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

  Meyer shrugged. “You’ll come up with something.”

  * * * * *

  Later that afternoon, my phone rang.

  “Hi, Grandpa.”

  “This a representative of the Mainland Surfers’ Association?”

  “Oh, Grandpa. It’s Jennifer.”

  “It’s good to hear your voice.”

  “I called to say how much I enjoyed visiting you and to find out how you’re doing.”

  “I’m getting by,” I said. “I’m still alive.”

  “And how are your friends?”

  “They’re still alive, too. Aren’t you supposed to be in school?”

  “Nope. It’s still summer vacation. I’m learning how to skateboard. It’s almost as much fun as surfing. And Dad’s going to take me skiing next winter.”

  “You’re becoming a triple threat athlete.”

  “Yes, but I want to come back and visit you again and do some more surfing,” she said.

  “Meyer’s son was here today. He’s a surfer. Maybe he could show you some surfing spots next time you’re here.”

  “Cool. Have you found the man who stole the stamp collection yet?”

  “No, but we’re advertising in the newspaper.”

  “Oh, Grandpa, that’s so old fashioned. You should use the Internet.”

  “The Internet?”

  “Sure. There are probably all kinds of stamp collection web sites. You could post information and see who responds.”

  “I have no clue how to do that.”

  “But I do.”

  I thought for a moment. “We used Meyer’s phone number in the ad. Let me get that for you.” I put the receiver down, looked up Meyer’s phone number in the Kina Nani directory, and read it to Jennifer.

  “Okay,” she said. “I’ll get on my computer right now and see what I can do.”

  After I hung up, I sat there staring at my hands. I didn’t even know which end of a computer to turn on, and my granddaughter could do all this stuff. It made me feel even older.

  An hour later the phone rang again.

  “Hi, Grandpa. It’s all set up.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I found three stamp collecting web sites and posted messages offering to buy a Swiss stamp collection in Hawaii. If I get a response, I’ll email the phone number you gave me.”

  “Thanks,” I said, wondering at the world of modern youth.

  “No problem,” Jennifer replied.

  * * * * *

  I now needed to act on one specific thing if I were going to be allowed to continue to live in this garden spot.

  Reading through my journal, I verified my suspicions. Then I took the elevator from molasses hell down to the front desk.

  “When’s Moki next on duty?” I asked.

  The woman behind the counter stuck a pencil behind her ear and thumbed through several sheets of paper on a clipboard. “Looks like tonight. Starts his shift at ten.”

  Next, I called Meyer. “You up for a little adventure?” I asked.

  “What are you setting me up for?”

  * * * * *

  That night we waited inside Meyer’s apartment.

  “Why can’t we do this in your apartment?” he asked.

  “Because Moki knows who I am. He won’t be suspicious of you.”

  “I don’t know if this is such a good idea.” Meyer paced back and forth.

  “Hey. What’s the worst that could happen?” I glanced at my watch. “He starts his rounds at the top. He should be here in fifteen minutes.”

  “There’s no one else on this wing who stays up this late, so his should be the only footsteps we hear,” Meyer said.

  At ten-fifteen I heard the sound of a door rattling, then creaking shoes moving toward Meyer’s apartment.

  “Okay,” I whispered. “Show time.”

  We stood in Meyer’s kitchenette with the louvers above the door open, so the sound of our voices would carry out into the hallway.

  “What are you doing with ten thousand dollars in cash in your room?” I said, cupping my hands around my mouth and aiming my voice toward the louvers.

  “I cashed a check today.” Meyer spoke loudly toward the door. “I’m buying a beautiful set of jewelry for my daughter. Trouble is, the guy only takes cash.”

  I heard the footsteps stop outside the door.

  “Seems like keeping ten thousand dollars in cash here is pretty risky,” I said.

  “It’s only for one night. I meet the guy at eight in the morning.”

  “Where are you going to store that much cash?”

  “I have a cash box tucked under my bed. It’ll be safe there.”

  “I guess you know what you’re doing,” I said.

  The footsteps started again, and I gave Meyer the thumbs-up sign. We talked of other things for awhile. When we were sure Moki had moved to another floor, we stuffed a bunch of Meyer’s clothes and a spare pillow under the covers of his bed.

  “It looks like someone sleeping,” Meyer said, stepping back to admire our work.

  We took two wooden chairs from Meyer’s living room and placed one in the closet and the other in the bathroom. Meyer owned a digital camera so we designated him the official photographer for the upcoming event. He sat down on the chair in the closet with the camera in his lap. Then I turned out the lights and adjourned to the bathroom to wait.

  Stay awake, you old poop. Every so often I pinched myself to keep from nodding off. This was no time to fall asleep, reset my memory, and wake up screaming and wondering where the hell I was.

  It must have been two hours later that I heard a key scraping in the lock. I was suddenly one hundred percent alert.

  I cocked my head to the side.

  The door creaked open. I listened as faint footsteps passed through the kitchenette.

  The sound of breathing was discernible above the gentle hum of electrical equipment far below.

  I could imagine Moki down on his hands and knees, reaching under the bed.

  The cash box rattled, followed by a creaking sound. He had it open.

  Time to make our appearance.

  I stepped out of the bathroom and turned on the hall light.

  Meyer almost bumped into me as he shot out of the closet.

  Moki stood there with a stack of money in one hand and the metal cash box in the other.

  “You’re busted, asshole,” I said to him.

  Meyer pointed his digital camera at Moki, and a flash lit up the room.

  Moki’s eyes widened, and his head ping-ponged from side to side, looking for a way out. He dropped the box and money, turned, and ran toward the door. His elbow clipped the vase, and it twirled off the table.

  “Not Martha!” Meyer shouted. He lunged forward.

  Too late.

  The vase crashed to the floor, shattering and sending ashes spewing across the room.

  In the meantime, Moki had disappeared.

  I called 9-1-1 to report the attempted burglary and asked to have Detective Saito contact me.

  As I hung up the phone, I heard a car start and then race down the driveway. The police could bring in Moki later.

  Meyer sat on the couch with his head in his hands. “What a way for Martha to go,” he said. “Her remains are scattered all over the room.”

  “I hate to tell you, Meyer, but she’s already gone. Don’t take it so hard. Maybe Martha didn’t want to be in that vase. We’ll get her cleaned up after the police come.”

  Fifteen minutes later a policeman arrived. He was in his late twenties, clean-cut, and efficient. “Your call indicated an intruder and attempted burglary.”

  “He escaped,” I said. “But his fingerprints are all over that cash box and the stack of money.”

  “I took a nice picture of him,” Meyer said, showing the image to the policeman.

  Shortly, a bleary-eyed Detective Saito arrived.

  “You weren’t trying to get some sleep were you, Detective?” I asked.

&
nbsp; “Not any more. What did you two do?”

  “We caught the guy who’s been stealing things from around here,” I said.

  Saito stared at the scattered powder. “Looks like you’ve been dusting for fingerprints.”

  “We saved that for you, Detective. It’s Martha.”

  “Who’s Martha?”

  “The remains of Meyer’s wife. He kept her in the vase that Moki knocked over.”

  Detective Saito looked upward as if he were pleading with some of his long dead relatives. He put on rubber gloves and placed the cash box in a large paper bag. Then he lifted up the stack of bills.

  “What’s this?” he asked.

  “That’s the simulated ten thousand dollars Moki thought he was stealing,” I explained. “Fifty dollar bills on each end and cut paper inside.”

  Saito shook his head. “Maybe I should start dealing with criminals in preschool rather than this place.”

  “Aw, you’d miss us, Detective,” I said.

  * * * * *

  After Saito left, I looked around at the mess in Meyer’s apartment. I could imagine Rhonda and Martha getting a kick out of what we two old farts had done. And by tomorrow I would have forgotten it all anyway. Did I want to remember? Sure. I’d take any memories I could dredge up.

  Meyer stared at the mess on the rug.

  “That’s the calmest I’ve seen you today.” I put my hand on his shoulder.

  He pursed his lips. “There’s Martha spread out all over the rug. I’m still trying to take all of this in.”

  “Tell you what. You shouldn’t have to deal with this. Why don’t you take a little walk? I’ll clean up everything and put Martha in that Tupperware container on the sink.”

  “Martha hated Tupperware.”

  “Then a plastic bag? It’s only temporary, until you can buy a new vase.”

  “Take a look in my closet,” Meyer said.

  There I found a dust pan, whisk broom, and Long’s Drug Store bag.

  Within fifteen minutes of Meyer leaving for his walk, I had most of Martha safely stowed.

  * * * * *

  The next morning I dutifully reviewed my journal before heading down to breakfast.

  I identified Meyer as the white-bearded guy and the bald-headed squirt as Henry.

  “From what I read, we had quite a night,” I said to Meyer.

  He frowned. “I’m getting a new vase for Martha today.”

  “I must have had a good time with your family yesterday,” I said. “I wrote a lot about Harriet and Brad in my journal.”

  “Good. They enjoyed meeting you, as well.” His head bobbed up. “It looks like we have a visitor.”

  An attractive woman who I recognized as Marion from the picture on my dresser and the notes in my journal stopped in front of me.

  “I didn’t see you around yesterday afternoon,” she said.

  “Meyer kidnapped me.”

  She lifted her eyebrows.

  “Paul joined me on a family outing,” Meyer said.

  “Well, Paul, if you’re not busy today, you’ll have to stop by to see me later.”

  “Sure thing,” I replied, as Meyer winked at me.

  * * * * *

  Later that morning someone pounded on my door. It was Meyer, and he was bouncing up and down. “It’s happened. Someone called about the stamps.”

  “Who?”

  “It’s the strangest thing. A man called and said he found out that I was interested in buying a Swiss stamp collection. I asked him if he had seen the ad in the newspaper and he said no, that he found out about it on the Internet.”

  I mentally reviewed what I had read in my journal. “I forgot to mention something to you. My granddaughter Jennifer put out some message on her computer. It must have worked.”

  Meyer slapped me on the back, probably leaving a hand print. “That explains it. Anyway, he said he had a Swiss stamp collection to sell. I’m sure it’s the guy we’re looking for.”

  “Did you plan a meeting with him?”

  “You bet I did. It’s all set for two o’clock this afternoon at Star Stamp and Coin in Kailua, as we planned. I told him we needed to get an appraisal.”

  “Did you get his name?”

  “No. He said he’d prefer to remain anonymous until we met in person. He did ask my name. I told him Adrian Penniman.”

  “Where’d that come from?”

  “It was the name of my first client when I became an attorney,” Meyer said.

  “We have to think through how to trap this guy,” I said. “First thing is to find out who he is.”

  “We’ll stake out the stamp store. But I won’t be any help since I can’t see much.”

  “I’ll be the eyes.”

  “But we need some way to follow him.”

  I thought back to my journal. “I used a cab to visit all the stamp stores. Had a cooperative cabbie. I might have his card somewhere.”

  Searching though my nightstand drawer, I found the card. Then I called the number and spoke to Ray Puhai. “Pick us up at one-thirty, and I’ll pay for several hours of driving.”

  “I’m your man, braddah,” he said.

  I saw a large chunk of my retirement funds flying away, but I would have been wasting it on car maintenance and insurance if I still had my old Volvo.

  Chapter 24

  Just before we were to meet the cab downstairs, I phoned Star Stamp and Coin. “There will be a gentleman asking for Adrian Penniman this afternoon. Please tell him Mr. Penniman had a family emergency and had to cancel the meeting.”

  * * * * *

  Meyer and I arrived in front of Star Stamp and Coin at one-forty-five. The taxi driver parked so I could watch the entrance from the cab window.

  Precisely at two, a gold Lexus pulled up in front of us. A tall, muscular man got out and glanced around. He looked strong enough to have thrust a body into a trash chute.

  I spotted a scar on his left cheek.

  He headed toward the store, carrying a package under his arm.

  “That’s him,” I said, and wrote down the license number.

  Five minutes later he walked back to his car. He looked angry.

  “Follow him,” I told the cab driver.

  “No problem,” the cabbie said.

  Here we go again, I said to myself.

  The gold Lexus shot away from the curb, and Ray stomped on the gas to keep our target in sight. We settled in at a safe distance, close enough for us to see the car, but far enough away to not be obvious.

  “You’re pretty good at this,” I told Ray.

  “Sure,” he replied. “Watch a lot of cop shows on TV.”

  The Lexus pulled into the driveway of a large condominium in Kailua, drove into a parking structure, and disappeared.

  We parked by the curb in the driveway, and waited. After two minutes, the tall man strolled up the walkway. I noted his dark hair and the distinct scar on his cheek. He proceeded into the building.

  I exited the taxi and shuffled as fast as I could to the door. It was locked and required a card to enter.

  “Great,” I said when I returned to the cab. “A twelve-story building with hundreds of residents.”

  “No problem,” Meyer said with a smile. “I’ll have one of my contacts trace the license plate number.”

  Ray drove us back to Kina Nani. He seemed disappointed that we hadn’t been out long enough to pay for his daughter’s college education, but as we left the cab he said, “Call me any time.”

  “Bet your ass, braddah,” I said.

  * * * * *

  That evening Marion and I went to a movie that was being shown in the lounge. Several old ladies served miniature bags of popcorn, and we settled in to watch an old Cary Grant movie on a large television screen. We held hands, just like teenagers.

  Afterwards, I accompanied her to her apartment. She offered me a drink, which I used to surreptitiously swallow a Viagra without choking. Then before I knew it we were entangled, our clothes ca
me off, and my medical assistance kicked in.

  I performed adequately for a geezer.

  * * * * *

  At breakfast the next morning, Meyer caught on right away.

  “No questioning who I am or where you are this morning, Paul.”

  “Nope. Clear as a sunny day at the beach.”

  “The wonders of the testosterone-filled brain,” he said with a smile.

  * * * * *

  Later that afternoon, I heard pounding on my door. When I opened the door, Meyer raced inside like a cat that had caught a mouse.

  “Calm down,” I said.

  “We found him,” Meyer said, as he bounced up and down like an eighty-five-year-old Tigger.

  I stepped over to guard my precious antique lava lamp, then placed my hand on his shoulder to rein him in. “Okay, tell me everything.”

  “My contact tracked down the owner of the car we followed.”

  I wiped the spittle off my face. “Easy, Meyer. Take a deep breath. I don’t want you having a heart attack.”

  He smiled. “Okay. Here’re the facts. He lives in apartment 910 at the Windward Passage condominiums. That’s where we saw him go in. I even have a phone number.”

  “You’ve forgotten one important fact,” I said. “His name.”

  “Harrison Young.”

  I reeled. My stomach felt like it was trying to jump out of my throat. “I read that name in my journal. That’s . . . that’s the name of Tiegan’s lawyer.”

  “Do you suppose it’s the same Harrison Young?”

  I thought for a moment. All that I had read in my diary swirled in my head. Think. Put the pieces together. “Yes. It’s all starting to fit. He stole the stamps and killed Tiegan. He knew that I was linked to Tiegan. He set me up for the murder he committed. Your boys did a good job of tracking him down from the license plate.”

  “With computers, all you need is access to the right database. I owe an old friend big-time for this.”

  “You can invite him over for an all expenses paid lunch at Kina Nani, after we nab Harrison Young.”

  “Don’t you mean after we turn this over to the police?”

  “Not so fast,” I said. “I’m not convinced Detective Saito will believe us. He’ll consider this another of my ‘diversions.’ From what I’ve read, he doesn’t seem to buy anything I tell him.”

  “But this time I’ll support you as well,” Meyer said.