Monday, July 29, 2013

Beach Tale: "When We Were Middle Aged and Foolish", Fourth Installment

          This is the fourth installment of my serialized short mystery, “When We Were Middle Aged and Foolish.”  A new chapter will be posted every Monday for the next four weeks.  If you missed the first installments, click here to be taken to the page of what’s been posted so far.
          For those of you returning, a quick reminder when last we left our middle-aged amateur sleuths, they were at the Sagucci Bay police station trying to explain how’d they’d come to find a dead body in a trash can... 
  

When We Were Middle Aged and Foolish
Installment Four of Eight
        Since it was determined that Kitty Kline had been dead for a couple of days and I had an airtight alibi working at my job at a cotton merchant more than 1,000 miles away in Memphis, Tennessee, I was off the hook for murder. Charges for Accessory After the Fact, Breaking and Entering, and Urinating in Public were still pending, but the attorney I found in the Yellow Pages had me sprung on my own recognizance by suppertime. And just like in a bad movie, I’d been warned not to leave town.
          Monica Lyn wasn’t so lucky. With means, motive, opportunity, and the trail of blood down Fisher Street, she was a slam dunk for the prosecution. But the judge took into account her twelve-year stint as a city council person, nine years as Girl Scout Troop 83 leader, six years as PTA President, and current fundraising chair for the local no-kill animal shelter, and deemed her a low-flight risk. Bail was set at an amount easily covered via a cash advance on her VISA.
          A smart woman would let the police take it from here. A really smart woman would hire a private investigator to help things along. And then there’s Monica Lyn. She decided to take things into her own hands.

Monday, July 22, 2013

Beach Tale: "When We Were Middle Aged and Foolish", Third Installment

     This is the third installment of my serialized short mystery, "When We Were Middle Aged and Foolish."  A new chapter will be posted every Monday for the next five weeks. If you missed the first installment, click here to read what's been posted thus far. 
     A reminder to those of you who read last Monday's installment:  When last we left our middle-aged sleuths they had just delivered a dead body to the front lawn of their childhood nemesis, Kitty Kline. Mission accomplished.  But not the end of things.  Not by a long shot!  Let's join our friends back in the bucolic town of Sagucci Bay...

  When We Were Middle Aged and Foolish
Installment Three of Eight
       There are hangovers, and then there are HANGOVERS. I currently suffered from the latter, and right now wished I was in a simple pine box buried six-feet under the ground.
          Instead, I sat in an echo chamber labeled Police Interrogation Room Number Three, baking under lights that had to be 2,000 megawatts brighter than the sun.
          “I’ll repeat my question,” Detective Dirk Rasmussen said. “How did you and Ms. Hunter come to be in Ms. Kline’s house?”

Monday, July 15, 2013

Beach Tale: "When We Were Middle Aged and Foolish", Second Installment

          This is the second installment of my serialized short mystery, “When We Were Middle Aged and Foolish.”  A new chapter will be posted every Monday for the next six weeks.  If you missed the first installment, click here to be taken to the page of what’s been posted so far.
          For those of you returning, a quick reminder when last we left our middle-aged amateur sleuths:  They were in the bucolic town of Sagucci Bay, and had a plan to dispose of the dead body they had just discovered in a stolen trash can…

 When We Were Middle Aged and Foolish
Installment Two of Eight

        Monica Lyn and I had shared our first bottles of Boone’s Farm Strawberry Hill on the night of her 14th birthday. That had been twenty-eight years, three months and six days ago. I still had a Jimmy Buffett lyric tattooed on my backside as a souvenir.
          In honor of my first visit to my hometown after a twenty-five-year absence, Monica Lyn had purchased a case of the beverage that more closely resembled cough syrup than cabernet. We each grabbed a bottle and, armed with a bucket of ice, headed for the back patio to figure out a plan. With her parents decamped to their mountain cabin for the summer (it was cooler there, and wasn’t plagued by tourists), we had the house to ourselves. In hindsight, it would have saved us a lot of grief if Mr. and Mrs. O’Neill had been around to talk us out of our simple (yet stupid) plan.

Monday, July 8, 2013

Beach Tale: "When We Were Middle Aged and Foolish" First Installment

    This is the first installment of my short mystery, "When We Were Middle Aged and Foolish."  
     A new chapter will be posted every Monday for the next seven weeks.  So take a little vacation--if only in your mind--to the shore, where murder and revenge are afoot in the bucolic town of Sagucci Bay.   
     And don't forget the sunscreen!
~Jayne


When We Were Middle Aged and Foolish
Installment ONE of Eight

          I’ve never seen a dead body up close and personal, let alone one chopped up like a fryer chicken and stuffed into two Hefty Cinch Saks. It’s not a pretty sight, and is accompanied by an even more ghastly smell. I fought down the vomit burning my tonsils and stumbled out of the garage as fast as my linguine legs could carry me.
          “Well?” Monica Lyn, my best friend since preschool, asked.
          “That’s a real dead body all right.” I gave into gravity and melted down onto the driveway. The heat from the blacktop warmed by a late August sun seeped through my cotton capris but did little to soothe the post-horrific shock rattling my extremities.
          “Not a mannequin leftover from Halloween or something?” The tone in Monica Lyn’s voice bordered on a whiney panic.
          “Mannequin’s don’t smell. Nor ooze blood. Go call the police.”
          “No police.” Monica Lyn twisted her long dark hair into a bun on the back of her head, then released it, allowing it to cascade down over her shoulders. She did it again. And again. And again.
          A nervous sort of chuckle gurgled from my solar plexus. “Yes, police. Now.”
          Silence. “We can’t.”
          “Why not?”