Mike Befeler Paul Jacobson Geezer-lit Mystery Series E-Book Box Set: Retirement Homes Are Murder, Living with Your Kids Is Murder, Senior Moments Are Murder, Cruising in Your Eighties Is Murder

by Mike Befeler

  “It’s better. I’m trying to drink less liquid and remember to visit the bathroom more often.”

  We chatted a few more minutes. Then he left me with the TV remote in my hand and my foot propped up on a stool.

  I was rediscovering why I hated soap operas when my doorbell rang.

  “Come in,” I shouted. “It’s unlocked.”

  A stocky man in a dark suit entered.

  “Are you an undertaker?” I asked. “Have I already died?”

  “Very funny, Mr. Jacobson. We need to have one of our chats.”

  “I guess it is funny, because I don’t remember meeting you.”

  He sighed like he was dealing with a retard and held out his badge.

  “Oh, you’re Detective Saito. My journal mentioned you. It’s good to put a face with the name.”

  “I know what you claimed happened to your head, but what about your foot?”

  “I bet you wouldn’t believe me if I said it happened from too much sex.”

  He shook his head. “Describe your accident alongside the road.”

  “As you must know by now, I can’t remember fiddle fart from day to day. But I write some things down. What I last read indicates I was found unconscious in a ditch. I don’t know why or how I ended up there. Afterward, my friend Meyer and I returned to the scene and found a Heineken bottle with blood on it. That’s why I called you.”

  “Interesting little stunt, Mr. Jacobson.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “To distract us in the murder investigation, you tried to produce a diversion.”

  “Yeah, right,” I said. “Like I popped myself on the forehead with a bottle.”

  “Maybe this friend of yours, Meyer, helped you.”

  “Go talk to him,” I said.

  “I will.”

  “Did you find the Heineken bottle in the ditch?”

  “I did. Very convenient. So why were you hit over the head?”

  “I think the real murderer found out I was snooping around and sent me a message.”

  “And what would you like to share with me relating to this snooping of yours?” Saito asked.

  “Several basic facts. Someone managed to get into the trash chute and my apartment. That someone needed keys. The night watchman Moki has keys. Go arrest him.”

  “We’ve talked to him, Mr. Jacobson. But he had no motive for the murder and you did.”

  “Sure he did,” I said. “To steal Tiegan’s stamp collection. Go find the stamps.”

  “You visited stamp stores all over the island. I bet you’re trying to find a buyer. I think you have the stamps, Mr. Jacobson.”

  “Where? Under my pillow?”

  “You’ve hidden them somewhere,” he said.

  “That’s something I certainly don’t remember.”

  “You seem to have a selective memory, Mr. Jacobson.” He tapped my leg. ”But I don’t think you’ll be going anywhere for awhile.”

  After he left, I sat there thinking. My good buddy, Detective Saito. His mother probably loved him, but other than that what could I say? He reminded me of a bulldog that chain-smoked. Wouldn’t want to get close to a bulldog. You’d get your fingers bitten off. I wished he’d go harass someone else. It was probably good that I didn’t remember who he was each time he appeared. I had that one item of satisfaction with him. He’d irritate me even more if I could remember him each time we met. He wasn’t exactly intimidating, but I didn’t feel comfortable around him. He listened to me as if he were trying to find something to use against me.

  * * * * *

  An hour later my phone rang.

  “Kina Nani home for the mentally and physically challenged,” I said.

  “It’s Meyer.”

  “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

  “I just finished talking with Detective Saito,” he said.

  “And how is my favorite member of the benevolent society of police?”

  “He questioned me about our trip to your ditch.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “We had that conversation this morning, as well.”

  “He thinks you staged it.”

  “Did he speculate that you were involved?”

  “Yes,” Meyer said, “but I set the record straight.”

  “Good. He still won’t believe either of us, but I guess that’s what he’s paid to think.”

  * * * * *

  Next morning I graduated to a walker, and within another day I hobbled around solo again and had even removed the bandage from the ditch incident. By then, my memory was back to its usual defective state.

  Meyer made me visit the pool each day, claiming that paddling with the foam board was good physical therapy. My ankle continued to improve, and I was getting in good shape kicking like a maniac in the pool.

  * * * * *

  At breakfast Meyer said, “Today’s the big day.”

  “I read in my journal that we’re going to the theater,” I said.

  “This afternoon we’re meeting in front of the building where a bus will pick us up.”

  “How are you doing with your little problem?”

  “I’m not having any coffee or juice before we go to the theater. That should keep me from embarrassing myself today.”

  “Can you fill in any details other than what I read about this murder investigation?”

  “You’re still a suspect, but the police haven’t been bugging you lately.”

  “I should be grateful for small favors,” I said. “I guess I’ll get rested up for the big event.”

  “Don’t take a nap. You’ll reset again.”

  “Okay. I’ll read a book, instead.”

  * * * * *

  At one o’clock we assembled in front of Kina Nani. I wore a tie and a sports coat. A group of women sat on benches by the curb. One woman jumped up when she saw me and ambled over. She grabbed my arm.

  “I’m glad to see you,” she said.

  “Me too,” I said, assuming this was the right woman. I looked at her closely. Didn’t recognize her at all.

  Meyer arrived. He paced back and forth, and then said, “Where’s Henry?”

  Someone suggested he call Henry’s apartment, so Meyer raced back to the lobby. When he returned he said, “Henry’s on his way. Where’s the bus?”

  “You’re pretty hyper,” I said to him.

  He stopped his pacing and looked at me. Then he smiled. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

  “Take a deep breath,” I said.

  Moments later Henry and the bus arrived. The crowd of mostly old women limped and shuffled toward the bus. Besides Meyer, Henry, and me, there were only two other men in the crowd.

  My companion, still attached to my arm, and I found seats together.

  “I love the theater,” she said.

  “What do you know about the show?”

  “Are you kidding, Paul? Everyone knows the story of Beauty and the Beast.”

  “Never seen it.”

  “I saw it on the mainland once. In Boston.”

  “Isn’t it a kids’ show?”

  “You wait and see. It has colorful costumes and great music.”

  She snuggled up against me, and I felt her warmth in the over-air-conditioned bus.

  When we arrived in Honolulu, Meyer went into overdrive, herding everyone toward the building.

  We accepted our programs from an usher and then took our seats. Meyer and Carolyn sat next to Marion and me, with Henry and Alice in front of us.

  I leaned over and whispered in Henry’s ear, “I have my eye on you. Keep your hands to yourself.”

  He responded by putting his hand on Alice’s thigh. She flinched a little.

  The lights dimmed, the orchestra played, and Marion put her head on my shoulder.

  As the play progressed, I wondered whether Meyer was going to have an accident or not. I looked over at him. He was fidgeting, but his eyes were focused on the stage.

  There were no problems and during the int
ermission, we were milling around the lobby, when Meyer came dashing up to me.

  “I caught a glimpse of a man who looked like Barry Tiegan, the nephew of the murder victim,” Meyer said.

  I pictured my journal page. Barry lived in L.A. Why the hell would he be here?

  Unless . . . he was following me.

  Maybe he still believed I’d killed his uncle and stashed the stamps.

  Or maybe Barry was the murderer.

  Could he be the one who’d bopped me over the head with a beer bottle?

  Before I could voice my suspicions to Meyer, we returned to our seats and the lights dimmed.

  In the second act, as Lumiere and Cogsworth encouraged the Beast to dance with Beauty, I heard a loud whack in front of me. Henry raised his hand to his cheek. Alice stood up and pushed her way past people to reach the aisle.

  Marion saw what was going on and also stood up to leave. At that moment I smelled an acrid aroma . I leaned over toward Meyer and whispered, “Time to go.”

  He had been absorbed in the show, but immediately jumped up and pushed past people in our row. Voices behind us murmured, “Sit down.”

  I found Meyer in the bathroom. He was crying.

  “I can’t control it,” he said.

  “Did you clean yourself up?” I asked.

  “Yes. But I had to wipe off my pants with a paper towel, and there’s a big wet spot.”

  “Hand them to me and I’ll dry them under the hand dryer.”

  He held his trousers up over the top of the stall.

  While drying the pants, another man came into the restroom. He looked at me askance.

  “Dry cleaning service,” I said.

  He turned away from me and headed toward a urinal.

  Once the pants were dry, I pushed them over the top of the stall and returned to the lobby.

  Alice was waving her hands and shouting, “That jerk!”

  “Calm down,” Marion said.

  “Anything I can do, ladies?” I asked as I approached them.

  Eyes flashing, Alice looked at me. “Creep!” she shouted, and stomped off to the powder room.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “Your friend Henry tried to feel her up.”

  “Henry’s not my friend. He just happens to sit at my table. This whole thing wasn’t my idea anyway.”

  “You’re all jerks,” Marion said with a sputter. She turned away from me and dashed toward the ladies’ room.

  I stood there, speechless. I was not going to get any assistance with my memory tonight.

  Meyer returned, tugging at his trousers.

  “Pants a little wrinkled, but you pass inspection,” I said.

  “How am I going to face Carolyn?”

  “You’re in fine shape, but Henry’s a pariah, and I’m guilty by association.”

  When Marion and Alice returned from the ladies’ room, Marion pointed at me. “You go sit next to Henry.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I replied and saluted.

  She glowered, grabbed Alice’s arm, and they headed to their seats. Meyer and I followed.

  When I sat down next to Henry, I whispered to him, “I’m your new date. Don’t get fresh or I’ll clock you.”

  He moved his hand toward me, thought better of it, and put his hand back in his lap.

  I watched the Beast transform into a prince. I wondered if Henry could transform into a human being.

  As we left the theater, Marion, Alice, and Carolyn chattered away. Henry said nothing, Meyer looked glum, and I tagged along.

  I tried to strike up a conversation with Marion. “You were right. That was quite a performance. No kids’ show.”

  She looked at me like I was a bug ready to be squashed and went back to her conversation with her trio.

  I put my arm around Henry’s shoulder. “You’ve really made us all popular.”

  He shrugged my arm away. “You’re all a bunch of twats.”

  “You’re a sweetie, Henry.” I turned toward Meyer. “How you doing?”

  “I guess I didn’t embarrass myself too much.”

  “Yeah. Henry provided good diversionary cover. And that’s the only positive thing anyone can say about Henry right now.”

  I got stuck sitting next to Henry on the bus.

  “Do you have any idea what the effect is when you do something stupid?” I asked him.

  “Do you know what an idiot you are, Paul?”

  “Let’s keep this focused on you for the moment. At least I can control my hands.”

  “She was asking for it.”

  “Right. Alice asked you to goose her in the middle of the theater.”

  “No. In the crotch.” He chuckled and looked out the window.

  I spotted an empty seat at the back of the bus and moved there.

  When the bus arrived back at Kina Nani, I waited for everyone to get off, and then I went to my room by myself, resisting the temptation to stuff Henry down the trash chute.

  Chapter 16

  The next morning, I came down to breakfast and followed the directions I had left for myself to find table eleven. I looked at the white-bearded guy and the bald-headed one. “You’re Meyer and Henry,” I said.

  Meyer grinned. “You’re getting good at this, Paul.”

  “I followed the note on my nightstand. Still don’t recognize you.”

  “Have a seat and relax, especially after yesterday’s fiasco.”

  “What fiasco?”

  “You must have described it in your journal.”

  “My instructions this morning said to read the journal, but to skip yesterday’s entry.”

  Meyer chuckled. “That’s a good remedy. You didn’t want to remember what happened.”

  * * * * *

  After breakfast a woman came up to me and put her hand on my arm. I gathered from what I had read that this was Marion.

  “Paul, I think I overreacted a little yesterday. You were right. I shouldn’t have blamed you for Henry’s action.”

  Since I didn’t remember, I was magnanimous. “No problem. Apology accepted.”

  She squeezed my arm.

  I considered some of the things from my journal. “How’d you like to go out for dinner tonight?”

  Her eyes lit up. “I’d love that.”

  “Meet you in the lobby at seven.”

  * * * * *

  I decided to take a walk. A little exercise would help the old body.

  I strolled out the gate, along neighboring streets, and returned to the lobby of my palatial manor half an hour later.

  A short, stocky man in a suit stood inside the front door.

  “You look in pretty good shape, Mr. Jacobson,” he said.

  “Yeah. Not too shabby for an old fossil. Do I know you?”

  He crinkled his mouth into a half smile. “Here we go again. I’m Detective Saito.”

  “Oh. The Columbo of the Kaneohe police department.”

  “Seems to me that you certainly seem fit enough to have carried a body down the hallway and deposited it in a trash chute.”

  “No,” I said. “I’m not into body lifting. But I was fit enough to have been sound asleep in my apartment when that happened.”

  “I stopped by to find out if you were ready to confess to the murder.”

  “From what I’ve read, you’re spending an awful lot of time visiting me. Don’t you have a large caseload with other people to harass?”

  “It’s just that I enjoy our conversations so much, Mr. Jacobson.”

  “I’m glad someone’s getting pleasure from them. Doesn’t do much for me.”

  “Once you confess to the murder, it will save us all a great deal of time and effort.”

  “You’ve already had one person confess. That didn’t solve the crime. A confession from me would be worth just as much. Go get Moki to confess.”

  “This routine is getting old, Mr. Jacobson.”

  “But not as old as I am.”

  After Saito left, I took the el
evator up to my apartment. I had images of hanging by my arms in a dank dungeon. Obviously, he wasn’t going to give up thinking I was the murderer. Still, he didn’t seem to have enough evidence to arrest me or I’d already be in jail. I’d have to try and solve this murder myself, since it didn’t look as if the police were going to do anything but bug me.

  Inspired by Saito breathing down my neck, I called all the stamp stores to inquire if anyone had come in trying to sell Swiss stamps. I connected with all of them except one of the stores in Honolulu, which had a recorded message. No one had any news for me.

  * * * * *

  That afternoon I checked the phone book, found an Italian restaurant in Kailua, called to make a reservation, and arranged for a cab.

  As I sat down to contemplate the possibilities of the evening ahead, the phone rang. It was my son Denny.

  “Just wanted to remind you that we’ll be there to take you out to dinner tomorrow night.”

  “I had forgotten.”

  “We spoke two days ago,” he said in a clipped tone.

  “Unless I write something down, it goes in one brain cell and out the other. I’ll jot down a reminder as soon as we get off the phone. Where are you staying?”

  “At the Princess Kaiulani in Waikiki. Jennifer’s anxious to learn how to surf.”

  “My little granddaughter will be here?”

  “She’s not so little anymore,” Denny said. “Eleven going on twenty. Our flight arrives around two P.M. With getting the luggage, picking up the rental car, checking into the hotel, and all, we’ll be over around six.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  “Don’t eat dinner. We could be delayed, but we’ll take you to Buzz’s for a good steak.”

  “I’d like that,” I said. “Better than the dog food I had for lunch today.”

  There was a pause on the line. “It’s not that bad. I’ve eaten there.”

  “Yeah. It’s passable. But not much variety. I’ll be ready for a nice dripping steak.”

  “Good,” he said. “See you tomorrow.”

  I immediately wrote myself a note and put it on my nightstand next to my journal. That provided another reason to give my memory a jolt.

  * * * * *

  Marion and I had a pleasant dinner together.

  “That was quite a play we saw yesterday,” she said.

  Not remembering anything, I answered, “Sure was.” I changed the subject. “My family’s coming to visit tomorrow. You’ll have to meet them while they’re here.”