The Root of All Evil

by Shannon VanBergen

  The Root of All Evil

  A Glock Grannies Cozy Mystery

  Shannon VanBergen

  Fairfield Publishing

  Copyright © 2017 Fairfield Publishing

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  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Except for review quotes, this book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, without the written consent of the author.

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  This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is purely coincidental.

  Dedication

  A special thank you to my sister Wendi Dunham

  for bringing Les to life with her poems. She’s not just my sister, she’s also one of my closest friends.

  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

  Epilogue

  Thank You!

  More from Les (poetry)

  Grandma Greta’s Famous Sugar Cookie Recipe

  Preview: Up in Smoke

  Preview: A Pie to Die For

  Chapter 1

  Bran muffins and strong coffee—two things that get you going in more ways than one. At least that was what the Grannies told me. And judging by the amount of both sitting on the counter, they must have been on their way over.

  “Oh,” I said excitedly. “Are we having a meeting today?”

  Grandma Dean looked my way and gave me a once-over, following it up with a disappointing shake of her head. Grandma Dean was always impeccably dressed… I was not.

  She carried the muffins to the table. “We do not have a meeting. I have a meeting.”

  “But I’m part of the group,” I protested. I pulled some butter from the fridge to remind her how useful I was. “You made me a member and I even helped solve a murder!”

  Grandma took the butter and put it next to the muffins. “Think of yourself as an understudy,” she said, walking to the drawer to pull out a butter knife.

  Grandma Dean used to be a famous actor, dancer, and singer in Europe back in the day. She still carried herself like an old movie star and liked to make theater references.

  “But even an understudy has to know the part!”

  “Your part is silent.” Grandma flashed me a look that told me I wasn’t going to win this argument. Then her face softened.

  “I don’t want you to get too caught up in our…card club…”

  “You don’t have to keep calling it that. I know what you do!” I had found out a few weeks ago that Grandma’s “card club” was really a neighborhood watch on steroids…and maybe Ensure. They didn’t just “watch” the neighborhood, they protected it…with force. They called themselves the Glock Grannies.

  “Well, whatever I want to call it, it’s too dangerous for you. If we need your help again, we’ll let you know.”

  I wanted to protest further, but knew it was futile.

  “Why don’t you go down to the shop and start setting things up? The back is full of inventory that just came in yesterday.” I sighed, and Grandma Dean reached up to smooth my hair. “Don’t look so disappointed. This meeting is going to be boring. We have so much to do downtown and it would be great if you got a head start.”

  I finally agreed and walked toward my room, grabbing a bran muffin on the way.

  “And Nikki,” she called after me. I turned to look at her. “Do something about that hair. People are going to think something lives in there.”

  You wouldn’t know it by the way she talked to me about my hair and lack of fashion sense, but she loved me fiercely. That was a good a way to describe Geraldine Dean—fierce. She was also kind and loyal, but she did everything with a ferocity and tenacity that seemed to leave everyone else in the dust.

  “You’ve got ten minutes,” Grandma hollered from the kitchen.

  I sighed and looked at myself in the mirror. I really was a mess. I had come to stay with Grandma Dean nearly two months ago at the urging of my mother. She said I needed to leave our small Illinois farm town to get some clarity after a string of marriages and divorces—six to be exact. Apparently, the whole family thought I married out of boredom and when guy number seven put a ring on my finger, it was finally time to break the cycle.

  Bo was number seven, or he would be if I married him. He was different than the others, though…he was real. And that terrified me, which was why I had agreed to come stay with Grandma Dean.

  I looked down at the few hair products that lined my bathroom sink and then glanced back up at myself. I was going to need something heavy duty to tame this mess. I quickly got dressed and ran to Grandma Dean’s bathroom. She had every hair and makeup product the world had to offer. I opened a closet that was nothing but bottle after bottle of elixirs and was suddenly overwhelmed.

  “Grandma Dean,” I called to her. “What should I do if I want to tame my hair a bit today?”

  I could hear her coming so I stepped back from the closet. She walked in and looked at me with a face full of pity. “Go back in time and convince your mother not to marry your father. She has the most beautiful hair and she married that man even though she had to know his genes were condemning all her children and grandchildren to this.” She waved her arms wildly in the air, encircling me.

  “If I did that,” I reminded her, “then I wouldn’t exist.”

  “And then you wouldn’t have a problem with your hair now, would you?” She laughed at her joke and gave me a hug. “I only have a minute but I’ll do the best I can.” She hollered for Kitty Purry, one of her cats named after celebrities. The other was Catalie Portman. Kitty was the one she consulted on any kind of fashion emergency. Catalie was more laid back and preferred less attention. Kitty was Grandma’s favorite; Catalie was mine.

  After being called, Kitty Purry came bouncing in wearing a red sparkling tutu with a white shirt that had a rhinestone heart in the middle. The cat dressed better than I did.

  I sat on a stool in front of Grandma Dean’s makeup table and Grandma Dean went to work. She spritzed and sprayed and smoothed, while telling me for the hundredth time that if I would just do this or that straight out of the shower, I could avoid this mess.

  When she was done, she stood back to look at her piece of art. “What do you think, Kitty Purry?” she asked the cat, who was sitting on the table and staring at me intently. Kitty meowed and Grandma sprung up. “Oh my goodness!” She pulled open a drawer. “Thank you for reminding me!” She bent down and kissed Kitty on the head. She handed me some lip gloss. “Here,” she said, putting it in my hands and folding my fingers over it like she was handing down a family heirloom I should protect with my life. “You’ll need this.”

  Before she could say any more, there was a knock at the door. “Put that on and get out of here,” she said as she disappeared through the door. “We’ll have dinner tonight, anywhere you like…as long as it’s not fast food.”

  I stared at myself in the mirror as I heard the first of the Grannies arrive, their high-pitched chatter in the kitchen quickly going from grandkids to bowel movements.

  Grandma Dean was a miracle worker—my curls were about as tame as they were ever going to get and they smelled like a French garden. I looked at the lip gloss. For a moment, I thought about slipping it back in her drawer, but I knew she would stop me on the way out and make me put it on. I slid the tube a
cross my lips and a glossy pink flowed over them. It really was amazing what a little lip gloss could do.

  As I walked through the kitchen and toward the door, the Grannies gave me a strange look. “Don’t worry,” Grandma Dean said to them as she handed me the keys to her car. “She’s heading to the shop.” She smiled at me and then a chorus of “good-byes” rang out from the Grannies.

  As I walked down the sidewalk of the retirement community and toward the parking lot to Grandma Dean’s car, I couldn’t help but think how unfair this was. I should be in there with them! I even went through a sort of initiation! After I refused to take a blood oath of secrecy, they decided I could join their little group if I got my eyebrows done. I had agreed and, after sitting in the mall going through something called “threading,” I wished I had just taken the blood oath. My eyebrows came out great, though, so I couldn’t complain about it too much. But here I was, after going through all of that, and I was still being banished from one of their meetings.

  What could they be talking about in there? I wondered.

  My curiosity was piqued when two older gentlemen passed me on the sidewalk just before I got to Grandma’s car. I turned and watched them walk up to Grandma Dean’s door. The tall one smiled at me when he passed; he looked tired and stressed out. The other man, who was shorter, completely ignored me and grumbled something as he stormed ahead.

  I saw Grandma open the door for them, a serious look on her face. She glanced around to see who might be watching and caught me staring. She forced a smile and waved, before closing the door.

  What was going on in there? As much as I wanted to know, I knew the Glock Grannies didn’t miss anything and I would be caught if I tried snooping. It was better to just go on with my day and hope that Grandma Dean confided in me later.

  Chapter 2

  I stood there in our new shop downtown, Hello, Beautiful Boutique, and started to go through the boxes of new arrivals. It had taken Grandma Dean and I several days to decide on a name. It was hard to come up with a name for a shop that contained clothing for both women and cats, especially one that wasn’t vulgar. We finally settled on Hello, Beautiful when Grandma said she just wanted people to feel beautiful. We decided to shout that out every time a customer walked in the door. I’m a little more of an introvert than Grandma Dean, but it still seemed like a greeting I could manage.

  I opened a box and pulled out a handful of fleece cat sweatshirts in various colors. As I hung them, I couldn’t help but look around the little store with pride. Just a few weeks ago, this place had been completely gutted thanks to a fire. Before the fire, it was an antique store, Junk in the Trunk, that Grandma Dean had owned and ran. But after someone set it on fire to hide a dirty secret, Grandma moved her shop down the street. Now that she had the keys back to this place and it was all cleaned up, Grandma Dean and I decided to go into business together. The human clothes were my idea; the cat clothes were hers.

  “Need some help?” A booming voice scared me and I spun around to see where it came from. Joe Delluci, AKA the Hunky Fireman, stood at the front of the store. His big sparking smile made my stomach flip.

  “Sure,” I said, nodding toward some boxes. “Wanna open those for me?”

  Joe grabbed the box cutter from the floor next to a stack of boxes. I couldn’t help but notice the muscles in his arm bulge as he sliced the first box open. “What in the heck is this?” He pulled out a tiny cat tutu.

  “Cat clothes,” I said over my shoulder as I hung up the last sweatshirt, this one with the word “Love” bejeweled across the back. “And not just any cat clothes, but designer cat clothes, if you can imagine it.”

  He laughed. “Leave it to Geraldine.”

  We worked silently for a few minutes and I tried not to stare at him. He was a gorgeous piece of work. His Italian heritage was obvious with his dark skin, hair, and eyes. He perfectly filled out his tight jeans and black t-shirt and I couldn’t help but notice how his sleeves fell at the middle of his biceps, showing off a giant bulge of muscle. Oh, how I’d like to swing from those.

  “Nikki…”

  Hearing my name snapped me back to reality.

  “Were you even listening to me?”

  Crap. “Uh, sorry…I just have a lot on my mind trying to organize the store before we open next week.” I held my breath to see if he bought it.

  He smiled and ran a hand through his thick hair. “Maybe you need a break from all this. Want to meet for coffee later? Maybe at the Palm Breeze?”

  I loved the Palm Breeze. It was a trendy coffee shop that looked more like a snow cone hut with its bright blue and white exterior and beach-themed interior. They had the best coconut frappes there… Well, I assumed they were the best. I hadn’t actually had a coconut frappe from anywhere else.

  “I would love to.” I smiled, trying not to seem too eager, even though I was.

  “Great! Meet me there about three?”

  I agreed and non-apologetically watched his butt as he walked out of the store. When he was gone, I sighed heavily. I was doing it again! Why couldn’t I keep my mind off men? Then again, how could I with someone like Joe in the room? He was the kind of guy who would walk down the street and the whole world would stop and stare. Not only was he hot, he had the perfect smile and sparkling personality to round him out.

  I got back to work and hummed as I went. This day was turning out nicely after all.

  Suddenly, I got this strange feeling like someone was watching me. I cautiously looked around and sure enough, there was a man, maybe late twenties or possibly early thirties like myself, standing outside and looking in through the large shop windows. As soon as he saw me, his face went red. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and quickly spun to the right, walking away.

  Who was that? How long had he been standing there? Suddenly, I wished the shop had curtains that I could close like Grandma’s antique shop down the street. I decided to see where the man had gone and quickly made my way to the front of the store, leaping over boxes as I went.

  I opened the door and looked toward where he had run off. He hadn’t made it very far. He was waiting to cross the busy street and just before he crossed, he turned around and looked my way. He nervously took off across the street, tripping and nearly falling halfway. I watched him as he safely made it to the other side and then ducked into a record store. Strange. I stood there for a little while, waiting to see if he would come out again, but after several minutes, I gave up and went back to work.

  I kept busy the rest of the day, hanging up clothes and tagging them. To my surprise, I worked right though lunch. But by the time 2:30 rolled around, I was starving. I decided to head over to the coffee shop a few minutes early and maybe grab a bagel or two before Joe got there. Other than when he kissed me about a month earlier, we had managed to stay just friends, but that didn’t mean I didn’t try to keep my carb obsession from him.

  A few minutes later, I was pulling into the coffee shop and I immediately saw two older men walking though the parking lot and up to the building. I recognize those guys, I thought. I watched as they stopped for a moment, the shorter one taking a minute to yell something at a couple of young guys walking past them. “And pull up your pants!” I heard him yell after them. Even from my distance, I could see the taller man’s face go red in embarrassment.

  Suddenly, the sound of screeching tires filled the parking lot. Before I even had a chance to glance around to see where it was coming from, a white car sped through the lot right toward the two old guys. I screamed “watch out!” from the car, even though there was no way they could hear me. To my surprise, the old men were quick and agile. They managed to narrowly escape the oncoming car by leaping between two parked vehicles. The white car turned sharply and avoided hitting the row of parked cars, speeding away just as quickly as it had arrived.

  I flew out of my car and to the men who were crouched on the ground between the cars. “Are you okay?” I asked them, out of breath.

 
“Is he gone?” the tall one asked me.

  I glanced around to double-check, then assured him he was. I held out my hand and pulled him up. I reached out to help his friend, but he smacked it away. “I can get up myself,” he grumbled.

  I gave them a quick look up and down. “Are you guys okay?”

  The taller man was shaking and I put my arm out for him to grab on to. The shorter one started to yell at others who were coming up and asking if they were all right. “There’s nothing to see here. You people just mind your own darn business!”

  “They’re just concerned,” I said, sticking up for the people he was shooing away. “You were almost run over!”

  “Oh really?” he barked. “I thought Stan and I were just crouched down here playing a quick game of Twister!”

  Was it bad to wish someone had been a victim of vehicular homicide?

  Before long, a string of police cars were pulling into the parking lot. The taller man still hadn’t let go of my arm so I stood there next to him, reassuring him everything would be okay. Detective Owen Russell got out of his car and made his way over to us. I had a bit of history with Detective Russell. After Grandma Dean’s shop burned down, he asked me out for coffee. My boy-crazy mind thought it was a date, but it turned out to be him just trying to get some info on my Grandmother, who was his number one suspect. It was an innocent mistake, one I promised myself I’d never make again…yet knew I most likely would.