Glock Grannies Cozy Mystery Boxed Set: Books 1 - 3

by Shannon VanBergen

  “I don’t understand it,” I admitted. “For someone with no friends or family, there were a lot of people at his funeral.”

  “Nikki,” Irene said seriously. “People don’t go to funerals because they like someone. They go so people will go to their funeral.”

  “That’s true.” Hattie nodded. “Remember Iris? She never went to a single funeral and how many people were at hers?”

  “Twenty, tops,” Irene said indignantly. “Of course, we were there because we’re good people.”

  “Yes, we are,” Grandma Dean agreed. “Now, do any of you have any theories we should discuss before Stan gets here?”

  Everyone was quiet so I spoke up. “What about that Les guy?”

  “He didn’t do it,” Grandma said, cutting the conversation short.

  “Les? Les who?” Hattie asked.

  “Les…Sam and Aria’s son.”

  “Oh, he didn’t do it.” Hattie said.

  “How can you be so sure?” I asked. “I think he’s been stalking me lately! He always seems to be around.”

  “It’s always the quiet ones,” Greta interjected. Her comment was met with dirty looks from the Grannies. “But he didn’t do it,” she said quickly.

  “Honey, he probably likes you. He’s a quiet fellow and he probably doesn’t know how to express himself.” Irene looked over her cup. “You have a thing with men, right? Maybe you’ve just pulled him into your web accidentally. Even spiders catch bugs they don’t want.”

  Ouch.

  “She’s not a spider,” Grandma scolded. “That’s my daughter’s daughter you’re talking to. True, she’s made some very ill choices when it comes to men, and yes, she continues to make mistakes here…” Grandma Dean looked at me with pity. “I really don’t know where else to go from here.”

  “Thanks for trying,” I mumbled, taking a sip of my tea. Grandma patted my arm.

  There was a knock on the door and all the Grannies jumped in unison and walked to the door. “It must be Stan!” Hattie reached up and fluffed her hair.

  Grandma Dean opened the door and a weary Stan walked inside. “We got you some tea,” Hattie said, ushering him to sit next to her.

  “Thanks,” he said with his head down. “I’m not really hungry.”

  “Thirsty,” Hattie corrected.

  Stan looked up and finally paid attention to what Hattie was saying. “Oh, yeah, sorry. I’m not thirsty.”

  To Hattie’s disappointment, he took a seat by Grandma. Everyone had to shuffle down a seat to make room for him.

  Virginia patted him gently on the back. “How are you holding up?”

  Stan sighed. “I just feel so bad. I know a lot of people didn’t like Artie, but still, to kill him? In broad daylight? And no one even knows who did it.” He looked up hopefully. “Do you ladies know who did it?” Did you hear something?”

  “Virginia and Greta found something tonight,” Grandma informed him. “They’ve been tirelessly looking for clues and we think they found one.”

  “We found the bullet casing,” Greta said proudly. “And a business card.”

  Stan didn’t look impressed.

  “It’s a start,” Grandma reassured him. “At least we know where the shooter took his shots and the police are looking for other evidence right now.”

  Stan hung his head again.

  “Can you tell us anything that might be helpful? Did he have any enemies…” Grandma stopped quickly and her face turned red.

  Hattie laughed and said under her breath, “That’s like asking if the Pope’s classic.”

  “I think you mean Catholic,” Irene corrected.

  “I’m pretty sure it’s classic…that’s like asking if the Pope’s classic…yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s right.”

  “How could it be classic? That doesn’t even make sense,” Greta questioned.

  “Yes, it does.” Hattie pulled out her phone and typed something. “Here,” she said, sitting up straight and pointing to her phone. “It says right here on the Merriam Webster website, ‘judged over a period of time to be of the highest quality and outstanding of its kind.’ That’s the Pope!”

  “I’m Catholic and I can tell you the saying is not ‘classic’,” Virginia said with irritation.

  “Anyway…” Grandma gave them all a stern look. “Stan, was there anyone that you know of that was out to get him?

  Stan seemed lost in his thoughts, which I was very thankful for. Hopefully, he missed the whole “classic” conversation. Finally, he shook his head. “Not really, I mean, you ladies know he wasn’t well liked because of his…”

  “Mouth,” Hattie interjected.

  We all glared at her for a minute. I thought Grandma was seconds from throwing her out the door.

  “Well, yes,” Stan agreed. “I was going to say disposition, but I suppose that works too.”

  Hattie just couldn’t let this go. “Why were you even friends with him?”

  Stan sat up straight. “I guess because he was a loner like me. Neither one of us had any kids. Our wives have been gone for years.” He sighed. “When I moved here a few years ago, we just clicked. We were just two people without people.”

  “And I suppose he was nicer around you than he was in public,” Virginia said, reaching out to pat his back again.

  “Not really. He was awful pretty much all the time. But if you put him in front of a John Wayne movie and gave him a beer, he was tolerable.”

  There was silence around the table as everyone mulled over what to say next.

  Grandma continued the gentle questioning. “What about money? Did he owe anyone anything? Loans? Gambling? Anything that might provoke someone to hurt him?”

  “He was loaded,” Stan admitted. “He didn’t want anyone to know that, but he was. He owns the land on the east side. You know that whole farming area?” The Grannies nodded. “He owns it all. About a year ago, some builder came to him and wanted to buy it to put up a bunch of high-end condos.”

  Grandma and the Grannies suddenly became very alert.

  “Did he sell?” Grandma asked.

  “No, but the guy had the whole thing planned out and wasn’t going to let it go. They even had their architect picked out—Larry Kramer, Lloyd’s son. Well, if he hadn’t decided not to sell it all ready, that would’ve sealed the deal. He can’t stand Lloyd.”

  The Grannies looked at each other, each sitting at the edge of their seat by now.

  “Stan,” Grandma said, putting her hand on his. “When we said we found a business card at the scene of the crime… It was Larry’s.”

  Stan leaned forward and put his head in his hands.

  Now we were getting somewhere.

  6

  When Stan left, everyone was heavyhearted. Seeing Stan so upset took its toll on all of us. At least we finally had a motive. We said good-bye to the ladies then Grandma and I sat back down at the table.

  “I think maybe we should postpone the grand opening of our shop,” Grandma said. “I just don’t feel like I can focus on it right now.”

  I felt bad. I knew how much our shop meant to her.

  “You focus on the investigation and I’ll focus on the shop,” I reassured her. “If we have to push back our grand opening a day or two, that’s okay, but I really think we can still open on time.”

  “But I wanted to work on it with you,” she objected. “And other than the one day when you and I went in, you’ve done it all yourself.”

  “We’ll have plenty of time to work together once it’s open. It will be fine, I promise.”

  Grandma smiled at me and patted my hand. “You’re a good granddaughter.”

  “You mean I’m a good daughter of your daughter?” I said with a wink.

  “Yes, that too,” she laughed. “Well, I suppose we should get some rest. It’s been a long day. You head to the shop in the morning and I’ll get together with the ladies and see if we can come up with a plan.”

  “You know I’m here if you need me,�
�� I reminded her.

  “I know.” She smiled and patted my hand again. “If you get up early enough, I’ll do your hair. I’m sorry I couldn’t do much with it earlier today. That thing has a mind of its own.”

  After I told Grandma good night, I went to my room and sat on my bed. Catalie Portman squeezed through the nearly closed door and joined me. “What a day,” I confided in her. “You’re lucky you’re a cat.” She purred and I stroked her fuzzy little brown head. I sighed. I was exhausted and irritable, so I decided now would be a good time to call my mother. Usually, I felt like that after I talked to her—might as well start out that way.

  She answered on the third ring, worry evident in her voice.

  “Are you okay? Why are you calling so late? Is it your grandmother?”

  “Mom, everything’s fine.” I glanced at the clock beside my bed. 10:30. Was that too late to call? “I just had a minute and I thought I’d check in.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, well everything is fine here—except for Trevor. He’s off work for a week because of his accident.”

  “Oh, yeah. I heard about that. Bo told me about it in his letter.”

  Mom sighed again. “That man! He went to that bar even though your sister told him not to and look what happens! Some drunk guy hits him in the butt with a dart! Somebody got it all on camera and now the whole worlds gets to see him scream like a girl and watch Reverend Barns pull a dart out of his butt cheek.”

  “Reverend Barns was there?” I asked, surprised.

  “He was there to hang some flyers about the bake sale on the bulletin board when Trevor was hit. I’m so embarrassed I could practically die. Then, to make matters worse, him and your sister came to dinner one night and said it went viral! I said, ‘you better get an antibiotic for that or you’re going to be in big trouble!’”

  “Mom,” I said gently. “I don’t think that’s what they meant when they said it went viral.”

  “Well, whatever they meant, two days later, he’s at the urgent care with an infection that went clear to his hip bone!”

  “Yikes,” I cringed. “That doesn’t sound good.”

  “It’s not.” I thought I heard her sniff. “He’s off work for a week and your dad and I are helping out with money right now. It’s not like we can’t afford to help them, it’s just… Wait, did you say you got a letter from Bo?”

  I was surprised by how quickly the conversation turned and I wasn’t ready for the topic to be about Bo. “Yeah,” I replied casually, “but finish what you were saying about Trevor.”

  To my disappointment, her rant about Trevor was over.

  “Bo was at dinner last week and said he was going to write you back…”

  “He was at dinner? At your house?”

  “Well, of course, he eats with us every Sunday. And how could you forget Darcy was his cousin? Everyone in town knows that.”

  I didn’t know what to say first. ‘Why is my fiancé, the one I’m still trying to decide if I want to marry, at your house every week for dinner, or how in the world can I keep up with everyone’s cousin in a small town where everyone is related?’

  My mom decided to chime in instead.

  “I’m sorry I’m not myself tonight. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m just tired, I guess. I don’t mean to complain so much. And if you don’t want us to have Bo here for dinner anymore…”

  “No,” I interjected. “I don’t want you to stop inviting him over. If you want to have him over for dinner then you should. I just didn’t realize that was happening.”

  “Well, your dad and I figured it was a way to make things easier for him after you left. We assume you’ll come back and marry him…but if you decide not to, at least we know we did what we could to make things okay here at home for the time being.”

  “That’s very nice of you.” Suddenly, I felt terrible. I never thought about how my decisions effected my parents. I always thought it was my life and my decisions and it shouldn’t matter to them what I did. But it did matter. Just like it mattered that Trevor had a butt infection. And most likely him and my sister were having some marital problems if he went to a bar and she didn’t want him to. My mom had a big heart and all of this was weighing on her.

  “You’re a good mom,” I told her. “I don’t tell you that enough.”

  I heard her sniff again. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

  I hung up the phone wondering why we don’t say things like that very often. Why don’t we praise the people who raised us, or the spouses or significant others who put up with us, or even the people who bag our groceries, or deliver our mail? I guess it’s because we feel like that’s their job. They’re just doing what they’re supposed to be doing. But really, we have no idea the inner turmoil they go through because of us. I made up my mind to try to be more thankful—not just inwardly, but outwardly. Life wasn’t all about me and I needed to start living like it.

  Grandma Dean went all out on my hair the next morning. My naturally curly hair didn’t have a frizz in sight. I reached up and touched it, expecting my hair to be crunchy, but instead it was soft and my hair was bouncy. It was the kind of hair you only dreamed was possible, and yet here it was, a reality.

  She dropped me off in front of our store and promised to be back for me later. She was heading to a meeting with the other Grannies and told me she’d tell me all about it at lunch. As much as I wanted to go with her, I knew my working at the shop would ease her mind a little. I reminded myself of my promise the night before to think more about others and that helped lessen my disappointment a little.

  It was eight in the morning and, armed with a coffee with enough cream to make butter, I was ready to get to work.

  The more I worked, the more I realized just how much I enjoyed it. The shop was cheerful and bright, and sunlight poured in the large front windows. I hung bracelets and cat collars on a jewelry stand that looked like a tree, and clipped bows and barrettes with little cats on them to long strings of braided ribbon.

  But my favorite part of the morning was getting the French corner set up. In the far-left corner, I put up a tall cardboard Eiffel Tower; two long mirrors flanked the side and a plush, pink rug sat in front of it. Two twirly stands stood on either side of the mirrors—one for berets and one for scarves, large ones for the people and small ones for the cats. I held a gray cat beret in my hand and chuckled. I wasn’t sure who would want to have a matching beret and scarf with their cat, but if anyone did, we had them.

  I had just finished with the scarf display and turned to see what was next on my to-do list when I caught that guy, Les, staring at me again through the windows. I narrowed my eyes at him and he quickly turned and took off. I ran to the front of the store and threw the doors open.

  “Les,” I called after him.

  He turned and looked at me, surprised.

  “Come here,” I said, motioning him toward me.

  He looked terrified, frozen in place, not sure what to do next.

  “It’s all right,” I said sweetly. “Come on.”

  He took a few steps toward me, then stopped and looked around. I assumed he was checking his surroundings, looking for a quick escape route.

  To my surprise, he didn’t bolt. Instead, he cautiously made his way over to me. “How do you know my name?” he asked when he got about ten feet from me.

  “The real question,” I said with arms crossed, “is why are you stalking me?”

  “I’m not stalking you,” he said with a nervous laugh. “I was just trying to figure out…uh…what kind of shop this is going to be when it opens.”

  “Okay…” I played along. “So why were you staring at me at the funeral home?”

  His face flushed, then he laughed. He ran his hand through his sandy hair. “You got me there.”

  I took a second and really looked at him for the first time. He was tall and lanky and needed a haircut. None of his features really stood out. I could tell he was socially awkward and
talking to me was probably a big deal.

  “Next time,” I said to him, “just stop in and say hi. When you stare at me like that, it’s creepy.” I smiled to let him know I was saying this in a friendly way.

  He smiled back. “Okay. I’ll do that.”

  All of the sudden, a car swung into the parking space closest to me and came to a screeching halt. Les and I both jumped back, even though we were at a safe distance on the sidewalk. Grandma poked her head out the window. “Lock up,” she hollered. “We have to go!”

  I looked up at Les and shrugged. He smiled, then turned and took off running down the street.

  What a strange guy, I thought.

  “Hurry!” Grandma yelled.

  I ran inside and did as I was told. I didn’t know which unsettled me more—Les’s odd behavior or Grandma’s.

  7

  “No, I’m not going to do it.” I folded my arms and leaned back in the kitchen chair, looking at all the Grannies. “It’s not going to happen.”

  “Come on,” Greta coaxed. “It’s for a good cause.”

  “No!”

  Grandma leaned over in front of me. “What if we sweeten the pot? We’ll give you a hundred dollars!”

  “I’m not going to go on a date with Lloyd’s son so you can sneak in his house and try to find evidence and that’s final!” How could they even ask me to do such a thing!

  “I see how it is,” Irene said with her eyes narrowed. “You’ll marry six men but you won’t let your grandmother whore you out for one evening!”

  “I’m not whoring her out,” Grandma corrected. “I’m simply offering her money to go on a date with a man…” She scrunched up her face as she thought about that for a moment. “Okay, change of plans, the money’s off the table!”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Look,” Grandma said, softening her tone, “we need you. We’ve thought about this a hundred times and we just can’t do this safely without you.”

  She had to say the ONE word that would get me to say yes—safely.