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

  “Can’t help you there, Detective,” I said with a shrug. “But I am curious. What did the passenger say we were arguing about?”

  “Apparently the man sitting next to you made a comment that old people shouldn’t be travelling on their own. You took outspoken exception to that.”

  “That’s understandable. I am an old fart traveling on my own.”

  “So, Mr. Jacobson. You were overheard arguing with the victim. Later you gave him a shove, and then he’s found dead.”

  “Victim?”

  “Yes. We suspect foul play.”

  I bit my lip. “This is all very confusing.”

  He held up my ID card. “This indicates you’re eighty-five years old.”

  I ran my hand through my full head of gray hair. “I can’t remember exactly, but I’m up there somewhere in geezerland. I know my birth date, but I’m not sure of today’s date.”

  “And what is the purpose of your trip from Honolulu to Denver?”

  “I’m going to Boulder to live with my son, Denny.”

  “How do you remember that if you have a memory problem?”

  “Good question.” I gave him my most pleasant, stay-out-of-jail smile and handed him the sheet of paper. “I wrote myself a note.”

  He grunted and read the note. “May I keep this?”

  “Fine with me. I’ll be happy to autograph it if you like.”

  “Don’t be a wiseass. Your actions with the victim are very suspicious.”

  I flinched. “Am I a suspect?”

  Hamilton stared at me. “Let’s just say that I’m very curious about what happened on the plane, and I’ll need the address and phone number of where you’ll be staying.”

  I felt a drop of perspiration form on my forehead. “I don’t remember, but I may have it written down.” I searched through my wallet and found a scrap of paper with Denny’s address and phone number.

  The detective copied the information onto his notepad.

  “Now if you’ll point me to the fountain mentioned in the note,” I said, “I’m sure my son’s wondering where I am. Then you can proceed to find out what happened to Mr. Reynolds.”

  “That’s fascinating, Mr. Jacobson. You claim you don’t remember speaking with the victim, yet you know his name.”

  Chapter 3

  Shit. I could have kicked myself. I didn’t want to show the business card the victim had given me or else Detective Hamilton might want to confiscate it like he did the note about meeting Denny. Questions flashed though my mind. The police had to be interrogating other passengers. Did someone else see what happened to Reynolds? If Reynolds was the victim of foul play, who could have done it? An old geezer like me couldn’t be the only person Hamilton considered suspicious. Still, with the law breathing down my neck, the business card might be the single clue for me to find out more if I had to do something to clear my good name.

  “The man’s name . . . I must have overheard it,” I said, mumbling.

  He eyed me again. “We’ll be in touch very soon, Mr. Jacobson.”

  I gave him another winning smile. “You know where to find me, Detective. I look forward to our next conversation.”

  After being released, I stood in a hallway for a moment trying to orient myself. I felt a mixture of fear from being questioned concerning a crime and bewilderment regarding so much that I didn’t understand. I took a deep breath. I’d have to get my arms around this unexplained circumstance. But first I needed to find my family.

  I exited through a doorway into the main terminal and found my way to an open area beneath what looked like a huge white tent. I spotted a sign that read, “Welcome to Denver.” I felt oh so welcome.

  Wheeled suitcases clacked, and the aroma of cinnamon tickled my nose. I caught sight of a fountain, spitting water in gentle arcs from inches to ten feet in the air. An honor guard of potted plants guarded the fountain, and, as I approached, I noticed strange symbols in gold embedded in the floor tile: an arrow, a mining cart, a tree, a building, a cathedral, a star, a bicycle, a butterfly, a nautilus shell, an airplane, a fish, a canoe, a skier, a chairlift, a sleigh, an oil well and a tractor. I had experienced all of the Denver area without ever having to leave the terminal!

  A mob of people wearing boots, sandals and designer jeans gathered there, waiting for arriving passengers to ascend the escalator from the tram below. Above the exit area hung large blue and white gliders. I felt like I’d plopped down in an art deco convention run by reformed pioneers.

  I recognized my six-foot-tall son, Denny, his head peeking above the nearby crowd. I waved. As I approached I noticed a tinge of gray in his brown mustache and sideburns. He had aged, or had I forgotten? A skinny girl with a bouncing blond ponytail dashed up and gave me a hug. “Hi, Grandpa.” She had bright, shiny brown eyes, even white teeth and a pug nose.

  “You look like an older version of my granddaughter Jennifer,” I said.

  She stomped her foot. “You’ve forgotten again. I’m twelve.”

  “I remember a little girl of six.”

  “That was ages ago, Grandpa. Don’t you remember that I visited you last summer?”

  “I guess not. There’s a lot of blank space in my soggy old brain.”

  “By the way, your flight came in an hour ago,” Denny said. “Where have you been?”

  “Just getting acquainted with the local constabulary. Seems the guy sitting next to me died during the flight. The police wanted to talk to me.”

  “Dad!” Denny said, his eyes going wide. “You’re not getting yourself involved in another murder investigation, are you?”

  “What the hell do you mean? I don’t remember any other murder investigation.”

  “Grandpa, I’ll tell you all about some of your previous adventures, but right now I want to hear what happened on the plane.”

  “It was a strange situation. I thought the guy fell asleep on my shoulder. Turns out he was dead.”

  “That’s creepy, Grandpa. What happened to him?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Why’d they detain you?” Denny asked.

  “Someone claimed I argued with the guy earlier in the flight. Then I pushed him to get him off my shoulder. All that made me seem suspicious.”

  “I know you didn’t do anything wrong, Grandpa.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence. There’s a detective who isn’t as sure as you are.”

  “I’ll help you if they give you any trouble,” Jennifer said, pursing her lips.

  “I’m sure you will,” I replied.

  “Don’t you have a carry-on bag, Dad?” Denny asked.

  I scratched my head. “I don’t know. In all the excitement I left the plane without checking so I have no clue. I wonder if I brought a bag?”

  * * * * *

  After collecting my checked luggage, we left Denver International Airport and drove along the

  Northwest Parkway. I looked toward the mountains. A trace of snow on the highest peaks. This was going to be different than living in Hawaii. Not that I could remember any recent particulars concerning being in Hawaii.

  We pulled into the driveway of a two-story white wood house. The front yard consisted of a neatly mowed lawn adorned with red rosebushes next to the house. Denny parked and unloaded my two suitcases while I strolled along a brick pathway toward the front door, admiring my new home.

  The solid wood front door opened. A small white dog shot out like a bullet and screeched to a halt in front of me.

  “That’s Max,” Jennifer said. “He’s a West Highland Terrier.”

  “Hi, boy.” I leaned over, and he licked my hand. I watched as he twitched and then jumped up on my leg. He reached all of twenty inches in length with snow-white fur, except for a small black spot on his tail.

  “He likes you, Grandpa.”

  “I have a way with animals. I remind them of dinner.”

  My daughter-in-law, Allison, strolled out of the house and gave me a kiss. I stepped back to look at
her blonde hair, done in a flip, and her warm smile and apple cheeks.

  “I’m getting quite a welcome,” I said.

  “Let me show you your new home.” She took my hand and led me through a living room with dark blue shag carpet, down a well-lit hallway and into a bedroom on the ground floor. I stuck my head briefly into an adjoining bathroom and noticed that I also had easy access to the kitchen from which the aroma of chocolate chip cookies emerged.

  “Now for the rest of the tour,” Allison said. We climbed the brown-carpeted stairs and, off the landing, entered a master bedroom.

  Jennifer came bouncing up behind me. “Come see my room, Grandpa.” She took my hand to lead me to the other end of the second floor hallway. She opened her door and pointed to a collection of stuffed animals. “There are the Hawaiian beanies you gave me.”

  I looked at a mongoose, myna bird and porpoise, as I scratched my head. “Imagine that.”

  “You don’t remember them, do you, Grandpa?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “You’ll need to keep a journal while you’re here. Like you did when I visited you in Hawaii.”

  “A journal?”

  “You kept a journal to help remember things. You forget overnight, but if you write down what happened during the day before you go to sleep, the next day you can catch up on what you did.”

  “Seems like a lot of trouble.”

  “But it works. You have a good memory during the day.”

  “I don’t know,” I said, scratching my head.

  “I’m going to give you this notebook to write in,” Jennifer said. “Then you can leave a note to remind yourself to read it first thing in the morning.”

  “You’re familiar with this procedure?”

  “Of course. It’s our secret from when I visited you in Hawaii last year.”

  I shook my head in amazement. My granddaughter knew more about my life than I did.

  Chapter 4

  I felt disoriented and out of control. The confusion of waking up on an airplane, seeing a dead guy in the seat next to me, being questioned by the police and having my granddaughter Jennifer know more concerning my recent past than I did was too much for my tired old brain. I told Jennifer I needed a little time to myself to get unpacked and returned to my room. I started thinking about my experience that morning at the airport. I withdrew the business card from my shirt pocket and inspected it. Who was this guy and what happened to him? Only one way to find out more.

  After I called the number on the business card, a pleasant female voice greeted me and informed me I had reached Colorado Mountain Retirement Properties.

  “Mr. Daniel Reynolds, please,” I said.

  There was a pause on the line. “I’m sorry, but Mr. Reynolds is no longer with us.”

  “He left the company?” I asked.

  A pause again. “No. He really left us. He’s dead. A heart attack or something.”

  “That’s too bad. I had met him traveling back from Hawaii.”

  “Yes. He and his boss, Gary Previn, held meetings with prospects in Honolulu this last week.”

  “May I talk to this Previn fellow?”

  “I’m sorry he’s not available.”

  “Is there someone else I can speak with? I’m interested in some property.”

  Her voice perked up. “Oh, yes. Where are you calling from?”

  “Boulder.”

  “Let me check.”

  I drummed my fingers on the desk while I waited.

  She came back on the line. “There’s actually going to be a meeting in Boulder tomorrow. One of our sales representatives, Randall Swathers, will be addressing a group at the Centennial Community Center at 2 P.M. You could attend the presentation and speak with Randall afterwards.”

  “That would be perfect.”

  “May I have your name, address and phone number please?”

  I gave her the information and hung up.

  Later, I asked Denny how to get to the Centennial Community Center.

  “It’s a short walk. A little way past Jennifer’s middle school.”

  A while later the doorbell rang. Max woofed, raced to the door and skidded to a stop.

  I ambled over and opened the door to find a woman in a crisp white nurse’s uniform who probably stood five foot even in her stocking feet. She smiled at me.

  “Uh-oh,” I said. “Did I suffer a heart attack I didn’t know about?”

  Her dark eyes sparkled. “No, I have an appointment at this address. Is this the Jacobson residence?” Her voice was soft and melodic.

  “Oh, good,” Allison said. “You’re here to set up my father-in-law’s medication.”

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “You need to take pills twice a day,” Allison said. “I arranged to have a registered nurse come once a week to set up your medicine. Then I can remind you to take it.”

  The nurse proceeded to fill a plastic container that had two rows of seven compartments. She stashed the medicine bottles in a cupboard and then explained to Allison and me, “One set of pills each morning after breakfast and the other before dinner. We can start right now.” She handed me a glass of water and three horse pills.

  “I hate taking pills,” I said.

  She gave me a winning smile. “A big strapping fellow like you can’t be afraid of three little pills.”

  I couldn’t disappoint her, so I managed to swallow the pills without choking to death.

  * * * * *

  After dinner, I approached Allison. “As long as I’m going to be bumming off you, I thought I should know the ground rules of your household.”

  She put her hand on my shoulder. “You’re our guest, Paul.”

  “I don’t want to be underfoot, so educate me on your daily routine.”

  “It’s pretty simple. During the week we have breakfast at seven. You can either join us or have cereal later.”

  “I’m a morning person. I’ll probably be up.”

  “At seven-forty-five Denny leaves for his job, negotiating financial deals to put bread on the table.” She smiled. “Then Jennifer walks to school around eight o’clock. Two days a week I leave around one in the afternoon for my volunteer work at Boulder Community Hospital.”

  “Leaving me all by my lonesome.”

  She patted my arm. “The rest of the week I’ll be here to make sure you don’t get in any trouble, Paul.”

  “I think you’re a little late for that.”

  “Lunch you can fix yourself. A sandwich, soup or whatever you find in the refrigerator.”

  “I’m a fan of leftovers.”

  “Dinner’s usually around six-thirty, unless Denny’s late. I wash on Fridays, so leave anything in the clothes hamper and strip your bed that morning if you want clean sheets.”

  “I won’t remember Fridays from fish filets.”

  “Then I’ll remind you.”

  “If I’m now part of the household, I need some chores to do.”

  Allison pursed her lips. Then a smile crossed her face. “I know. You can walk Max. We’ve all been sharing that.”

  “Sounds good to me. I like stretching my legs, and the little tyke can join me.”

  “But there’s something you have to do.” Allison wagged her finger at me. “In Boulder they’re very strict about dog litter. You’ll have to take a plastic bag and pooper-scooper from under the sink. I wouldn’t want you getting on the wrong side of the law.”

  “I think I’ve already done that.”

  I decided to check out the neighborhood and give Max his first walk. After I assembled all the props and hitched him up, he raced out the door, dragging me behind him. We burst into the dusk as a glow of orange permeated wisps of clouds above. We settled into an intermittent pace of Max dashing forward then screeching to a halt to sniff every bush, mailbox and fire hydrant.

  Most of the yards appeared recently mowed and neatly landscaped, with a mixture of flower and rock gardens. We made a wide circle th
rough the neighborhood and on the way back we passed one yard that had a neat row of fir trees lining both sides of a walkway. I thought of Christmas in May.

  When we returned home, my jaw dropped in astonishment at the output of that one little dog; he had filled a plastic bag.

  * * * * *

  That night I wrote down the day’s events with a reminder left on top on my nightstand: “Read this, you old poop, and go to the Centennial Community Center at 2 P.M.” I even drew myself a map.

  * * * * *

  The next day, dutifully refreshing my memory by reading my journal entry and wolfing down a hearty breakfast, I sat in the living room of Denny’s house and oriented myself to my new domain. The telephone rang, and Allison announced a caller asking for yours truly.

  “Who’d phone me here?” I asked

  “I don’t know, but it’s a man who says he needs to speak with you.”

  “I usually only accept calls from ladies, but, oh well.” I picked up the receiver.

  “Mr. Jacobson, this is Detective Hamilton from the Denver Police Department. We spoke at Denver International Airport yesterday.”

  “Yes, Detective.”

  “I need to ask you some additional questions. I wanted to make sure you’d be home in one hour.”

  “Let me check my social calendar . . . you’re in luck, Detective. I have an opening. I’ll await your visit with bated breath.”

  By the way he hung up the phone, I didn’t think he appreciated my remark. So having to put off any exploration of my environs or romantic trysts, I waited patiently for Detective Hamilton to arrive.

  When he pulled up in his deluxe cop car, I happened to be looking out the window, so I watched as he marched up the walkway, adjusting a blue-striped tie. I greeted him at the door sans Max who was out in the backyard. Hamilton didn’t look the least bit familiar, but he did match the description I’d written in my diary. He smelled of cheap aftershave lotion and had no five o’clock shadow.

  “You do have a mole on your cheek,” I said to him.

  His hand automatically went to his face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “See, Detective, I wrote a description of you and what happened to me yesterday.”