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

  “Ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to Colorado Mountain Retirement Properties’ June Extravaganza.”

  Hands clapped and whoops emerged from the back of the room. I turned my head to see the noise coming from a row of red jacket-clad automatons lined up along the rear wall, trying to set the appropriate mood.

  The show started with a John Denver look-alike singing Rocky Mountain High. The woman next to me sighed. I wondered if sanity or emotion would control her checkbook. Slides flashed above the singer’s head with pictures of snowcapped peaks and fake drawings of the facility. I had to admit, it appeared appealing. As the singer reached a crescendo, a strobe light flashed and an emcee in red jacket vaulted onto the stage.

  He held a microphone in his mitt. “We have a special treat for you tonight, ladies and gentlemen. I’m Gary Previn, and I want to thank you personally for joining us.” Another round of applause and cheers from the peanut gallery.

  I stared at the illustrious Gary Previn, noticing his square jaw, short-cropped hair, fierce eyes and muscular build.

  He leered out at the audience. How could anyone trust this guy?

  “Colorado Mountain Retirement Properties represents a new concept in luxury living. We’re pleased to provide an evening of entertainment to you as a preview of all the evenings of enjoyment you have in store when you have your own private cottage. Our staff will be available during intermission and after the show to answer any questions.”

  Something didn’t smell right. After the hard pitch I’d received at the Centennial Community Center, what caused Previn to be so low key tonight?

  “And now back to the show.”

  A beautiful soprano appeared and whirled around the stage, singing the theme song from The Sound of Music. The words almost fit for this event. The hills were alive with the sound of money.

  I could understand why Previn willingly sprang for a door prize of a cruise for two. That was a spit in the wind compared to the money they would collect from this unsuspecting crowd of eager crones and geezers ready to open their wallets.

  Then another honcho in a red jacket with white hair and a pearly smile appeared on the stage.

  “Is everyone having a good time?” he shouted into the microphone.

  The woman next to me shouted, “Yes,” along with a chorus of two hundred others.

  “I’m Peter Kingston, the president of Colorado Mountain Retirement Properties. I want to add my thanks as well for spending your evening with us. We hope to see many of you spending many evenings with us in the future.”

  Was he encouraging us to join him in prison? This guy was going to be locked up in the very near term. He seemed awfully confident for someone that Detectives Hamilton and Lavino were ready to haul in.

  I scrutinized Kingston. Athletic build like Previn, short haircut, strong jaw, glint in the eyes. The Special Forces mold.

  “Now back to the show.”

  A dance troupe tromped on stage and to Beethoven’s Pastorale cavorted around like sheep and shepherds in a mountain meadow. Man. These guys laid it on thick. I looked over at my companion. She was eating it up like a banana split.

  After the sheep pranced off-stage, hopefully to be shorn, Previn returned to the microphone on the left side of the stage.

  “We will soon break for a short intermission, but now . . .”

  The lights blinked out and on again. Previn stood at a microphone completely over on the right side of the stage. “You are in for something special . . .”

  The lights flashed off and on again. Previn now stood back on the left side of the stage. “Straight from Austria for your listening enjoyment . . .”

  Off and on went the lights and Previn appeared on the right side of the stage. “With no further ado . . .”

  Another switch and Previn stood on the left. “The Chorale Masters.”

  While a group of old snots in lederhosen marched on stage and began yodeling, I sat there dumbfounded. Either Previn was a magician or . . .

  I had to find out.

  At intermission Previn came down the stairs on the left side of the stage and headed toward the lobby. While everyone in the audience tromped out into the lobby as well, I looked around to make sure no one saw me and then scrambled up the stairs on the right side of the stage and headed into the wing.

  I found no one there. A small hallway led further to the right, so I began exploring. I tried a door. It opened to a dark room. I tried the next door. It swung open. There sat Previn smoking a cigar. His red jacket lay across another chair, and he had his sleeves rolled up.

  “What the . . . ?” I said, then realized that I had surmised correctly. “You’re a stunt double for Gary Previn.”

  The guy put his fingers to his lips. “Sshh. It’s supposed to be a secret.”

  I entered the room and closed the door. “I’ll keep it to myself. You do this routine often?”

  He shrugged. “I can’t help it if I look like the big cheese. He hires me from time to time for sales meetings and other events. It’s easy work and it helps pay the bills.” He stubbed out the cigar.

  I looked at his wrist. He had a tattoo of a surfboard.

  Chapter 18

  I looked around this backstage room and then my gaze returned to the Gary Previn look-alike. “That’s quite a performance you put on. Are you available for freelance gigs?”

  “Sure, any time.”

  “How would I reach you?”

  He reached in his shirt pocket and held out his hand. “Here’s my card.”

  I inspected it. Matt Larson. Actor. And a phone number.

  “Matt, did you ever go to the library for Gary Previn?”

  “Hey, I can’t discuss my gigs with you,” he said. “Now you better leave. Previn will be pissed if he finds you talking to me.”

  I stared into his eyes. “I know that you went to the library and impersonated Previn. You may not want to discuss it, but you better listen to me.”

  He swallowed. “Why’s that?”

  “Because while you pretended to be Previn, he murdered one of his salesmen at the Centennial Community Center.”

  His eyes expanded to the size of light bulbs. “You’re kidding.”

  “I wish I wasn’t. And I think you’re in a heap of trouble. When Previn finds out that I know of his little ruse, he’s liable to treat you the same way he did two of his employees. You’ll end up dead.”

  “Previn asked to meet me later tonight.”

  “I wouldn’t advise keeping that appointment. I think Previn will eliminate the one witness who can prove he wasn’t at the library that afternoon.”

  He gulped, and his gazed darted around the room. “I have to get out of here.”

  “I have a suggestion. Call Detective Lavino of the Boulder Police Department. He’ll be very interested to learn that you went to the library in Previn’s place. You’ve done nothing wrong so you have nothing to fear from the police. But if you don’t seek protection from the police, Previn will kill you. Clear enough?”

  His head bobbed up and down. Then he grabbed a duffel bag and charged out of the room.

  I needed to get word to Detective Lavino. Damn. I didn’t have his phone number. I dashed out into the convention center lobby and scanned the area for a telephone. Nothing.

  I scurried up to the woman sitting at the table in the entryway.

  “Where can I find a public telephone?”

  “Back in the main lobby.”

  I scampered in the direction she pointed. Finally, a phone. I found a slip of paper in my wallet with Denny’s phone number and dropped a quarter in the phone slot.

  Allison answered.

  “I need to speak to Jennifer.”

  “You’re breathing hard, Paul. Is everything all right?”

  “I’m just in a hurry. Please ask Jennifer to pick up the phone.”

  In a few moments I heard, “Hi, Grandpa.”

  “Jennifer, Previn’s the murderer.”

  She lowered her voice. �
��How did you find out?”

  “He has a stunt double who went to the library the day of Swathers’s murder. I need to reach Detective Lavino. I have his number somewhere in my room. Find it and call him. Tell him what I told you. Also, the name of the guy who impersonated Previn is Matt Larson.” I gave her Matt’s phone number.

  “I’ll call the detective and pass on the information, Grandpa.”

  I returned to the event and found Previn in the lobby.

  “I need to have a word with you, Mr. Previn,” I said.

  His eyes lit up, and then a frown appeared. “I recognize you.”

  “Yeah. I’m Paul Jacobson. I spoke with you at the Kinetic Conveyance Race.”

  He narrowed his gaze at me. “You’re the guy who sat next to Daniel Reynolds on the plane.”

  “I also found Randall Swathers after he was bumped off in the parking lot of the Community Center. Any chance you happened by that afternoon?”

  He leered at me. “No. As a matter of fact, I was at the library that afternoon.”

  “Not exactly accurate. Your stunt double was at the library that afternoon.”

  The lights flashed.

  “I have a show to put on, Mr. Jacobson. We can talk later.”

  “I’ll wait with bated breath.”

  I returned to the auditorium and plopped down next to the woman in the flowered hat.

  She turned to me. “I’m now owner of the last early sales unit.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. You’ll never see your money again. You should stop payment on your check immediately.”

  “You’re wrong. My salesman assured me that everything is legitimate.”

  “Right. And SUVs don’t guzzle gas, and I have a special deal for you on a bridge in San Francisco.”

  She glared at me, then turned her head away as she held her chin high and harrumphed at me.

  Oh well. I tried. Old farts can be so stubborn some times.

  The show resumed with Previn leaning toward the audience and acting like nothing had happened. He was a good actor.

  The second act started with a chorus line of eighteen young women in Tyrolean skirts. At one point they all sat on the stage and lifted their feet toward the audience. The bottoms of their shoes spelled out, “Colorado Mountain Retirement Properties.”

  I felt like repeating the performance of the queasy lifeguard.

  After several more equally appalling acts and a grand finale with the sheep and shepherds prancing once again, Previn reappeared.

  “And now ladies and gentlemen. What you’ve been waiting for. The announcement of the winner of the Alaskan cruise for two. The envelope please.”

  A skimpily-clad wench appeared and handed Previn an envelope.

  “Drum roll please.”

  Canned music blared through the loudspeaker.

  With a flourish, he tore open the envelope and lifted out a sheet of paper. “I’m proud to announce that the winner is . . . Paul Jacobson. Mr. Jacobson. Please identify yourself and come up on stage.”

  People applauded and whoops emerged from the back of the room.

  I lifted myself up and waved.

  The woman next to me flashed a fetching smile in my direction. Uh-oh. The unattached ladies would be coming after me.

  I had two emotions. First, I felt excitement. Then the reality of suspicion settled in. Something didn’t seem right.

  I climbed up the stairs and approached Previn.

  He put his paw on my shoulder, and I winced as a vice-like grip bore down on me. With his other hand he presented me with two tickets.

  “Mr. Jacobson has won an all-expense-paid trip for two on an Alaskan cruise this August. Congratulations.”

  More applause and hollering.

  “This completes our program, and thank you all for coming,” Previn announced.

  The lights went down. With his shoulder-numbing grip, Previn steered me backstage. I tried to shout but Previn clamped a hand over my mouth, and with the applause still going on no one would have heard me anyway. He shoved me inside a small room and jerked the door shut.

  “You’re in way over your head, Mr. Jacobson.”

  “So, why’d you bump off Reynolds and Swathers?”

  “Let’s say they didn’t realize when they had a good thing.”

  “Maybe they had second thoughts regarding this scam of yours.”

  Previn laughed. “I set it up for you to win the raffle so you and I could have a little chat.” He reached over and grabbed the two cruise tickets out of my pocket. “You won’t be needing these, so I might as well take them back.”

  I slapped at his hand, but he pulled away out of my reach.

  “Hey, I had plans for those,” I said.

  “Your plans won’t last much beyond an hour.”

  “You going to whack me with one of those martial art blows like you did to Reynolds and Swathers?”

  “We’ll see.”

  “Is your buddy Kingston in on this as well?”

  Previn chuckled. “Peter will take the fall for the company being a sham.”

  Then it all clicked into place. “Now I get it. You set up Kingston. You’ve had this scam of collecting two hundred thousand dollars a pop. That’s why there’s no mention of this up-front money tonight. You don’t pitch that when Kingston is around.”

  “Very clever, Mr. Jacobson. Too bad you’ll never have a chance to tell anyone. The money and I will be bound for Rio in the morning.”

  “You’ll never make it, Previn. The police will nab you.”

  “Nice bluff, but they haven’t figured it out yet.”

  Think. I had to keep this guy talking.

  “If you’re running off with all the money, I still don’t understand why you had to resort to murder.”

  “I had to keep the operation going long enough to earn my retirement funds. Reynolds started acting nervous in Hawaii. Swathers caught the same bug. I couldn’t have two wussy salesmen blow my plan.”

  “So you chopped Reynolds on the plane. Then you had your stunt double cover for you at the library while you killed Swathers in the Community Center parking lot.”

  “Too bad you won’t have an opportunity to share your knowledge with anyone.”

  “Detective Lavino will be on your tail like mustard on a hot dog.”

  “By the time anyone discovers I’m gone, it will be too late. And there’s nothing to connect me to Swathers’s little accident. I’m meeting my stunt double later tonight. He’s going to disappear on an . . . uh . . . extended vacation.”

  “Too bad. His only crime is looking like you.”

  Someone knocked on the door.

  Previn stepped outside, and I heard hushed tones.

  I scanned the room. Nothing I could use as a weapon. It wouldn’t do me any good against a trained Special Forces killer anyway.

  I had to stay alive to alert Lavino.

  Jennifer would be calling him, but would he act in time? She’d make Lavino aware of the stunt double, but could Lavino prevent another murder, capture Previn before he left the country, and save me? None of these things was apt to happen in time.

  I opened the door a crack and saw Previn speaking with the dance troupe of women in sheep costumes and men in shepherd outfits holding crooks. I had to act quickly.

  “Help,” I bellowed.

  All heads turned toward me.

  I stepped out of the room, spotted the hall light switch and turned it off.

  In the dark I dashed into the crowd of dancers, tripping over a crook and falling to my knees.

  I heard Previn shout, “God damn,” and then further curses and thumps—the sound of people bumping into each other.

  Something wooly smacked into my face and knocked me flat on my butt. I flailed like a swimmer trying to gain traction. My hand struck another piece of wool. I grabbed it and heard a tearing sound and found a hunk of cloth in my hand.

  “Help! Someone’s tearing my costume off,” a female voice screamed.
/>   “Sorry,” I said as I crawled down the hallway on all fours.

  I heard further thumps and clanks of people and shepherd crooks falling.

  “Where’s that goddamn old man?” Previn shouted.

  I placed the piece of cloth over my head and continued doing a crab crawl, feeling like a drag version of Little Bo Peep as I scrambled away from the tumult.

  I rounded a bend in the hallway, stood up and found a door that I opened onto a lighted hallway.

  Faster than you can say flying geezer, I pedaled my feet toward the exit and found myself in front of the hotel. I spotted a cab, dashed over, opened the back door, jumped in and said, “Move.”

  The cabbie flinched, started the engine and roared out of the parking lot.

  Chapter 19

  “Find me a pay phone,” I said to the cab driver.

  “Should be one over by the gas station on Arapahoe.”

  It was only then that I noticed the cabbie’s full beard, wire-rimmed glasses and shiny bald head. “You’re the art history PhD.”

  He smiled. “That’s me.”

  “You gave me and my date a ride to the mall and Flagstaff House last night.”

  “That’s right. You stopped at the Pitman exhibit along the way.”

  “It was the pits.”

  He pulled into the gas station. First order of business—call Jennifer. She answered on the third ring.

  “Did you reach Detective Lavino?”

  “Yes, Grandpa. I did. I told him about Previn’s stunt double, Matt Larson, at the library and gave him the phone number, but he was very skeptical at first.”

  I slumped down onto the seat in the phone booth. “So he’s not doing anything?”

  “I didn’t say that. He needed some persuading.”

  “How’d you accomplish that?”

  “Simple. I told him he’d better act on this immediately or I’d be calling my friend, Chief of Police Atkins.”

  “You know the chief of police?”

  “Yes. He came and spoke at our school in March. I was selected as one of the two students to have lunch with him. We talked law enforcement, and he invited me to visit him anytime I wanted.”

  “So you could have pulled strings when Lavino brought me in for questioning?”