension service.

  A week after Brady got home Julia called. The doctor group had accepted the offer. Brady over-nighted a cashier’s check that afternoon.

  A few days later and he received the results of the water and soil tests. The water was contaminated with protozoa, but any decent silver impregnated filter would handle that.

  The soil tests were also less than perfect, but more than acceptable. The soil was more than moderately fertile, but not up to intensive gardening without conditioning. He would need to do a percolation test to determine the size and type of septic system that would be needed. But he needed to decide what facilities he would have on the property before he sized the septic system.

  One piece of information the real estate agents had provided him, on their own, was how deep wells in the area ran and the names of a couple of well drillers. Water was a big issue in the area.

  Brady got on line and found a site with aerial photographs. He pinpointed his property. The photo was over ten years old, but perhaps for individual trees that might have died and fallen, and new growth, he couldn’t see where anything else had changed.

  A visit to the USGS website got him different scale topographic maps of the area. He took the maps and copies of the photos to a professional model maker he’d used on a case, and had large scale models of the property and the surrounding area built.

  He began reading the Branson newspaper on line to become more familiar with the area.

  His detective business was booming and he expanded during the fall, hiring two operatives in addition to Harry, one male and one female. Barbara had her license and had handled tasks for him that required a female. But she was pregnant now and wanted to just run the office.

  They really needed more room for what they had, and would need even more as they expanded. “Barbara,” Brady said one day, “use your detective skills and see if you can find us a decent place in a building with some kind of reasonable shelter space in case of bad weather or something.”

  “You a convert, Boss?” she asked in reply.

  “I don’t know, Barbara. I think just maybe I am. I’ve been thinking about it quite a bit.”

  He told her about the property he’d bought and she laughed. “Yep. A convert. Seriously now, if I can help you in any way, let me know. And if you would, keep me and Robert in mind if you want to start a MAG. I’d like to find a better retreat than we have, if you’d consider it.”

  “I’ll consider it. I hadn’t thought that far ahead. I still need to get a well drilled, but I can’t do that until I decide where I want the house and cut some trees. You can barely move around up there right now. A drilling rig would never make it.”

  “Think southern exposure and defensibility, both in placement and orientation.”

  It was good advice. Brady kept both in mind as he continued to study the maps and the models, and plans for everything from a one room cabin on up. He had a clean slate. He could do anything he could dream up and afford. He had to put preps on a back burner for a while. The firm picked up a murder case from one of the several attorneys he was on retainer to for case investigation work. It took him out of town for quite a while. When he returned the attorney’s client was set free with the actual murderer in jail, with enough evidence provided by Brady to convict him.

  It had been a tough case, and dangerous. The killer had carefully set up the accused, with an alibi for himself. He didn’t like it when Brady began to poke holes in the frame and the alibi. Brady set himself up as an easy target, and with police backup, trapped the guy. At least this one had enough sense not to try to shoot it out.

  So Brady decided to take a couple of weeks off and go down to the property. He was born and bred a city boy. He’d been in the service, but other than boot camp hadn’t gone into the field. He did his tour working for the JAG as an investigator.

  He used the information from forum discussions to select camping equipment so he could stay on the property when he went down. Barbara put in her dollar and a quarter’s worth and he was set. Barbara also made sure he understood the BOB concept. She nodded her approval when Brady showed her what he had come up with.

  Barbara would be in charge of the move to their new offices while Brady was gone. He hated moving. The building had a sub-basement and parking garage suitable for shelter use. Between them Brady and Barbara came up with a budget to have preparations purchased and stored in the offices and sub-basement after the move.

  Brady had talk
ed to both of the available well drillers previously. One sounded fine, but the other guaranteed a minimum quantity of water if he could douse the property and put the well where he wanted. Brady had grave doubts about dousing, but the guarantee couldn’t be beat, even though the driller was a dollar higher a foot than the other guy. But he wouldn’t guarantee quality of the water when Brady asked about it. Just the quantity.

  So Brady met the driller at the property the first day Brady was down. Brady showed Henry the area where he planned for the house and compound. He watched Henry as he walked the area, two L-shaped pieces of coat hanger in his hands. Brady saw them cross or almost cross several times. Henry kept coming back to one place. “Here,” he said, looking up at Brady.

  It wasn’t quite where Brady would have picked, but it wasn’t that far off. And it was uphill from where he tentatively planned to put the septic system. It would do. Brady would get the guarantee. Henry showed Brady how much space he would need for the drilling rig and support truck.

  They set a date for Henry to come back with his rig to drill the well and set the pumps. Brady had selected a solar pump as the primary pump, with a deep-well hand pump as back-up. He was taking his preps seriously.

  But first he had to get the trees cleared. Firewood was a big business in the area, so it was no problem to find someone to cut the trees for a portion of the firewood. He’d stockpile the rest. Wood burning stoves were in his future.

  A local farmer advertised stump removal. Brady contacted him and had him come out and dynamite the stumps. That called for some earthmoving afterwards to fill the holes and level the ground. Brady had gone undercover on a case two years previously as an equipment operator. He had more than a passing familiarity with earthmoving equipment. He just needed to decide if he wanted to rent equipment and do the work, or hire the work done.

  After checking on the availability of equipment he just hired a contractor and had him do the work. Later he would do some of the work himself when he had more time. Henry was happy with the pad created and set up and got right to work when he arrived the day after the dirt work was done.